#I’m glad we exist at the same time

[bbluxart]

Y’know?

A silly little love letter to all of us getting through these times with art, writing and community.

[harmonizewithechoes]

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[irisinluv]

Isekaied as the Yandere Villain!? Pt 2

Part one

It was almost 2 minutes before I realized I was still dragging the crown prince behind me. I quickly dropped his hand and looked at him, not able to hide the embarrassment on my face. Listen- I’m committed to the bit. I WILL be the crazy jealous fiancé. But… I’m still human ok. I just dragged a full grown man down several halls and a flight of stairs while I spaced out thinking about how I’m gonna buy my cat premium wet food once I get back home to her.

It’s fine, I’m not flustered at spacing out about my cat, my characters just flustered because she’s been holding the hand of the man she’s obsessed with, that’s all!

“Well…. Did you still want to dine and take that walk?”

I expected him to scold me for my mistreatment of Cressida, grow irritated from me dragging him along like this. Instead, he chuckles and threads his arm in mine, and begins escorting me down the hall.

“Absolutely, have you dined outside by the roses yet? There’s this lovely pavilion that I am eager to hear your thoughts on.”

And that’s how I found myself under an impressive array of roses, all trained up and around a cozy dining area, creating a canopy of green and pink over an intimate tea table. The food was equally impressive, I had to keep reminding myself that the other me is used to this lavish lifestyle, to not gawk at the fancy tiny sandwiches and deserts.

“Well? Is everything to your liking? ”

I’m going off script here, how am I supposed to know how the villainess would react to a romantic scene like this?? If my “evil crazy” side isn’t supposed to be directed at him, and she’s usually kinda distant and unsure around him…. That means I should probably respond pretty curtly, polite, yet not really engaging. But…. I’ve already messed that up…. I guess I can be more genuine when it’s the two of us like this. He can think that this version of me is the facade, that I’m pretending to be pleasant, and then will start to see what a jerk “I” truly am when Cressida’s around. Besides…. I almost feel bad for the villainess. She really just seems like she was shy. Who knows- maybe, if given the opportunity, she really would have opened up more. It’s clear she loved the prince, and just didn’t know how to show it. So, with that thought, I made up my mind.

“It’s breathtaking! Roses are my favorite flower, and I’ve never seen so many kinds in bloom at once…. Plus the food and company leave little to be desired.”

There you go- slip in some subtle flirting! I’m not quite sure what time period this is supposed to be, but I get the impression flirting as bit more high class here, and I think I can have some fun with that.

“I’m glad, to be honest I was a bit flustered asking you to dine with me… you caught me quite off guard today, but in a good way.” He reaches his hand across the table and places it on my own, “I’d like to do this more often, you and I. I feel like the confines of our current arrangement have left us practically strangers, despite being engaged for several months already. I’m enjoying just being companionable with you, even if it’s just existing comfortably in the same room.”

Ohhhh, I know I’m the villain in this story but I can’t help but root for him- what a sweetheart! It’s so obvious he’s been lonely, I can’t wait for him and Cressida to fall in love and have a couple of kids that they’ll spoil rotten. And in the meantime…. Maybe I do have a bit of evil in me, because I’m going to selfishly enjoy this handsome man treating me to lunches under roses and reading in cozy libraries while I can.

“I know exactly how you feel your highness. Now, you mentioned a walk?”

We spent the afternoon laughing and chatting, and it felt nice to chat without worrying too much about my role. He asked me about that book I picked out earlier, and listened attentively as I caught him up with where I’m at in the plot. In turn, I asked about what papers he’s been signing, documents he’s been drafting, etc.

The only thing I had to do was send glares to any young ladies we passed, settling my hand on his arm possessively, and I saw their eyes widen and faces disappear behind fans as they whisper to one another. I can picture this illustrated in a manhwa- the nasty princess sinking her claws into the gullible prince… hopefully all these ladies will start gossiping and we can really cement this evil persona of mine now that Cressida’s here.

When we returned to our separate apartments, I explored my rooms a bit until servants came to get me ready for dinner, and I slipped back into the frigid bitch persona. The servant girls dressed me in a slightly stuffy gown, but I had to admit, I looked gorgeous. I sat stiff and straight as they did my hair, forcing myself to be the very picture of cold indifference. I then dismissively thanked them for their help, then sat there awkwardly as they stared at me like I was crazy.

Ohhhh shit…. The original story hadn’t prepared me for this. My character was a villain, yes, but a side character for the most part! How was she supposed to act towards her servants? I went over what I knew- the novel showed the villainess alone quite often, usually obsessing over Eric and plotting/stalking. It showed her with Eric, and how distant and awkward their relationship was when together. And then of course the numerous scenes with Cressida where the Villainess did all sorts of heinous things to the sweet girl. But… it never depicted her with servants, or even any friends or other nobles. Just… Eric and Cressida. Was other me not actually a bitch all the time? Am I being unnecessarily rude right now? Oh god I’m such an idiot.

The story is told through Cressida’s point of view- of course there’s more depth to my own character than I initially thought! The Villianess must be a misunderstood introvert! Unsure of how to act around her crush, she’s fiercely insecure and jealous of this new girl who doesn’t struggle the same way she does. When she notices the prince slipping from her grasp, she acts out against Cressida because she can’t bear to lose Eric!

As someone’s who’s worked minimum wage jobs and struggled with social anxiety most of my life, I try to be nice to the people just working to survive, but here I am acting like these poor women are the dirt beneath my shoe…. Ok. Um. Well they’re still standing there in shock, I can fix this….

“You really did a lovely job… my hair has never looked so gorgeous, you’re truly talented! And I think the prince will be very pleased with this choice of ribbon!”

There- I was nicer, and I brought it back to Eric, so I’m still the lovesick fiancé whose entire world is waiting for her in the dining room. I frowned as the servants scuttled out of the room with hurried excuses, all of them looking like they were about to faint. Damn it… I can’t believe I misread the relationship between us. I probably just ruined their night by being uncharacteristically rude. I’ve gotta learn their names next time…. Maybe ask them to help me eat some fancy pastries as an apology…?

I didn’t know it, but while I was lamenting how wrong I was about the Villainess’ character, the servants were all gossiping to the others about what had just transpired.

“You’re telling me she said THANK YOU!?”

“Yes!!! And then you should have seen how nervous she got! She just rambled, blurting out such a sweet compliment, and she even tied it back to the prince!”

“I had no idea how precious she was… I can’t believe I never realized she’s just shy! In a new place, all alone aside from her new fiancé…. Who I gather she’s got a bit of a crush on! Poor dear.”

“Ohh our sweet girl, I’m sure it must be hard bonding with the prince, when all you do is sit yards apart and hardly speak …”

“Well I may have some news about that… and it’s no wonder she was a bit flustered today, because I saw the two of them in the gardens today! They were both nothing but smiles- absolutely smitten with one another!”

“Such a lovely girl, and we never knew it all this time!”

Apparently, I had it backwards. The real villainess truly was a 2D, basic character. She was insecure and possessive over the prince, bullying Cressida half to remind her who Eric belonged to, half for the fun of it. But she didn’t let on to anyone about the true depth of her love for him. She didn’t gossip to her handmaid, didn’t ask the servants which dress he would like better. Simply acted as if they did not exist, hardly saying a word to them.

While I thought my blunt “thank you” was colder than they were used to, and then tried to smooth things over…. It was more words than they’d heard from me in the whole time I’d lived in the palace. They lapped it up and declared me their own shy little dove after that.

When I arrived to dinner, I realized why daily dinners weren’t exactly a bonding activity for the villainess and Eric. The table was massive, and only held two chairs, one at either end. It felt so…. Cold?

Eric had beat me there, and quickly stood up from his seat, waiting until I sat and a servant pushed in my chair to retake his own seat. He smiled at me and said,

“Good evening, princess.”

He had to project his voice slightly. It wasn’t like he was shouting or being loud, it was just the manner of speaking you use when talking to an elderly relative, clearer, and enunciating better so they could hear you.

I replied back, projecting my voice similarly, and found the conversation was, in fact, more awkward than it had been earlier. We ate our food mostly in silence, occasionally one of us would say something and the other would stop moving their utensils on their plate, listening closer as they ask,

“What’s that?”

By the time dinner was over and we each went to bed, I felt drained. I could have just been louder I suppose- but it’s so hard to keep up a conversation like that. I know we get along- we had chatted all afternoon after all. But some part of me realized it’s probably good to keep a bit of distance between us, even if I’ve rewritten things to be a bit chummier between the two of us. Cressida needs to swoop in and steal him from me… and my job is still to leave that room for her to do so.

It’s hard trying to be someone else, yet also making sure you lead the plot in the right direction- it’s exhausting! I feel like both director and actress!

It’s with this in mind that I launch myself into the softest bed I’d ever felt, and passed out. My first day as princess consort, the Yandere fiancé, complete.

While I was getting acquainted with my feather bed, Eric was speaking with the head waitstaff.

“Yes, tomorrow, would you mind adjusting the seating situation? I’d like for the princess consort and I to be closer together from now on. Yes, and ask my assistant to arrange my schedules like so, I’ve detailed it here. Thank you.”

At the same time, Cressida was recounting her run in with the prince and I to her handmaiden as she finishing unpacking and settling into her family’s guest apartments. Which, unbeknownst to me… was right across the hall.

Series discontinued- sorry my loves. Ik y’all wanted more but the good news is that I’ve seen several really talented authors picking up this idea and executing it wayyyy better than my sporadic mood writing ever could.

[hoshifighting]

Arranged Marriage — Hoshi x Reader

— Synopsis: In contrast to the tired old plots of arranged marriages where the couple can't stand each other, you and Soonyoung are childhood friends. It's not just like marrying a friend—no, no, actually, it is marrying a friend, no-frills and simple. — WC: 10k — WARNINGS: smut, fluff, fingering, oral (m. receiving), penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, choking, one single slap on the ass, hair pulling, aftercare, whipped!hoshi, hoshi teases reader until she almost cries for dick, mentions of alcohol, mentions of body fluids (cum, sweat), DIRTY TALK—prob the nastiest dirty talk i've written.

You knew this day would come. 

Growing up in a world where luxury, money, stock exchange, and business were the pillars of existence, arranged marriages were just another part of the cycle. Two patrimonies merging into one for the benefit of both families—it was a tradition as old as time. 

Some couples embraced the spotlight, showcasing their unity to the world. Others barely tolerated each other, living in separate homes to maintain a fake image. There were also those whose mutual disdain led to chaos both in their personal lives and in the family businesses.

When you saw Soonyoung in your home, dressed in a suit that clearly wasn’t his style, you felt a hurricane of emotions. His usual vibrant, carefree energy seemed stifled under the weight of the tailored fabric. You greeted him and his family alongside your parents, both of you a shy mess, but something in his eyes told you things might not be as bad as you feared.

“Hey,” Soonyoung murmured as you both found a moment away from the adults’ formal discussions. “This suit is killing me.”

You laughed softly, feeling a sense of relief. “You look... different.”

“Yeah, definitely not my usual style, you know me” he grinned, loosening his tie. “But I guess we’re both out of our comfort zones today.”

You nodded, memories flooding back of the two of you playing outside when kids, during business congresses, your parents inside discussing mergers and acquisitions while you and Soonyoung chased each other around the gardens. “Do you remember those days?”

“Of course,” he said, eyes lighting up with nostalgia. “We had our own little world, didn’t we?”

“We did,” you replied. “And now, here we are.”

“So, how do you feel about this?” he asked, shy, looking at your expensive dress, clearly set for tonight. “About us... getting married?”

“I’ve been preparing for it my whole life, I guess,” you said honestly. “But with you... it feels different. Less intimidating."

“I feel the same,” Soonyoung admitted. “I mean, if it had to be anyone, I’m glad it’s you.”

You smiled. “Maybe we can make this work. Find a balance between our lifes.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “We can create something new, something that’s ours.”

You looked at him, seeing not just the boy you grew up with, but a partner. Someone who understood the complexities of your world and was willing to navigate them with you.

You looked around your house, taking in the scene. Soonyoung’s family mingled with yours, coworkers from your parents’ firms exchanged polite conversation, and your and Soonyoung’s nephews were playing circles around the couch. 

The weight of the day pressed on your shoulders, a burden that didn’t match the elegance of the dress you were wearing for the marriage proposal.

Soonyoung’s eyes met yours, noticing your tense posture. “You’re nervous, aren’t you?” he asked softly.

You looked at him, sulking, and he recognized the same expression you had when you were eight. 

He leaned in, whispering, “Don’t tell anyone, but I brought a bottle of tequila. It’s in my trunk. Would you like some to relax?”

You stared at him in silence before nodding with an exasperated look, feeling like it was exactly what you needed.

“Did you bring a shot cup?” you asked, following him outside.

He stopped, bottle in hand, and you both laughed. Taking the bottle from him, you leaned against his car, opened the cap, and poured a generous shot—maybe a little more—straight into your mouth. Soonyoung watched, his mouth wide open in surprise. You handed the bottle back to him.

“Why are you nervous?” he asked, taking a swig himself, looking comically exaggerated as he did. “I’m the one who has to kneel and propose today. My heart feels like it’s about to explode.”

You both laughed like teenagers getting away with something forbidden, hiding behind his car.

After a moment of comfortable silence, you broke it. “Do you have the ring here?”

He looked at you and nodded.

“Can I see it?” you asked, your curiosity piqued as if he had a rare Pokémon card.

“Is that right?” he teased.

You made doe eyes and asked, “Pretty please?”

He smiled, pulling a small black box from his pocket and opening it for you. 

The diamond ring sparkled in your eyes, its brilliance captivating. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured.

Soonyoung nodded, grinning. “My sister helped me choose it. I originally wanted a diamond shaped like a cat, but she said that wasn’t appropriate.”

You laughed, the image of a cat-shaped diamond making you smile. “It’s beautiful, but a kitten-shaped ring sounds adorable. I would’ve loved that too.”

His grin widened, a small, proud smile lighting up his face as you both admired the ring.

Your moment was interrupted by Soonyoung’s mom's voice, echoing from the house. “Oh my god, are you already proposing?”

Soonyoung choked on his own saliva, his eyes wide with panic. The best thing to do now? Say no and face his mother’s scolding for showing the ring prematurely, or actually propose right then and there?

Before he could think it through, he found himself on one knee on the sidewalk, his heart pounding. You quickly hid the tequila bottle behind your back.

“Soonyoung, what are you doing?” you whispered, eyes wide.

“I... I’m improvising,” he replied, clearing his throat. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

The spontaneity of it all, made you laugh and cry at the same time, you needed to pretend you were actually emotional. “Yes, Soonyoung. Yes, I will.”

You barely noticed the sudden crowd that had gathered around you, they'd appeared out of nowhere, all eyes on the two of you. Soonyoung’s hand trembled slightly as he slid the ring onto your finger, the cool metal contrasting with the warmth of his touch.

You smiled nervously at him, teeth gritted. “Hug me,” you whispered urgently, your eyes darting to the tequila bottle that was precariously wedged behind your back. “Please, put the tequila bottle inside your car. It's practically shoved inside my ass.”

Soonyoung blinked, processing your words before a grin spread across his face. He pulled you into a tight hug, the kind that felt both reassuring and grounding. As he embraced you, he expertly reached behind you, his fingers brushing against the bottle. 

You could feel his body shaking slightly with suppressed laughter.

“Hang on,” he whispered back.

He managed to grab the bottle and discreetly slid it out from behind you. Still holding you close, he took a step back towards the car, opening the door with one hand and slipping the bottle inside. The whole maneuver was so smooth that you doubted anyone noticed the clandestine operation.

That moment eased the tension of the night, but the tequila hadn’t taken effect yet, and you knew you had to keep an eye on Soonyoung. His alcohol tolerance was notoriously low, and you didn’t want him to embarrass himself—or worse, get into trouble.

As the night wound down and Soonyoung’s dad started to lead him to the car, Soonyoung sulked, trying to resist. “I want to talk a bit more to my bride,” he protested, his voice slightly slurred. His words elicited good-natured laughter from both families, who were enjoying the unexpected turn of events.

You walked over to him, giving him a warm hug and patting his head affectionately. “It’s time to go home, Soonyoung,” you said gently.

He looked at you with wide, earnest eyes, the warmth in his gaze reminding you of why you felt less nervous than you should. Soonyoung had always been warm-hearted, and maybe that’s why you felt a sense of calm amidst the chaos.

As you pulled back from the hug, Soonyoung’s hand lingered in yours for a moment longer. “Promise you’ll call me tomorrow?” he asked, his tone earnest despite his tipsiness.

“Promise,” you replied, smiling as you squeezed his hand.

With one last affectionate look, Soonyoung allowed his dad to guide him into the car. You watched as the vehicle pulled away. Your parents approached, their expressions a blend of amusement and expectation.

“Well, that was quite a night,” your mom said, her eyes twinkling with delight.

“Yes, it was,” you agreed, glancing at your dad, who nodded in approval.

“You two make a good pair,” your dad said, his tone warm. “I’m glad to see you both getting along so well.”

Your parents were now expectant, believing you and Soonyoung were truly becoming a couple. And in a way, you were—just not in the conventional sense they imagined.

The next day, even though it was a promise to a drunk boy, you called Soonyoung in the morning. Like any typical business wedding, the preparations started swiftly, aiming to have the wedding happen as soon as possible. Today, you were going to choose the food and drinks for the event.

When Soonyoung arrived, he was all tidied up, but his face was clearly tired. You laughed a bit, “You look…”

He completed for you, “Fucked?”

You chuckled, “I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Long night,” he admitted, rubbing his eyes. “But I’m here.”

“Good, because we have a lot to decide,” you replied, glancing at the event agent who was discussing the dessert options.

As you both looked at the event agent, who insisted on adding superfluous things to the sweets—like a layer of gold—you exchanged amused glances. The agent was enthusiastically explaining the virtues of gold-leaf-covered desserts.

“Gold? For us to... poop?” Soonyoung murmured incredulously.

You stifled a laugh and leaned closer to him. “Can’t it be something more tasty?”

The agent looked slightly taken aback. “Gold leaf is quite a statement piece.”

Soonyoung nodded, trying to be polite. “But we were thinking of something simpler.”

“How about churros?” you suggest.

The agent blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Churros? For a wedding?”

“Why not?” you said with a grin. “They’re delicious, and everyone loves them.”

“But they don’t exactly scream luxury,” the agent protested.

“They scream fun,” Soonyoung countered. “And isn’t that what weddings are supposed to be?”

The agent sighed, making a note. “Alright, churros it is. Anything else?”

“Maybe some street-style tacos?” he added, enjoying the agent’s bewildered expression.

“Tacos?” the agent repeated, as if the word was foreign.

“Yeah, why not?” Soonyoung agreed. “Let’s keep it simple and tasty.”

The agent finally nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Very well. I’ll make the arrangements.”

Honestly, days flew by with Soonyoung by your side. Planning every little detail of the wedding together brought both fun and challenges, especially when your tastes didn’t always align. It was a bit complicated at first, like when you two were choosing the destination for your honeymoon. 

Soonyoung wanted an adventure-packed trip to the Amazon rainforest, while you preferred a relaxing beach resort in the Maldives. The negotiations were intense, but you eventually settled on a compromise.

Choosing Soonyoung’s suit also proved to be a task. He insisted on wearing a tie with a tiger print, a nod to his childhood love for tigers. You were surprised that his fascination with the big cats had persisted, but you drew the line at a tiger tie. “Absolutely not,” you told him firmly, trying to imagine the looks you’d get. “A tiger tie is a no from me, and I think a lot of people would agree.”

“Fine,” he conceded with a sigh, but you could tell he was already thinking about how to sneak a little tiger motif into his outfit.

When it came to choosing your dress, you were accompanied by your mom, Soonyoung’s mom, and his sister. 

Soonyoung, the only man in the group, tagged along as well. The other brides at the boutique initially assumed he was either your brother or your stylist. 

Their jaws nearly dropped when they overheard he was actually the groom.

One of the brides, adjusting her veil in front of a mirror, turned to you, wide-eyed. “Wait, he’s your husband-to-be?”

“Yes, he is,” you confirmed with a smile, watching Soonyoung fuss over a lace detail on one of the dresses.

Another bride laughed softly. “Lucky you! He’s so involved.”

“He’s been amazing,” you said. “Except for his obsession with tiger prints.”

Soonyoung, overhearing, grinned and walked over. “What can I say? Tigers are cool.”

“Soonyoung, you’re a unique groom,” his sister teased, shaking her head.

As you tried on dresses, Soonyoung offered his opinions with surprising thoughtfulness, balancing out his more quirky suggestions. He was genuinely invested in making sure you felt beautiful and confident in your choice.

You’d tried on everything: the biggest gowns, the tightest silhouettes, dresses with endless layers of skirts, and others that hugged your hips so closely it felt like they were molded to your skin. 

There were corsets that took your breath away—literally—and fabrics that shimmered under the boutique lights. 

But this time, when you left the dressing room, you were wearing a veil.

Soonyoung’s eyes didn’t lie for a second. He liked this one very much. The women around you—your mom, Soonyoung’s mom, and his sister—fussed over the dress, adjusting it here and there, offering compliments. But Soonyoung was speechless.

If Soonyoung were to be completely honest, up until this moment, he had always seen you as his friend, the girl he was going to marry because of an arrangement. You were the same girl who used to run around the events, eluding the security guards with your mischievous giggles. 

But now, you were different. You were a woman. His woman. And you looked stunning.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you. The transformation was breathtaking. You stood there, looking radiant in your wedding dress, and for the first time, the reality of the situation hit him. You weren’t just a friend anymore; you were about to become his partner, his wife.

He was so lost in the moment that he didn’t realize he was gawking until you and the women turned to him, waiting for his response. He blinked, snapping back to reality, and managed to find his voice.

“You look...” he started, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Your cheeks flushed at his earnest compliment. “You really think so?”

Soonyoung nodded, still unable to tear his eyes away. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

His sister grinned, nudging him playfully. “Told you she’d find the perfect dress.”

Your mom wiped away a tear, “You’re going to make a beautiful bride.”

Soonyoung’s mom stepped forward, adjusting a tiny detail on the veil. “This is the one. It’s perfect.”

You looked at yourself in the mirror, feeling a sense of certainty wash over you. “Yes, this is the one,” you said, smiling at the reflection and then at the people around you who made this moment even more special.

[...]

The days leading up to the wedding were a whirlwind of activity. Every day brought something new to choose, and your creativity was running dry. You were worn out, and Soonyoung knew it. Today had been particularly exhausting.

As the realtor showed you yet another option for apartments in the Metropole, you responded with short answers, your enthusiasm long gone after visiting sixteen places that day alone.

“So, what do you think?” the realtor asked.

Soonyoung noticed your hesitation. “Can I talk with my wife for a sec?” he asked.

The realtor nodded and walked off, giving you space.

“Y/N-nie... are you okay?” Soonyoung asked softly, looking at you through his lashes.

You sighed, your shoulders slumping. “I’m so tired,” you confessed.

He took a step closer, his voice softening. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You breathed out heavily. “My family is putting a lot of pressure on me, and I’m working relentlessly at the company. I can’t wait for us to get married…”

Soonyoung’s heart sank a little. “You want to get married just to get free from it?”

“No, it’s not just that. It’s everything. The wedding preparations, the constant decisions, the endless work... I feel like I’m drowning.”

He reached out, gently taking your hand. “We don’t have to rush this, you know. We can take our time.”

“But everyone’s expecting so much from us,” you replied, feeling the weight of expectations.

“Let them expect,” he said firmly. “And I want this to be as much about you as it is about us.”

“I just... I don’t want to disappoint anyone,” you admitted.

“You won’t,” Soonyoung assured you. “You’ve already done so much. It’s okay to take a step back and breathe.”

You took a deep breath, feeling a bit lighter. “Alright. Let’s look at this apartment one more time.”

Soonyoung nodded, giving you an encouraging smile. “And if it’s not the one, we’ll keep looking until we find the perfect place for us.”

You laughed softly, the tension easing. “You always know how to make things better.”

“Just doing my job as your soon-to-be husband,” he said playfully.

Soonyoung was doing an incredible job. 

From what you’d heard from friends who had gone through the same situation, they didn’t have partners like Soonyoung. You felt proud of him. 

He was your rock, making sure you took a breath when you were overwhelmed by the slightest things. He even insisted you didn't move a finger during brunch, making you so relaxed that you found the apartment you’d been searching for on the very same day.

The drive home was quiet, the car enveloped in a peaceful silence that allowed you a moment to rest. You laid your head back as he drove, appreciating the tranquility. Once you arrived, you stayed seated for a bit, soaking in the comfort of the quiet.

Soonyoung looked at you, waiting patiently. When you finally looked up, he gave you a gentle smile. “Ready to go in?”

You nodded, feeling a bit more refreshed. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He stepped out of the car and came around to your side, opening the door for you. “Take your time,” he said softly.

You appreciated his patience as you slowly got out of the car. “Thank you, Soonyoung.”

He smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walked towards the house. “I’m just doing what any good partner would do.”

You leaned into him, feeling grateful for his support. “I don’t think everyone is as lucky as I am.”

He chuckled softly. “Well, I’m pretty lucky too, you know.”

As you entered the house, you felt a sense of relief. The apartment search was over, and you had found the perfect place. More importantly, you had Soonyoung by your side, making every step of this journey easier.

“So, what’s next on our list?” he asked, guiding you to the living room.

You sank into the couch, feeling the exhaustion of the day catch up to you. “I think a nap is next on my list.”

He laughed, sitting beside you. “That sounds like a perfect plan.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of the day lift off your shoulders. “Wake me up in an hour?”

[...]

The days flew by in a blur with the whirlwind of wedding preparations. It felt like only moments ago you were choosing flowers, tasting cakes, and finalizing guest lists. 

Now, as you stood at the end of the aisle, holding a bouquet in front of Soonyoung, the reality of the moment hit you with full force.

The weight of the dress and the pressure of looking perfect made your hands sweat like never before. You felt like a porcelain doll, perfectly polished and poised.

Soonyoung stood there, his eyes fixed on you with pride. He couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness. Here you were, a perfect woman by his side, and even better, an old friend he'd known for years. 

The familiarity of your presence brought him comfort. Despite the fact that you hadn’t really dated, the idea of having someone as pretty and cool as you with him every day made him feel at ease about the whole situation.

As you walked down the aisle, your eyes met his, and a small, reassuring smile played on his lips. He looked stunning in his suit, and the way he stood tall, waiting for you, made your heart flutter. 

You could see a hint of nervousness in his eyes, mirroring your own, but there was also a calmness there, a silent promise that everything would be alright.

When you finally reached him, he extended his hand towards you. He leaned in slightly, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “You look amazing.”

You blushed, your nerves momentarily forgotten. “Thank you. You look pretty good yourself.”

The vows were sincere, filled with heartfelt words that spoke more to your shared friendship than any romantic notion. Both of you couldn’t help but giggle as you remembered all the crazy things you’d done together as kids. 

Your minds flashed to the time you stole sweets from an event or when you both jumped into a water fountain during an important dinner with company directors.

As the officiant declared you husband and wife, all of these memories became a sweet reverie. You leaned in and whispered with a playful glint in your eye, “Are you going to kiss my lips or my cheek?”

Soonyoung blushed, clearly caught off guard by the question. A kiss on the cheek was typical in such moments since most arranged couples didn’t share a romantic bond. He stammered for a moment, his face flushing a deep shade of pink.

“Well… uh… I suppose the cheek would be safe,” he mumbled, eyes darting nervously.

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, leaning closer. “But where’s the fun in that, Soonyoung?”

He looked at you, his eyes widening slightly. The playful challenge in your gaze gave him the courage he needed. With a deep breath, he moved in, his hand gently cupping your face.

“I think I’ll go for the lips,” he whispered back, his voice steadying.

The crowd held its breath as Soonyoung leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, tender kiss. It was a simple kiss, not passionate, but filled with the warmth of years of friendship and the promise of a shared future. The applause that followed was thunderous, but all you could focus on was the feeling of his lips against yours.

As you pulled away, you both wore matching grins. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” you teased,

He laughed, shaking his head. “Not bad at all. Actually, it was kind of nice.”

You linked arms, turning to face the crowd together. Your parents looked relieved and proud, while your friends were cheering loudly, clearly entertained by the spectacle. Soonyoung’s eyes met yours again, and there was a newfound spark there, full of possibilities.

As you both shared champagne with your parents, Soonyoung playfully asked, "No tequila tonight?" You were about to respond when his mom's voice cut in, "Tequila?"

Soonyoung’s eyes widened, and his mouth twisted into a frown as he tried to suppress his laughter. You quickly improvised, "Huh, h-he meant... tacos! We had tacos with tequila last time, remember?" You forced a smile, hoping it sounded convincing enough. His mom seemed satisfied with the answer, nodding along.

After mingling with guests—aka talking with people from work about the next meeting—you finally found a moment to escape the spotlight. You and Soonyoung crouched behind the kitchen, hiding from the crowd. The chefs chuckled at the sight of the newlyweds sneaking bites of food, but they made sure to hand you the best eats, knowing how overwhelming the day could be.

Soonyoung grinned, playfully nudging you. "We're so used to doing this at parties that we're practically pros now."

You nodded in agreement, a mischievous smile on your face. "Even though it's our own wedding party," you said, shaking your head in disbelief.

He chuckled, looking at the gold ring on your finger with a sense of wonder. "Our wedding... I still can't believe it. Oh my god, we're grown adults now."

You couldn’t help but laugh, reaching out to pat his head mockingly. "We've been grown adults for... kind of a long time already," you teased, a playful glint in your eye.

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, then leaned in closer, his voice softening. "Yeah, but it feels different now. Like, we're really starting something new."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. It was true. The reality of your situation was sinking in, but in a way, it felt comforting. You had each other, and that made everything seem a little less daunting. As you sat there, hidden away from the chaos of the celebration, it struck you how much you appreciated this moment—just the two of you, stealing away for a breather.

“Shall we follow tradition?” Soonyoung asks, a playful glint in his eyes. You frown, confused, as he reaches into the fridge and pulls out a bottle of tequila.

“Should tequila be kept in the fridge?” you ask, laughing at the sight.

“I hope so,” he replies, pouring the liquid into a cup. “This one is expensive.”

You raise an eyebrow, taking the cup from him. “The cheapest has the same effect,” you say, waiting for him to pour his own.

He chuckles, raising his glass. “But today’s a special day. We deserve the good stuff.”

You laugh it off, crossing your arms before taking the shot together. The familiar burn makes you both scrunch up your faces.

The wedding party was truly one of a kind. You and Soonyoung were a bit too excited, turning the waltz space into a wild dance floor. 

At first, your parents were too embarrassed to join, especially at the sight of Soonyoung twerking on you. But soon, even the directors and business partners were on the dance floor, dancing and drinking extravagantly.

[...]

The next morning, you and Soonyoung were woken up by the buzzing of your phones. 

Your makeup was smudged and stamped on the pillow, and you were still in your wedding dress. You scratched your scalp, feeling the bobby pins still tangled in your hair. 

Soonyoung was no better; his shirt was unbuttoned to his belly button, his tie was loosened around his neck, and his hair looked like a bird's nest. He scratched his forehead groggily. Despite sharing the same bed, you both seemed unbothered by it.

You grabbed your phone and saw the company group chat flooded with messages:

“Wow, last night was incredible! Congrats to the newlyweds!”

“I can't believe we all danced that much! My feet are killing me. :')”

“Best wedding party ever! So happy for you guys!”

“My head is pounding, but it was totally worth it. ^^ Cheers to you both!”

“I’m still recovering from all that dancing. What a party!”

“Never thought I’d see the CEO breakdancing. ㅋㅋㅋㅋ”

You couldn't help but smile at the messages, as Soonyoung peeked over your shoulder, a sleepy grin spreading across his face.

“My head hurts,” Soonyoung complains, rubbing his temples.

You adjust the corset of your dress, feeling the tightness around your ribs. "My ribs are squeezed," you grumble, wincing as you try to get comfortable. "I can't believe I slept in this."

He yawns, glancing down at your leg. "You even kept the garter on," he points out, noticing the delicate band still around your thigh.

You crack your neck, feeling the weight of the long night. "Your sister gave it to me, so I put it on," you explain, lifting the voluminous skirt to reveal the bridal garter.

His eyes widen comically. "My sister?! Is there something I don't know?"

You frown at him, a bit confused. "You don’t know about the tradition?"

Soonyoung looks a bit lost, scratching his head. "I mean, it’s my first time getting married."

You sigh, laying back down. "Traditionally, the groom is supposed to take it off when... taking the virginity," you explain, watching his face turn a shade of pink.

His eyes dart around nervously, processing the information. "So... my sister thought I was... a virgin?"

You shrug, teasing, "Probably. Are you?"

He laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Definitely not. And you?"

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. "Nope. Sorry to disappoint."

He chuckles, finally relaxing. "Good to know. Not that it matters, but... it's funny to think about how everyone just assumes stuff."

“Are you going to take it off?” you tease, stretching your leg up and wiggling your foot playfully. Your eyes glint mischievously as you watch Soonyoung’s reaction.

He scoffs, but a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “What, you mean right now?” His eyes flicker to your thigh, then quickly back up to your face, trying to gauge if you’re serious or just messing with him.

You arch an eyebrow, maintaining your playful expression. “Why not? It’s tradition, right? Don’t you want to fulfill your husbandly duties?” You stretch your leg out further, making the garter more visible.

Soonyoung chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, but there’s a sparkle of joy in his eyes. He reaches out hesitantly, his fingers brushing lightly against your thigh. The touch sends a shiver to your skin, and you can’t help but giggle.

“What’s the matter?” you prod, your voice dripping with mock innocence. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

He rolls his eyes, trying to suppress a laugh. “Not at all,” 

You bute your lip as his fingers graze the lacy fabric of the garter. His touch is feather-light, almost ticklish, and you squirm a bit under his hand.

Soonyoung smirks, clearly enjoying your reaction. “You’re squirming,” he notes, his voice low and teasing. “Does that mean you’re nervous?”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Me? Nervous? Please,” you retort, trying to sound confident despite the rapid beating of your heart. “I’m just surprised you’re taking so long. I thought you’d be an expert at this.”

He chuckles, sliding his hand a bit higher up your thigh, his thumb brushing against your skin in slow, deliberate strokes. “Oh, I am,” he replies smoothly. “Just savoring the moment.”

“Well, don’t take too long,” you murmur, your voice softening slightly. “We wouldn’t want to miss out on any other wedding traditions.”

Soonyoung grins, his fingers hooking under the garter. “Right, can’t forget those,” he says, his voice tinged with a hint of naughtiness. 

He gently tugs on the garter, slowly sliding it down your leg, his eyes never leaving yours. 

As he finally slips the garter off, he holds it up triumphantly, a goofy grin on his face. “There, tradition fulfilled,” he declares, waving the garter like a trophy.

You laugh, shaking your head at his antics. “Congratulations,” you say, clapping mockingly. “You’ve successfully removed a piece of elastic lace. Truly, a remarkable achievement.”

He bows dramatically, playing along. “Thank you, thank you,” he says, flashing you a cheeky smile. “It was a tough job, but someone had to do it.”

You can’t help but laugh, the light-hearted banter making the moment feel even more special. Soonyoung’s hand lingers on your leg for a moment longer before he finally lets go.

As Soonyoung gets up, stretching his arms with a yawn, he announces, "I'm going to take a bath." He heads towards the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

You sit up, still feeling the effects of last night's festivities, and shout after him, “Ya! Ladies first!”

From behind the closed door, you hear Soonyoung's laughter echo in the bathroom. “Sorry, didn’t hear you over the sound of me already starting the water!” he calls back, his voice filled with playful defiance.

You shake your head, smiling to yourself. It’s these little moments that make everything feel so natural and easy with him. After a few minutes, you hear the sound of running water stop, and Soonyoung emerges from the bathroom, his hair damp and a towel wrapped around his waist.

“All yours,” he says, grinning. “I left some hot water for you, too.”

You roll your eyes playfully, grabbing your toiletries and heading into the bathroom. The warm water is a welcome relief, washing away the remnants of makeup and the night's events. After a quick shower, you step out feeling slightly more human, though the hangover still lingers.

As you both finish getting ready, the thought of breakfast crosses your mind. However, just the idea of food makes your stomach churn. The hotel's breakfast spread is typically lavish, but today, the thought of greasy bacon and pastries is anything but appetizing.

Soonyoung, dressed in a casual outfit, catches your expression as you look at the food options. “Yeah, not feeling it either,” he says, rubbing his temple. “Let's skip it.”

You nod in agreement, both of you opting for just a coffee to stave off the worst of the hangover. With minimal conversation, you gather your belongings, checking out of the hotel and heading straight to the airport.

But one thing you definitely didn’t expect was Soonyoung falling asleep on your shoulder within the first thirty minutes of the flight. His head rested heavily against you, and his hand, seemingly by accident, was placed on your thigh. 

As he softly snored, you couldn’t help but chuckle at how comfortable he looked. Anyone passing by would probably think you two were an old married couple, so naturally attuned to each other.

His head's weight pressed down on your shoulder, a constant reminder of his presence. Every now and then, you felt him subconsciously moisturizing his lips, a small, almost imperceptible movement that somehow made the moment even more cute.

You glanced at the small TV screen in front of you, trying to focus on the movie playing. It was a romance novel adaptation, the kind with sweeping gestures and grand declarations of love.

Normally, you might have rolled your eyes at the cliché, but with Soonyoung sleeping peacefully beside you, it felt oddly fitting.

As the plane cruised through the sky, you found yourself getting lost in the storyline, occasionally glancing at Soonyoung. His breathing was steady, a gentle rhythm that added to the soothing hum of the plane. 

You shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable without disturbing him, but his hand tightened instinctively on your thigh, holding you in place. It was a small, protective gesture that made your heart flutter.

What you loved the most was when Soonyoung finally woke up, blinking sleepily and then immediately apologizing. "I'm so sorry," he repeated, his face flushed with embarrassment. You chuckled, assuring him it was okay, that he had every right to rest. He seemed genuinely mortified, even offering, “You can sleep on my shoulder too, I promise.”

You smiled at his earnestness, brushing it off with a light, “Maybe on the way back, then,” as the announcement came that you were about to land.

Once you arrived, Soonyoung was quick to grab the suitcases from the taxi, his efficiency a comfort as you made your way to the hotel's check-in counter.

The concierge’s eyes seemed to linger on you a little too long, his gaze sliding over your sundress and perhaps admiring more than just the attire. 

As you waited for the receptionist, the concierge leaned casually on the counter, offering a friendly, yet slightly flirtatious, smile.

“First time here, ma’am?” he asked, his tone smooth and inviting.

“Well, yes...” you replied, keeping your voice polite but detached. You could feel the weight of his attention and tried to subtly stretch your hand, making sure the gold ring on your finger was clearly visible.

The concierge didn’t seem to get the hint, or perhaps he chose to ignore it. “You’re in for a treat. We’ve got some wonderful spots for—”

Before he could continue, you felt Soonyoung's presence behind you, a comforting warmth at your back. His body pressed lightly against yours, a subtle yet possessive gesture that didn’t go unnoticed. His hand slipped around your waist, resting just below your belly, the touch gentle but unmistakably protective.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Everything alright?” he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity and a subtle edge.

You could almost feel the shift in the air. The concierge straightened up, his expression flickering between surprise and a polite smile. “Oh, just making sure your stay is perfect,” he said, his tone now more professional, eyes darting between you and Soonyoung.

“Thank you,” Soonyoung replied, his voice steady. His hand didn’t move from its spot on your belly, and the slight squeeze he gave was enough to send a clear message. You leaned back into him, feeling a rush of warmth at his silent claim.

The receptionist finally returned with your room keys, handing them over with a bright, “Welcome to our hotel! We hope you enjoy your stay.” With the keys in hand, you and Soonyoung made your way to the elevator.

As the doors closed, sealing you both from the world outside, you turned to Soonyoung with a smirk. “Looks like someone’s a little possessive.”

He grinned back, a playful glint in his eyes. “Just making sure everyone knows you’re taken.”

You tease him back with a playful smirk. “Well, it’s just a business marriage. You shouldn’t worry about stuff like that,” you say, your tone light and slightly mocking.

Soonyoung scoffs, turning his gaze to the side with a dramatic sigh. “You’re such an idiot,” he mocks, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“An idiot, hm?” you counter, crossing your arms with a smirk. “Well, I’m an idiot you agreed to marry, so I guess that makes you twice the fool.”

He raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Sharp tongue of yours, huh?”

You nod, feigning innocence. “What can I say? I’ve had years of practice.”

Soonyoung leans in closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, it’s a shame. I was really looking forward to giving you something special once we got to our hotel room.”

Your curiosity piques immediately. “Something special? Like what?”

He grins, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Oh, just something that’ll make you remember tonight.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to gauge his meaning. “Something that’ll make me remember tonight, huh? Care to elaborate?”

Soonyoung chuckles, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, I think you already know what I’m talking about.”

You narrow your eyes, playfully challenging him. “Do I? Because you’re being awfully vague.”

He leans back, enjoying the game. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

The teasing glint in his eyes only fuels your curiosity further. You know exactly what he’s implying, but you play along, eager to hear him say it outright.

“So,” you press, “what is it? Can you give me a hint?”

Soonyoung’s grin widens, clearly relishing the moment. “Let’s just say it’s something that’ll make you very excited. And not just because of the hotel’s decor.”

You roll your eyes, laughing softly. “Alright, alright. I get it. You’re being all mysterious.”

You sulk, trailing behind Soonyoung as he walks down the hallway toward your room. “Tell me, pleeeease,” you plead.

Soonyoung glances back at you with a mischievous smile. “Nope, not telling,” he says, his grin widening as he enjoys your insistence.

When you reach the door, Soonyoung unlocks it and pushes it open, gesturing for you to enter. You walk in, your eyes scanning the room briefly, but your focus quickly returns to Soonyoung. He places the suitcases by the door and then hops onto the bed, sprawling out with a relaxed sigh.

You stay standing by the door, your arms crossed over your chest, giving him a sulky, upset look. 

“So,” Soonyoung says with a defiant glare, “am I forgetting something?”

You pout, trying to look as curious and frustrated as possible. “You’ve got me curious,” you admit, your eyes wide.

He laughs, brushing his hand through his hair with a playful sigh. “You’re almost throwing a tantrum over this?”

Soonyoung slides his hand down his abdomen slowly, getting lower and lower, until he's wrapping his fingers around his cock through his white shorts. The outline is clear, thick, and perfectly defined against the fabric.

He gives it a little shake, a sly smile playing on his lips as he watches your reaction.

You stare at him in shock, your knees almost giving way as you take in the sight. Your mouth opens slightly, but no words come out as you struggle to process what you're seeing.

Soonyoung’s smile widens, clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on you. “Are you surprised?”

He chuckles softly, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Well, I figured it was time to give you a little hint,” he says, his hand still resting casually on his bulge. “So, do you think you’re ready to find out what else I have in store for tonight?”

You stammer, unable to look away from the outline of his cock pressed against the fabric of his shorts. “Do we have to wait until nightfall?”

Soonyoung licks his lips, his gaze never leaving you. “Oh,” he drawls, “but you have to walk properly tonight, so we can go to the restaurant.”

Your eyes darken, a fire igniting within you. “You think I can’t handle all of this inside?” 

He raises an eyebrows. “You shouldn’t,” he says, his voice dripping with devilishness. “It’s just a business wedding, after all.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Just a business wedding, huh? You really want to test me?”

Soonyoung chuckles, clearly enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “That’s right. Let’s see if you can keep your composure while we enjoy a nice dinner.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “Challenge accepted,” 

You’ve never been so turned on by someone’s mere presence before. The entire city tour was a cruel game of torture, all at Soonyoung’s hands. 

In the taxi, his hand had wandered to your nude thigh, brushing against your skin like a feather. The way his fingers lightly caressed your inner leg made your heart race and your breath catch. 

At the restaurant, the casual caresses continued. His leg pressed against yours under the table, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

The warmth of his skin against yours, the way he would occasionally let his knee slide up your thigh—each movement was like an electric current surging through you, leaving you squirming in your seat.

Walking through the jewelry fair was an exercise in restraint. As you admired the sparkling displays, Soonyoung’s hands kept drifting to the exposed skin of your back. His touch was light, almost playful, but each graze against your bare skin made you shiver with need. 

You could barely focus on the dazzling jewels in front of you; your mind was consumed with the need for him.

By the time you were back in the elevator, you felt like you were on the edge of losing control. You could feel his eyes on you, sharp and hungry, as you pressed yourself against the wall. 

You turned your face away, but you couldn’t hide the truth from him. Your nipples, straining against your dress, betrayed your arousal. Your legs, pressed tightly together, were a clear sign of your desperation. Even your unsteady breaths gave you away.

When you finally arrived at the hotel room, you barely made it inside before your desperation took over. 

You throw him against the wall, hands planted firmly on his chest. The sound reverberates through the room, probably making the neighbors wonder what the hell is going on. His usually small eyes are wide, staring at you flaggerblasted. 

Your breath mingles with his as you lean in, letting your lips barely graze his. Your voice comes out breathy, almost desperate, “Please. Stop teasing me.”

For a moment, he's stunned, caught off guard by the whininess in your voice and the look on your face—like you might break if he doesn't give you what you need right now.

It's a twisted scenario, considering you're his childhood friend turned wife is standing before him with an expression that borders on agony—an agony only he can alleviate.

For a moment, he looks like he might laugh, but he knows he's on the verge of losing all sense of control, but a part of him relishes the idea. 

“Say it again,” he murmurs. He knows he's playing with fire, but he can't resist the thrill. His lips barely brush against yours, teasing, taunting.

“Soonyoung, I'm going to fucking cry if you don't—”

“Hold it,” he commands,you shudder, your breath hitching as he lifts your dress. And you comply, bunching the fabric in your fists to keep it out of the way. 

His hand slides down the front of your panties, and your head falls back. 

Soonyoung leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear. “You’re so fucking impatient,” he growls. 

His fingers slide through your slick folds, finding you wet and wanting, throbbing everytime he rubs his fat fingers on you. “You’ve never even tasted my cock, and you’re already obsessed, huh?” He presses his thumb against your clit, making you gasp. “You’re such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You whimper, your hips bucking against his hand. You can barely think straight. “Please, Soonyoung,” you beg again, your voice cracking.

He chuckles darkly, clearly relishing your desperation. “You want my cock so bad, don't you?” His fingers slide inside you, curling just right, and you cry out. “You want me to fuck you senseless? Make you scream my name?”

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper. The words spill out of you, unfiltered and raw. “I want you to ruin me.”

“You’ve never had anyone fill you up like I will,” he says. “I’m gonna stretch you out so good, baby. You’ll be begging for more, even when you can’t take it.”

The dirty talk, the sheer vulgarity of his words, makes you even wetter. You feel like you're on the verge of losing control, and it's rousing. 

Soonyoung's fingers pump in and out of you, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge. His thumb rubs relentless circles on your clit, and you can feel the tension building, winding tighter and tighter.

“You’re gonna cum on my fingers first,” he whispers. “And then I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk straight for days. Is that what you want, baby? To be fucked so good, you can’t even think about anything else?”

“Yes, yes, please,” you pant, your voice high and desperate. You can feel the orgasm building, Soonyoung's touch is all-consuming, driving you wild with every stroke.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs.“So eager to please. I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

Here and there, Soonyoung is driving you insane with his body affixed to the wall, one strong arm holding your leg up. His wrist swiveling to match his fingers as they explore your weeping cunt and his repetitive rubbing of the areas that cause you to roll your eyes. 

You cry out, gasping as you roll your hips onto his fingers, the orgasm making you forget what would be appropriate at the time. Soonyoung's fingers work you through it, drawing out every last drop of you.

As you come down from the high, you realize you're still clinging to him, fingers deep on his muscular shoulders, your breaths coming in hiccups. Soonyoung pulls his fingers out of you, and you feel a pang of loss.

Your legs feel like jelly, and you can barely stand. Soonyoung catches you, pulling you close. 

Soonyoung's eyes rake over you, his smirk widening as he takes in the sight of your trembling legs. “You're trembling,” he chuckle. His gaze drops to the slick mess between your thighs, and he bites his lip, clearly reveling in the sight. “Better than this... you're literally dripping,” appreciating. 

He lets your leg down, holding you firmly as he guides you back onto the bed. The plush mattress sinks under your weight.

“God forgive me,” he continues, “but if our mothers weren't in that dressing room that day, I would've fucked you right there in the store. With that princess veil of yours... I would've pinned you against the mirror and made you scream my name.”

Your mouth falls open. The image of him taking you into that bridal shop, surrounded by white lace and satin, ​​hitting you like a punch to the gut.

You're not sure what shocks you more: his bold declaration or the way your body reacts to it, growing wetter with every word.

He smirks at your reaction.

“What's the matter, princess? Cat got your tongue?" He teases. His fingers slip under the waistband of your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs. “Or are you just too turned on to speak?"

He's right; you're completely at his mercy, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a response.

He strips off his shirt, revealing the sculpted lines of his torso, then shucks off his shorts. His erection strains against the fabric of his boxers, and he groans, closing his eyes and tilting his head back as he palms himself.

“I could've fucked you on that altar,” he visualize. "In front of all those guests. Just to show everyone that no matter how arranged this marriage was, you're mine. No one else's.”

He opens his eyes, locking onto yours. “I would've spread you open right there, had you screaming my name, showing them all who you belong to."

His dirty words, the way he claims you with every syllable, makes your head spin.

Soonyoung's hand moves over his bulge, his eyes never leaving yours. “You don't even know how much I've wanted you,” he hisses. “How much I want to fuck you senseless, make you mine in every way.”

He leans over you, his breath hot against your ear. “And tonight, I'm going to do just that. I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll forget about everyone else. Just me, and this cock inside you, filling you up until you can't think straight.”

You squirm, your body responding to his filthy promises. You can't tear your eyes away from him, your mind racing with the possibilities of what the night holds. 

Soonyoung's fingers brush against the hem of your dress, and you shudder at the contact. “Take it off,” he orders, his voice rough. “I want you naked, spread out on this bed, ready for me.” His eyes bore into yours, and you know he's not just asking—he's demanding. 

You slip your dress over your head, tossing it aside as you finally catch sight of Soonyoung completely naked. His hand moves over his erection, the cockhead glistening with precum. The sight makes you lick your lips.

“Can you—” he starts to ask, but you cut him off, not needing him to finish.

“Yes!” you nearly moan. His eyes darken, a smirk playing on his lips as you drop to your knees in front of him.

You take a moment to appreciate the sight before you. His cock is thick and veined, the head an angry red, glossy with precum. You can almost taste it just from looking.

Tentatively, you lean in and press a soft kiss to the tip, tasting the salty precum on your tongue. It's musky and slightly bitter, but it makes you want to choke on this cock. You swirl your tongue around the head, savoring the taste and the way his breath hitches above you.

Soonyoung's hand tangles in your hair, guiding you closer. “Yes, baby,” he groans, his voice thick with need. “Just like that.”

Encouraged by his reaction, you take him deeper into your mouth, your lips stretching around his girth. The texture of his cock is smooth yet rigid, the veins pulsating against your tongue. You hollow your cheeks, creating a tight seal as you bob your head, taking more of him with each movement.

His hips jerk forward involuntarily, and you hear a strangled moan escape his lips. “Shit, that feels so good,” he pants, his grip on your hair tightening. You look up at him through your lashes, your eyes meeting his. The sight of him looking down at you, his face twisted in pleasure, spurs you on.

You slide your hand up his thigh, wrapping it around the base of his cock to stroke what you can't fit in your mouth. Your other hand cups his balls, gently massaging them as you continue to suck him. 

You hum around his length, sending vibrations through him. He shudders, a deep groan rumbling from his chest. “You're so fucking good at this,” he praises, his voice breathless. “So eager, so perfect.”

You moan around his cock at the praise. You take him deeper, pushing your limits as you feel him hit the back of your throat. You gag slightly but push through, wanting to please him, wanting to show him how much you want this.

“Y/N,” he gasps, his hips bucking forward again. “You're going to make me cum if you keep doing that.”His voice is strained, you don't know if he's warning you or if he's desperate.

You don't let up, doubling your efforts. You suck harder, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head every time you pull back. Your hand continues to pump the base of his cock, matching the rhythm of your mouth. You can feel him throbbing, his cock pulsing with need.

Soonyoung's moans grow louder, more desperate. His breaths come in uneven pants, his body tense with the need for release. “Fuck, Y/N, I'm so close,” he warns, his voice breaking.

You look up at him, your eyes locking with his as you take him even deeper. You want to see him come undone, to watch him lose control because of you. You feel his cock twitch in your mouth, and with one last swirl of your tongue, he lets out a choked moan.

He comes hard, his hips jerking as he spills into your mouth. The taste of his release floods your senses, warm and salty. You swallow every drop, savoring the way he trembles above you. His hand in your hair tightens, holding you in place as he rides out his orgasm.

His hand gently strokes your hair after, a contrast to the rough grip from moments before. You pull back, licking your lips and savoring the last taste of him.

He lifts you up effortlessly, his lips crashing into yours. He doesn't care that his cock was just in your mouth seconds ago or that his cum lingers on your tongue. The taste of himself on your lips makes him moan, the sound vibrating between you.

After a moment, he pulls back, one hand wrapping around your throat, not tight but firm enough to make you feel his presence. His eyes bore into yours, as he licks his sensitive lips.

“You were sucking me so good,” he rasps, “that I almost said ‘I love you’.” 

A laugh bursts out of you, hearty and genuine, and he watches you with a smirk. 

“I swear,” he continues, his tone playful. “if I'd known marrying you would come with benefits like this, I would've done it way sooner.” “I feel like I owe you something after that blowjob,” he says, his voice dropping into a deeper, more sultry tone.

You bite your lip, a dirty thought flashing through your mind, and Soonyoung picks up on it immediately. Soonyoung's gaze narrows, reading the filth in your expression

“What is it? What do you want?” he asks excitedly.

“Can you fuck me… doggy style?” you ask.

“Yes, I can,” The corners of his mouth twitch, barely holding back a grin.

You look up, pretending to be lost in thought, then say, “Can you fuck me in missionary?”

He nods again, biting his lip, his grip on your throat tightening just a little.

“Can you fuck me inside… the shower?” 

He presses you tightly against him, his hand gripping your waist possessively, but your gaze still eating him whole. 

“I can fuck you upside down, sideways, any way you want, baby,” he answers, his voice steady and confident. “Just say the word, and I'll make it happen.”

You moan in response. Too early to say that you're already dumb for his cock?

“Get on all fours and lift that pretty ass for me.”

As you crawl up the bed, you make sure to put on a show. You arch your back, lifting your ass higher, giving Soonyoung the view he wants. You wiggle it a little, teasing him. 

The motion makes your pussy lips part slightly, already slick and ready for him. You can feel his eyes on you, burning with thirst. Without warning, his hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp sting making you gasp. You let out a yelp. You know that mark will be there tomorrow, like a postmark, like a stamp, like a reminder of this moment, and the thought makes you even wetter.

He moves behind you, the bed dipping under his weight. You feel his hands on your hips, gripping you firmly as he positions himself. You can't help but push back against him, seeking more contact.

“So fucking perfect,” he mutters, running his hands over the curves of your ass, squeezing the flesh and kneading it roughly. He spreads you open, taking in the sight of your wetness.  “Look at how ready you are for me. You're dripping, baby.”

You moan, pushing back against him, desperate for more. “Please, Soonyoung, I need you.”

“Fuck, you sound so desperate,” he taunts, positioning himself behind you. His cock slides against your folds, teasing you, making you whimper. “Beg for it. Beg for my cock.”

“Please, Soonyoung, fuck me,” you whine. “I need your cock inside me, please. I can’t wait any longer.”

He doesn't tease, doesn't make you wait any longer. He thrusts in with one hard, deep stroke, filling you completely. The sudden intrusion makes you cry out, a slight discomfort as your walls stretch around him. But it makes your toes curl. 

“God, you’re so tight,” he groans, gripping your hips as he starts to move. “So fucking tight and wet for me. You feel that? That’s my cock stretching your pussy.”

You moan loudly, the pleasure building with each thrust. “Yes, Soonyoung, I feel it. It feels so good. Fuck me harder.”

He picks up the pace, his hips snapping against yours, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. He reaches around, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in tight, fast circles. The sudden burst of pleasure makes you gasp, your body jolting.

He pulls back slowly, only to slam back in, setting a rough, punishing rhythm, making you roll your eyes back.

He's so deep, hitting spots you didn't even know existed. Each thrust makes you see stars, and you can't help but moan loudly, not caring if the entire hotel hears you. The stretch, the fullness, it's all so overwhelming, so fucking good.

“Come on,” he urges, voice a low growl. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you squeeze this cock.”

It's all too much. The feel of his cock, his fingers on your clit, the dirty words spilling from his lips—it all sends you over the edge. The second orgasm of the night making you feel already exhausted. Your voice hoarse, as you feel yourself sloppier between your legs. 

There's no mercy in his movements; he's fucking you through your high, pushing you beyond your limits. Each time he hits your cervix, a sharp jolt of pleasure-pain ripples through you, making your arms tremble uncontrollably.

You try to hold yourself up, but your strength falters. With a soft cry, your arms give out, and your chest falls against the bed. Soonyoung lets out a low chuckle, a smug grin spreading across his face as he watches you crumble beneath him. Even with your body slack, you're impossibly tight around him, your pussy squeezing him like a vice. 

Soonyoung’s hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he continues to pound into you from behind. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, stretching you, making your walls clench involuntarily around him. 

He leans over you, his breath hot against your ear, and you can hear the pride in his voice as he coos, “Aww, look at you. So fucking helpless, so fucking wrecked. You can’t even hold yourself up, can you?” 

You can barely muster a response, a breathy whimper escaping your lips as you feel the tears start to stream down your cheeks. It’s an almost incredulous feeling, the tears mixing with the sweat on your face. 

You’ve never been fucked like this before, never been pushed to the brink and then beyond, your body betraying you as it trembles under his control. It’s a raw, visceral experience that leaves you gasping for air, your mind a hazy blur of feel.

Soonyoung notices the tears, and his smirk grows wider. “Look at you, crying for me,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “Is it too much, baby? Too fucking good? Love being fucked so hard you can’t even think straight?” 

His hand moves from your hip to your hair, tangling his fingers in it and pulling your head back, forcing you to arch your back even more. The angle shifts, and he hits that perfect spot inside you, making you moan loudly, your voice cracking with the intensity of it all.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, his hips snapping forward with even more force. “God, you’re squeezing me so fucking hard. It’s like your pussy doesn’t want to let me go.” He punctuates his words with deep, hard thrusts that leave you reeling, each one sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through your body.

“So pretty when you cry,” he continues, his tone almost taunting. “I could do this all day, just watch you fall apart on my cock” His words are filthy, degrading, but they ignite something inside you, a desperate need for more. 

The way he speaks to you, the way he claims you with each word and each thrust, is addictive.

You can’t hold back your sobs. “Please,” you manage to choke out, not even sure what you’re begging for anymore. 

More, less, anything—just something to ease the dizzying sensation coursing through you.

He laughs softly, a dark, knowing sound that makes your skin prickle. “Please what, baby? You want me to stop? You want me to fuck you harder?” 

He pulls out almost completely, the emptiness leaving you gasping, and then slams back in with a force that makes your whole body jolt.

“You’re so fucking greedy. Can’t get enough, can you? You want this cock to ruin you, want me to fuck you so good you’ll feel it for days.”

All you can do is moan and sob, your body shuddering with each thrust as he pounds into you. The bed creaks under the force of his movements, it’s dirty, raw, and utterly nasty.

“Gonna make you cum again,” he murmurs, his voice a dark promise. 

And as you feel the tension building inside you again, that familiar coil of pleasure tightening in your belly—you know he’s right.

He lays you gently on the bed, your back sinking into the mattress. Your face, flushed and glistening with sweat, looks completely wrecked, completely exhausted. Soonyoung feels a brief flicker of pity, but it quickly dissipates as you babble out your dirty words, barely coherent but dripping with need. “Please... Soonyoung... more, need you so bad... fuck…”

He smirks, spreading your wobbly legs apart, exposing the slick, swollen mess between them. “You can barely form a sentence, and yet you still want more.”

He slides his cock back inside you, stretching you open once more. 

Soonyoung's thumb finds your clit again, and he begins to work it in slow, light-touch circles. The sensation is maddening, a delicious contrast to the deep, methodical thrusts of his cock. 

He watches your face intently, drinking in every expression, every gasp and whimper."That's it, baby," he coos. “Let me see that pretty face when you cum.”

You can barely keep your eyes open, your body overly sensitive from the previous orgasms, but he doesn't let up.

His other hand moves to your chest, fondling your breast, his fingers pinching and rolling your nipple before sliding up to wrap around your throat. This time, the grip is firm, real, and you can feel the delicious pressure as he chokes you just enough to make your head spin.

He leans in closer, his eyes never leaving your face. 

You cling to him, your arms wrapping tightly around his body, pulling him closer as if you could merge with him, become one. The scent of sweat and skin mingling in the air—it all consumes you. 

Your body is trembling, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core, a white-hot band of pressure that threatens to snap. Soonyoung's moans are louder now, but they seem distant, like they're coming from underwater, muffled by the roaring in your ears.

His pace quickens, and you feel yourself losing control, your mind slipping away from the physical world. The room, the bed, even Soonyoung—all of it fades into the background. 

There's only the blinding, all-encompassing pleasure that fills every nerve, every cell in your body. It's like being pulled under a wave, the sensation crashing over you with a force that's almost violent.

Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, and you can feel the muscles in your abdomen clenching, the buildup to your orgasm reaching its peak.

And then, it hits. The climax rips through you, a white-hot explosion that leaves you gasping, the world narrowing down to the blinding sensation of pure, unadulterated pleasure. 

Your back arches off the bed, your mouth opening in a silent scream as your vision goes white. The intensity is mind-numbing, erasing everything else from your mind except the overwhelming euphoria that pulses through you.

Your body shakes with the force of it, your legs quivering, toes curling as the pleasure radiates outward from your core. You can feel the slickness between your thighs, the way your walls flutter and squeeze around Soonyoung, pulling him deeper inside you. 

Soonyoung's name falls from your lips in a choked sob, your voice hoarse and trembling. 

You slowly come back to reality, feeling the weight of Soonyoung's body on top of you, his cum warm and sticky between your bellies.

Soonyoung pants loudly, trying to catch his breath. He lifts his head slightly to look at you, concern flickering in his eyes despite the satisfied smile on his lips. “You okay, wifey?” he asks.

You manage a weak smile, still feeling the aftershocks of your intense orgasm. “I’m okay, hubby,”

His smile widens, and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmurs. “You were amazing.”

You chuckle softly, the sound a bit strained. “You weren’t too bad yourself,” you tease, your hand coming up to rest on his back, feeling the muscles still taut from effort.

He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against your own. “Glad I could satisfy my wife on our first night together,” 

“Think we should clean up?” Soonyoung asks after a while.

“Probably,” you agree, though neither of you makes a move to get up just yet. You’re too content, too wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of each other’s presence.

Eventually, with a reluctant sigh, Soonyoung shifts, carefully pulling away from you. The cool air hits your skin, making you shiver slightly. He helps you sit up, his hands gentle and supportive as you both make your way to the bathroom.

The weight of the wedding ring on your finger feels heavier now, more symbolic than ever. It’s not just a piece of jewelry; it’s a constant reminder of the commitment you’ve made and the life you’re building together.

Soonyoung, despite his own exhaustion, is kneeling beside the tub, gently washing you. His focused expression as he works to make sure you’re clean and comfortable. The sight of him, so dedicated and caring, makes your heart swell.

You feel a pang of guilt as you see the tiredness etched on his face, a reminder of how much he’s given for you, both physically and emotionally. Your legs, still trembling from the aftermath of the passion, had given up on you, leaving you reliant on him. The thought of him taking care of you, even in his weariness, makes you feel both grateful and a bit ashamed.

“Hey,” you say softly, reaching out to gently touch his arm. “You don’t have to do this. I can manage on my own.”

Soonyoung looks up at you, his eyes softening as he smiles. “I want to,” he says quietly. “You took care of me earlier, and now it’s my turn to take care of you. Besides, it’s kind of nice, being able to do this for you.”

You look him in the eye and sense the truth in his words. His warm, comforting smile belies the weariness that is evident in the lines on his face. 

[...]

As you and Soonyoung lie together in bed, the room is quiet except for the soft rustling of the sheets and the occasional sigh from either of you. The memories of what just happened still lingers in the air, making both of you feel a bit shy and stunned.

As Soonyoung lays his head on your chest, you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. He sighs contentedly, his fingers lightly tracing patterns around your breast. 

“So,” he begins, his voice tinged with both surprise and a hint of playfulness, “when I hinted at what I wanted, I honestly didn’t think you'd go for it. I was kind of... hoping, but also preparing for a rejection.”

You chuckle softly, your fingers running through his hair. “Oh really? And why not?”

“Well, for one, you’re ridiculously hot. I didn’t think you’d be that into it right off the bat.”

You giggle, feeling a rush of confidence. “Oh, come on. Why wouldn’t I? You’re hot, and let’s be honest, you knew exactly what you were doing.”

“Damn, so you think I’m hot, huh? And here I was thinking I’d have to put in a little more effort.” He rises to look at you, but you make him lay again, your cheeks flushed.

“I can’t believe we managed to go from ‘I do’ to ‘Let’s fuck’ in just a few days. We really don’t waste any time, do we?” You say, grinning. 

“Yeah, I guess I underestimated how much I’d resist you, but I knew I was in trouble from the moment we got married… I thought I’d be a strong soldier, holding out a bit longer.”

He hums thinking. 

“I’m surprised I managed to hold out for as long as I did.” he finishes.

You raise an eyebrow, a naughty smile playing on your lips. "Well, I guess you’re not as disciplined as you thought. Seems like you fell for me quicker than you’d like to admit.”

Soonyoung’s eyes sparkle. “You’ve got me completely hooked.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, your hand resting on his cheek. “Poor soldier. Captured by the enemy and all. What will you do now?”

He leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a tender kiss. "I guess I’ll just have to surrender to you completely.”

“Even the strongest can fall. And let’s be real, I’m pretty good at making sure my soldiers surrender.” You shrugged, smirking. 

He bursts into laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn, you really know how to make a guy feel like a total pushover.”

“I plan on keeping you hooked, you know—well, at least until the next time we have a ‘conversation’ like tonight."

“Well, if this is what marriage looks like, I think I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.”

[charmedreincarnation]

MAYA, I MANIFESTED MY DREAM LIFE!!!!

Okay, I don't know if you remember me, but I participated in a lot of your challenges and the Pink’s challenge, and I found some success! I shifted to my wr and manifested some things, but I could never do it consistently, and it was really fucking annoying.

So, I took three months off and worked hard, using subliminals every day and going on affirmation rampages. I was doing lucid dreaming methods, SATs, meditations, yoga nidra, reading spiritual books literally my whole summer was dedicated to shifting and the void state. I was eat sleeping and breathing it because I could not continue to live the way I was even I can even consider that living …

So What did I do

I just followed your challenge because college was starting, and I couldn't go back to school without my dream life for the fourth time, fearing I might actually harm myself. So played the fields with this rampage (together in two different tabs).

During the Day

https://youtu.be/aLsn6ZK4RZ8?si=Dt_j7ChLjNsQ6tpV

https://youtu.be/gBD4Owz1GC0?si=icOkN1DoFsqP-adT

During the day, I would live in the end. I created albums for my desired realities, re-read my scripts, revised my void list because I genuinely believed I was going to succeed, watched supercell shifting videos on YouTube, and stared at my vision board, realizing it was going to be my life the next day, and more!

Overnight

https://youtu.be/JwV297pP9aw?si=Sxx-xlhE_owInoxH

https://youtu.be/DKB5I9y8SEg?si=PI-UaNw2m_VUWYy1

What I Manifested

- Master shifting abilities

- Master void state abilities

- Having my WR to be a perfect heaven

- Making this current reality a dream: desired looks, desired body, never gaining weight, revised wealth and family, dream friend group, a social media following, being worshipped and respected, being so beautiful by my own standards, dream home (I have a mountain range that goes through my backyard and a farm on my land, it’s enormous), revised city, only attracting wealthy, tall, attractive men, pretty privilege, 145 IQ, going to an Ivy League, getting rid of my anxiety and depression, getting rid of my health issues, no toxic family, so much money, and revised my name to Bella because I love Bella Hadid (my old name was Audrey), and so much more.

I know it sounds nothing too crazy compared to other people who manifest powers and trillions of dollars, but I can shift anytime I want. I’m going to my singing desired reality and high school musical Dr soon and I am so excited I have hundreds of places to explore. My life here finally has stability, and I’m so happy. Not waking up with stress, nausea, and diarrhea is a blessing. My house is clean, my family members aren’t fighting and calling me names, my siblings and I are close. I audibly gasp anytime I see myself in the mirror. My phone is always blowing up with people asking me for plans when it used to be dry as hell, and people forgot I even existed. Everywhere I go, people tell me I should model, want to pay for what I’m buying, are so kind, open doors for me, want to help me for no reason, give me discounts, ask me on dates… I’m so happy and confused. I don’t know how to feel. I am genuinely so loved and respected, and on top of that, I get to explore the universe of my favorite shows and movies.

I’m so glad I never gave up, even though these three months were hard and my life had gotten worse, I am finally free, my hard work paid off, and I hope everyone else will do the same. We truly are God! I was afraid this community was some big joke and big bloggers were creative writers or just laughing at delusional people like me, but I can confirm it’s very, very real.

My love I am so proud of you ! And yes I vaguely remember you and your first shift you messaged me about :)!

I am happy your hard work paid off as well. I remember when everything seemed so meaningless and delusional as well and I also thought shifting was some big joke to target mentally ill teens, but the reality is we truly are all god and no amount of doubt and struggle will ever change that truth. I hope you enjoy your dream life, and I am happy I could help 💖

[saintobio]

blank canvas: the epilogue.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. past lovers, angst, opposites attract

tags/warnings. mentions of toxic relationships, purple hearts-ish themes, maybe some heartache

notes. 2.4k wc. i said it’ll come in a few days, but i had free time so here it issss!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

TWO YEARS LATER

Tonight was Yuki and Choso’s going-away party. 

Their decision to migrate to another side of the world was because Yuki had always talked about wanting to live abroad, and so when Choso was offered a once-in-a-lifetime job opportunity in another country, it became the perfect chance for them to make that dream a reality.

So despite your apprehensions, you couldn’t miss the chance to see Yuki one last time and accepted her invitation to the party.

The evening was alive with laughter and chatter as their families and friends gathered to celebrate their bittersweet departure. Among the crowd, you spotted some familiar faces who exchanged greetings with the couple, as well as some strangers you had never seen before.

But one person was conspicuously absent. 

It had been two years since you had seen Sukuna, and the thought of potentially running into him again filled you with a strange mix of anticipation and dread. However, deep down, you knew he wouldn’t be there. There was no chance of him ever showing up because you hadn’t heard from him since that fateful night. The apartment you once shared together now housed a new tenant, and the tattoo shop across the street had transformed into a record store. Neither Yuki, nor Choso (even Yuuji), had mentioned anything about Sukuna since then, possibly avoiding any mentions of him to you out of his request. He had simply disappeared, evaporated from existence, leaving behind nothing but a fading memory.

As you scanned the room with a forlorn smile, your thoughts were interrupted by Yuki’s cheerful voice. “Y/N! So glad you could make it! I thought you weren’t gonna come, too.”

Your first instinct was to hug her tightly. “Of course, not! You know I can’t not see you before you go.”

“Aww.” She embraced you tighter before pulling away with a sad smile. “I’m gonna miss you so much. You’re like a little sister to me.” 

Indeed, and she was the big sister you never had. Things would feel different without her here, but you supported her decisions and would always wish her the best in her future endeavors. So, despite the distance you two would soon have, you gave her a reassuring pat on the back. “We can still keep in touch. And maybe, I’ll pay you a visit there, too.” 

“Honestly, I would love that!” she enthused, “Please do, even if I have to harass Getou and Gojou about it.” 

You chuckled as she mentioned the duo’s name and spent the next few minutes with you chatting for a bit, catching up with your life, talking about your future plans. It was amazing how much can change in two years, and how some things can also stay the same. Like your friendship. And this bond that you would never find with anyone else.

For now, the night was still young, and you knew Yuki still had many more guests to accommodate, so you didn’t want to take all of her time. Eventually she did excuse herself to greet more guests, and you found yourself standing by the kitchen island, absentmindedly stirring your cocktail.

As you stood in the corner of the room, surrounded by the chatter and laughter of the party, you felt a sudden jolt run through your body as loud voices boomed across the room. They were Yuuji and Choso’s exuberant greetings cutting through the air, drawing everyone’s attention, including yours.

“Nii-san!”

“There he goes, Mr. First Lieutenant!” 

Your eyes widened as you saw the figure they were addressing with playful salute—a man in a crisp military uniform, standing tall and confident. It took you a moment to recognize him, but when you did, your heart skipped a beat.

It was Sukuna.

He looked different, transformed almost, his demeanor more composed, his smile softer yet still retaining the undeniable aura of masculinity. He looked a lot more muscular than the last you remembered. His hair, now dyed back to its natural color, was neatly trimmed. You recognized that the uniform he wore was of the Japan Self-Defense Forces, adorned with badges and insignias that spoke of his achievements. The reckless, wild look in his eyes had been replaced by something steadier, more focused.

It wasn’t just the sight of him that made your heart skip a beat—it was how different he looked. 

“That’s so cool!” Yuuji raved about his older brother’s badges, his starry eyes genuinely intrigued at the sight of Sukuna in a uniform. 

Choso, on the other hand, was pulling him in a hug in an emotional jest. “Dammit. You said you couldn’t make it!” 

“Don’t cry now,” Sukuna teased, patting the younger brother’s back. He seemed to be genuinely having fun teasing his brothers. “Had to pull some strings. I was on duty, but do ‘ya think I’d let you go without seeing you?” 

You felt a pang of nostalgia in their interaction, but also recognized the visible difference in the way your ex-boyfriend spoke to others. He was genuinely happy. He was all smiles. He was the healthiest version of himself, both physically and emotionally.

It was clear to you that Sukuna had turned his life around, and it was evident that he was doing well in his field of work. The man you once knew, who had been consumed by his reckless way of life, was now standing tall and respected as an honorable member of the military.

When you said you had never met Sukuna again in your lifetime, that was true. Because the Sukuna you knew was no longer here. It was an entirely different man, changed for the better, just not for you. 

As if sensing your gaze, Sukuna turned and your eyes mirrored each other’s surprise. For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, as if you were characters in a movie screen seeing each other for the very first time. It was as though your eyes were the camera, and he was the actor. You could say you were starstruck, your heart thumping so loud that you could hear it vibrate through your ears. 

Two freaking years, and Sukuna still had that effect on you. 

You didn’t know what to do. You found yourself at a loss, the red cup in your hand now shaking from the sudden surge of anxiety. Your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, a kaleidoscope of heavy emotions, a tornado of nostalgic bliss, leaving you feeling adrift in a sea of memories. 

You wondered if Sukuna hated having to see you here. And if so, should you leave to spare yourself—or perhaps him—from any potential discomfort?

Caught in this internal struggle, you felt paralyzed, uncertain of what to do next. But then, you saw a flicker of recognition and regret in his eyes. 

Before you could even contemplate your next move, Sukuna was already excusing himself from his brothers. Their knowing looks exchanged in silence spoke volumes, indicating they were aware of where he was headed. The realization then hit you like a wave. Sukuna, your ex-boyfriend of two years, was coming toward you, and you were suddenly faced with a decision between confronting the past or making a quick escape.

“Y/N,” he greeted with a boyish grin, his voice deeper, more controlled. The bad boy persona he used to carry was completely gone. 

“Sukuna,” you replied, struggling to keep your voice steady, a complete opposite from his confidence.

There was a moment of awkward silence before he spoke again. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” you meekly replied, clearing your throat and gesturing to his uniform, “You, too. Military suits you. I never saw that coming.”

He smiled in agreement, seemingly happy about his current appearance. You had never seen this kind of bliss from him before, like he was filled with content and a sense of self-worth. He was proud, and truth be told, you were, too. 

“It’s been a good change. It gave me structure, purpose,” he paused, taking a red cup from the kitchen island nearby, “I finally got something ‘better’ to do with my life, huh?”

You smiled softly, not missing the implication of his last statement. “I’m happy for you. Really.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” 

“Mhmm.” 

The minutes that followed were some of the most agonizing of your life, not because of Sukuna, but because of the overwhelming awkwardness that enveloped the two of you. It felt as though you had nothing else to discuss, knowing full well that delving into your shared past was a territory you could never comfortably navigate. However, Sukuna, always the more vocal one in your relationship, had finally broken the silence.

“Do you…” he began, leaving you on edge, anticipating his question, “Do you wanna get some fresh air outside?” 

Right. And with a smile, you nodded. “Sure.” 

— —

You were grateful for the opportunity to escape the stifling atmosphere of the party and find some solace in the cool night air. Both of you were at the front porch, sitting over the pavement talking about anything but your past. 

Sukuna excitedly talked about his time in the military, where you learned that he had enlisted two years ago and joined the army. After enlisting, he quickly excelled in the rigorous training required for the Special Operations Group (SOG). It didn’t surprise you that his physical prowess, sharp intellect, and determination made him a standout candidate.

“I actually completed advanced courses in counter-terrorism, reconnaissance, and combat survival,” he shared, his gaze set on the clear starry night above you. “Oh, and last month, I was deployed on a high-stake mission overseas. We extracted hostages from a conflict zone. Remember the action movies we used to watch? It was exactly like that. It was fun, thrilling.” 

You listened intently, an elbow propped on your leg as you absorbed the enthusiasm in his stories. Pride and joy swelled in your heart as you heard him talk about something he was passionate about, because it was a stark contrast to the old Sukuna who wouldn’t have shown interest in these things. And this time around, you felt like you were infatuated again, but with the new him. 

“I’m really proud of you.” Longingness dripping from your voice. “Very proud. And you’re First Lieutenant, too? Wow.” 

The compliment seemingly made him blush, a sight so rare to see that you haven’t seen it throughout your relationship. “I wanted to become a better man.” 

You felt a squeeze in your heart. You recalled the words he said that night at the parking lot, of him telling you that he had his own insecurities, too. That he knew all along that your uncertainties about him were rooting from his way of life. That he was aware that he couldn’t give you the life you deserved. 

“Y/N.” Your name rolled off his tongue in an affectionate manner. He soon rose from his seat, prompting you to follow suit, before turning to face you. “I forgot to mention.”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

His smile was sweet and genuine. “I’m engaged now.”

Oh.

Of course. 

What did you expect?

His words settled in your heart like a suffocating shroud. Despite the ache in your chest, you managed a polite nod, concealing the storm of emotions swirling inside you. But you couldn’t contain it—the damn tears that pooled in your eyes. Please, not now. You turned away, hoping to shield your reaction from him.

But it was all too late. 

He was already pulling you into an embrace, the familiarity in his warmth only making you weaker inside. “You are and will always be my greatest love,” he whispered into your ear, pressing his lips against your temple, “And also my biggest regret.”

Damn it. You covered your face with your hands, feeling ashamed of the tears streaming down your cheeks. What an absurd twist of fate. You could have gone about your day without encountering him again, yet here you were, shedding tears over the same man who had broken your heart two years ago.

“When I say regret,” he continued, cupping your cheeks and smiling at you lovingly. He ran his thumb across your cheeks, wiping your tears away. “I meant regret of not being that man for you. I didn’t treat you the way you deserved, or respected your boundaries like I thought I did.” Sukuna’s charm had you holding your breath still, too enamored by his beauty under the moonlight. He used to be a man of a few words, and now he didn’t shy away from pouring out his raw emotions. “I’m sorry I was two years too late. I’m sorry I had to let you go and be with someone else. But you and I know that it’s for the best.”

You weren’t crying because you wanted to get back together with him. You weren’t crying because he had promised marriage to someone else. You were crying because it felt like he was the one who slipped through your fingers, the one that got away, the one who could have been your forever if circumstances had aligned differently. It was the regret of a lost possibility, the ache of knowing that in another universe, you and him could have shared a lifetime together, untouched by the mistakes of the past.

He had dreams of making you his wife, dreams of having your children, dreams of growing old with you.

But the old Sukuna was dead, replaced by the new Sukuna who was happy and free from love’s toxicity. You realized it was time to let go. Time to bury the past and instead celebrate the future. 

“Congratulations on the engagement,” you offered your well wishes, pulling away slightly to meet his gaze with your tear-filled eyes. “I hope she doesn’t find you a handful.”

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “No, no. I have to behave or else I’m a dead man,” he joked. “She's in the army, too.”

“Well, I’m glad you met her, Sukuna. You deserve it,” you said, your voice filled with genuine warmth as you wiped your lachrymose eyes. 

Gratitude and comfort shone in his gaze. “And I’m glad you found your peace, Y/N. You always deserved better.”

You smiled in appreciation of his words as he helped you dust off your pants. Just then, your phone buzzed in your pocket, briefly taking your attention away from the current scene. “Uh, I think I need to go,” you hesitated, glancing back at the house. “But I think Yuki’s pretty busy.”

“It’s fine,” he assured. “Do you want me to call you a cab or?”

“No, it’s okay,” you replied, shooting him a grateful expression. “Satoru’s on his way to pick me up.”

He nodded, smiling. “Cool.” You were surprised when he offered his hand, a gesture to finally close whatever remained between you two. “It was nice seeing you, Y/N.”

You shook his hand and gave him a playful salute. “Likewise, First Lieutenant Ryomen Sukuna.”

As he returned to the party, immediately attacked by his friends, there was no hint of yearning or longing in him, as if the poignant exchange with his ex-girlfriend had never occurred. He was back in the scene in a fluid motion, laughing, catching up with his loved ones, telling stories about his life. No heartbreaks, no painful memories.

While as you stood there, knowing you had shared respect and love for each other, you were happy that there was a sense of closure in seeing Sukuna as the man he had become. You had both grown, both changed, and in that moment, you knew that your story, though painful, had led you two to where you needed to be. 

That your love’s canvas, once blank, now held colors to complete the portrait.

[checkeredflagggs]

Winner’s Circle

pairing: max verstappen x driver!reader x charles leclerc

summary: max, charles, and y/n are the stars of redbull, ferrari, and aston martin (and their relationship is the star of the internet)

a/n: sorry Lance but bye bye! Fem!Reader is now driving for aston martin . This takes place in 2025 and certain predictions I make are NOT how I think the season will go

a/n2: this was requested and I really liked it! It was a good jump into poly fics which is something I’d like to write more off — nony I hope you like it! Sorry it took awhile…

a/n3: I love how Liam got a seat and immediately started making enemies 🤣 so I kept that tradition

y/n_am_racing

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, and 2,833,184 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1

y/n_am_racing: mine. All mine. Stay mad!

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user1: damn girl…

↳user2: girls got game! liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1

user3: dream threesome right there!

↳user4: which ones?

↳user3: yes liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, y/n_am_racing

↳user4: understandable. Continue on

oscarpiastri: congrats dad and dad and mom

↳y/n_am_racing: thanks osc

↳maxverstappen1: 👍🏻

↳oscarpiastri: thrilling conversation right there liked by charles_leclerc

↳charles_leclerc: thank you son!

olliebearman: new parents? (Congratulations!)

↳maxverstappen1: how many children do you have? Because I feel like you severely underestimated the amount you told me

↳charles_leclerc: 🤭🤭

↳y/n_am_racing: ignore them Ollie and thank you

↳olliebearman: of course!

liamlawson30: I’m not calling you mom

↳y/n_am_racing: I’d run you over if you tried

↳charles_leclerc: such violence against Max’s kid!

↳y/n_am_racing: such violence against the damn annoyance

↳fernandoalo_oficial: Me alegra que estemos de acuerdo contra él. Glad we are in agreement against him

↳y/n_am_racing: Aston Martin against Liam! liked by fernandoalo_oficial

↳liamlawson30: I am being so attacked right now and I didn’t even do anything

↳fernandoalo_oficial: tu existes you exist

↳y/n_am_racing: you exist!

user5: Liam not even having his seat for a month and already beefing with Aston Martin is hilarious

↳user6: one of the original grid terrorists and the girl everyone calls the Ice Bitch because of how fucking cold and mean she is? Not the best choices for enemies liked by fernandoalo_oficial, y/n_am_racing

astonmartinf1: Congrats!

↳astonmartinf1: but maybe give this poor admin a wanting next time?

↳scuderiaferrari: or this one?

↳redbullracing: any admin actually

↳user7: these fools really didn’t tell anyone they were gonna hard launch their relationship?

↳y/n_am_racing: nope!

↳maxverstappen1: better to ask forgiveness than for permission

↳charles_leclerc: ☺️☺️

charles_leclerc

liked by y/n_am_racing, maxverstappen1, pierregasly, and 2,283,193 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, y/n_am_racing

charles_leclerc: Ma lune et mes étoiles. My moon and stars

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user8: oh hello jealousy thanks for your visit

user9: what I would give to be apart of that relationship…

↳user10: same! Are they looking for a forth? A dog? I can bark

maxverstappen1: mijn liefje my sweetheart

↳y/n_am_racing: have I told you guys lately I fucking love it when you speak foreign to me?

↳user11: 🤣

↳charles_leclerc: mes étoiles, pourquoi ne le dis-tu pas encore au cas où. My stars, why don’t you say it again just incase

↳maxverstappen1: niet recentelijk en de herinnering is leuk. Not recently and the reminder is nice

↳y/n_am_racing: hot 🥵🥵🥵🥵

oscarpiastri: is the family dinner still on?

↳y/n_am_racing: of course! Sunday at 4 at Max’s

↳olliebearman: am i still invited?

↳charles_leclerc: of course!

↳kimi.antonelli: you’re just gonna leave me alone?

↳y/n_am_racing: why don’t you come too kimi?

↳kimi.antonelli: sì, grazie!

↳maxverstappen1: again how many grid kids do you have? Because I still feel like you severely underestimated the amount you told me

↳y/n_am_racing: at least ours are polite. Yours is…Liam liked by fernandoalo_oficial

↳liamlawson30: honestly fuck you?

↳maxverstappen1: what

↳charles_leclerc: do not speak that way to her!

↳liamlawson30: she started it!!

↳y/n_am_racing: ha!

y/n_am_racing

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, user, and 3,121,183 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

y/n_am_racing: baby i'm astounded by how this country screams your name (just like I will)

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astonmartinf1: please report to HR for another round of pr training

↳user12: leave our girl alone!

↳y/n_am_racing: thank you!

↳user12: she absolutely did something wrong but it was funny af liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1

↳y/n_am_racing: 😑😑

charles_leclerc: 🥰😘 liked by y/n_am_racing

↳y/n_am_racing: meet me in your room in five

↳scuderiaferrari: No

↳charles_leclerc: yes!

↳y/n_am_racing: too late

↳astonmartinf1: definitely need that pr training…

maxverstappen1: mijn schatje…my treasure…

↳y/n_am_racing: try winning a race this year? And maybe you’ll get the same kind of post

↳user13: oh my god what a reminder that this hasn’t been redbull’s year…

↳y/n_am_racing: it’s because of Liam liked by fernandoalo_oficial

↳liamlawson30: I’m going to run you over

↳y/n_am_racing: in that fucking tractor? You’d have to catch me first

↳user14: it might not be redbull’s year but it IS y/n’s! liked by y/n_am_racing, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1

user15: the Ferrari domination this year is hot as fuck

↳user16: he could dominate me…

↳y/n_am_racing: hem-hem?

↳user16: THEORETICALLY. I MEAN THEORETICALLY

↳y/n_am_racing: much better

user17: as a ferrari and y/n fan i am loving this year!!

↳user18: as a max fan i am not…

lewishamilton: do I need to find a new room tonight?

↳fernandoalo_oficial: or do I?

↳y/n_am_racing: yes

↳maxverstappen1: yes

↳charles_leclerc: yes

y/n_am_racing

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, francisca.cgomes, and 3,173,284 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, francisca.cgomes, carmenmmundt, flavy.barla, iamrebeccad, lilymhe, lilyzneimer, alex_albon, arthur_leclerc, carlossainz55, danielricciardo, estebanocon, fernandoalo_oficial, georgerussell63, landonorris, lewishamilton, logansargeant, mickschumacher, oscarpiastri, pierregasly, yukitsunoda0511, zhouguanyu24

y/n_am_racing: thank you to my boys and my girls and the grid for the best 27th birthday ever!

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user20: the fomo I’m experiencing right now…

↳user21: no I know what you mean

lilymhe: that was literally the best birthday party ever!

↳y/n_am_racing: only because you were there!

↳lilymhe: well that’s just not true pretty girl!

↳maxverstappen1: stop flirting with our girlfriend?

↳y/n_am_racing: shush

↳lilymhe:😘

↳maxverstappen1:🙄

landonorris: where do I send my bill?

↳y/n_am_racing: for what?

↳landonorris: for my dj services?

↳y/n_am_racing: you mean when you drunkenly took over the music for 5 minutes then passed out on top of a table?

↳landonorris: is that why I have sharpie all over my face?

↳alex_albon: yeah

↳georgerussell63: it was a tempting target

↳maxverstappen1: yup

↳carlossainz55: an opportunity I didn’t want to miss

user22: ok but was everyone in the grid invited?

↳y/n_am_racing: yup! And everyone came for the dinner but it was only the kool kids that went to the after party

↳user23: even Liam?

↳y/n_am_racing: we needed someone to stick the bill on liked by fernandoalo_oficial

↳liamlawson30: SERIOUSLY?

↳fernandoalo_oficial: ¿Por qué pagar��amos cuando estabas allí? Why would we pay when you were right there? liked by y/n_am_racing

↳user23: your continued hatred of Liam is probably my favorite part of the season…

lewishamilton: props where they’re do — you guys can throw a mean party 🥳

↳y/n_am_racing: thanks Lew! And thank you for the gifts — I love them

↳user24: who else is curious about what y/n got?

↳y/n_am_racing: he got me a couple of custom Louis Vuitton shoes!

↳y/n_am_racing: and some of the other guys got me the matching purses!

↳user25: I am so unbelievably jealous liked by y/n_am_racing

yukitsunoda0511: the food passed the test

↳y/n_am_racing: not sure what test it was but glad you enjoyed it! And thanks for the Japanese cookbooks — I’m expecting actual lessons though!

↳yukitsunoda0511: good plan!

maxverstappen1

liked by y/n_am_racing, charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, and 2,938,183 others

tagged: y/n_am_racing

maxverstappen1: treating our girl right for her birthday

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y/n_am_racing: thank you my loves. It was the best birthday ever 💚💚

↳charles_leclerc: Mes étoiles, c'est tout à fait normal que nous fêtions votre anniversaire. C'était le plus beau jour de notre vie parce que tu es né et tu es finalement devenu le nôtre. My stars, it is only right we celebrate your birthday. It was the best day of our lives because you were born and eventually became ours.

↳maxverstappen1: Mijn schatje, de hele dag doorbrengen met het verwennen van jou was het gemakkelijkste wat ik ooit heb gedaan. My treasure, spending the day spoiling you was the easiest thing i've ever done.

user26: is that…is that max verstappen being soft? Mad max? Being soft? liked by y/n_am_racing

↳y/n_am_racing: aren’t I the luckiest?

↳user27: you really truly are

fernandoalo_oficial: feliz cumpleaños niña. Happy birthday girlie

↳y/n_am_racing: thanks Nando!

↳user28: god this mentor/mentee partnership is the best. Not taking any questions or criticisms

↳y/n_am_racing: easy to do when it has both me AND nando! liked by fernandoalo_oficial

astonmartinf1: happy birthday!

↳y/n_am_racing: thanks admin!

liamlawson30: you definitely look older!

↳y/n_am_racing: when you go missing, I won’t be sad liked by fernandoalo_oficial

↳liamlawson30: 😑👎🏻

y/n_am_racing

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, fernandoalo_oficial, and 1,273,832 others

y/n_am_racing: Canada oh Canada thank you thank you thank you! P1 BABY!

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astonmartinf1: THATS OUR GIRL! Y/N POINTS!

↳y/n_am_racing: HELL YEAH I AM!

fernandoalo_oficial: felicidades, niña! Congratulations, girlie!

↳y/n_am_racing: thanks nando! And congrats on p4!

↳user29: Aston Martin for WCC!! liked by fernandoalo_oficial, y/n_am_racing

maxverstappen1: glad to be on podium with you both

↳y/n_am_racing: we’ll have to do it more often 😘

↳charles_leclerc: ma lune et mes étoiles, vous êtes toutes les deux tellement incroyables! my moon and stars, you are both so amazing!

↳y/n_am_racing: my room in five? liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc

↳astonmartinf1: no they’re banned

↳scuderiaferrari: stop stealing our driver!

↳redbullracing: No!

↳y/n_am_racing: too late!!

user30: today is definitely y/n’s day — p1, podium with her boys, and she’s getting railed?

↳y/n_am_racing: 😊😊😊

↳user30: tell me your ways please

↳y/n_am_racing: nah

charles_leclerc

liked by y/n_am_racing, maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, and 2,824,284 others

tagged: y/n_am_racing, maxverstappen1

charles_leclerc: vacances d'été avec ma lune et mes étoiles. Summer break with my moon and stars

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y/n_am_racing: nowhere else I’d rather be…

↳user31: girl same

↳y/n_am_racing: back off! They’re mine! liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1

maxverstappen1: it’s been a good break so far

↳charles_leclerc: it has! 🥰🥰

↳user32: oh to be on a boat with y/n, max, and Charles…

↳y/n_am_racing: ngl it’s pretty great

oscarpiastri: padel tomorrow?

↳y/n_am_racing: ugh no

↳charles_leclerc: absolutely!

↳maxverstappen1: sure

lilymhe: golf tomorrow y/n_am_racing?

↳y/n_am_racing: anything for you pretty girl!

↳alex_albon: am i just chopped liver?

↳y/n_am_racing: tbh some people actually like chopped liver so…liked by lilymhe

user10: again are they looking for a forth?

↳y/n_am_racing: nope!

↳maxverstappen1: no

↳charles_leclerc: non

↳user33: shut! down!

y/n_am_racing

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, charles_leclerc, and 2,813,193 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

y/n_am_racing: I forgot how good you looked on the top step baby

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user34: go max!

user35: congrats max!

maxverstappen1: it’s been awhile

↳y/n_am_racing: I think the saying is good things come to those that wait?

↳maxverstappen1: I’m not very good with waiting hence the race cars…

↳charles_leclerc: …your room in 5?

↳y/n_am_racing: already there!

↳charles_leclerc: ☺️

↳astonmartinf1: sorry redbullracing she was tooo fast for us

↳scuderiaferrari: Charles we can’t keep doing this…

↳redbullracing: you guys were specifically banned from our garage!

oscarpiastri: congrats man!

↳maxverstappen1: thanks oscar

user36: god it’s been so long

↳y/n_am_racing: sorry not sorry but I’m gonna make sure it takes this long for the next one!

↳maxverstappen1: mijn schatje…my treasure…

↳y/n_am_racing: 🥺🥺🥺🥺 liked by maxverstappen1

↳maxverstappen1: 🙄

liamlawson30: don’t crash into me challenge FAILED

↳y/n_am_racing: when is Max Verstappen second driver curse gonna kick in?

↳fernandoalo_oficial: hopefully soon liked by y/n_am_racing

↳liamlawson30: how do I dislike a comment??

↳y/n_am_racing: THIS IS MY COMMENT SECTION!!!

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc,y/n_am_racing, user and 3,129,287 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, y/n_am_racing

maxverstappen1: what an incredible season — not the one we wanted obviously but I am so incredibly proud of charles_leclerc on his WDC and y/n_am_racing and astonmartinf1 for their WCC. We’ll learn from this and come back stronger next year — I’ll be coming for my trophies.

Now it’s time to rest and relax with my loves.

comments have been restricted on this post

astonmartinf1: thank you max! But don’t think we’ll make it easy for you liked by y/n_am_racing

charles_leclerc: ma lune, ce fut un plaisir de courir contre toi l'année dernière. my moon, it was a pleasure to race against you the past year

↳maxverstappen1: it’s always a pleasure to race against you and y/n liked by charles_leclerc, y/n_am_racing

fernandoalo_oficial: tu es presque sûr que tu as oublié de remercier quelqu'un? pretty sure you forgot to thank someone?

↳maxverstappen1: oh yeah…

↳maxverstappen1: congrats I guess

y/n_am_racing: I can’t wait to spend the next couple of months with just you and Charles! 💚💚

↳maxverstappen1: the best part of the year

↳charles_leclerc: it’ll be a good break ma lune et mes étoiles. My moon and stars

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @nichmeddar @mxm47max @loveylee @voidvannie

[endless-ineffabilities]

The Bolter (part nine) (18+)

Steve Rogers x f!reader / Bucky Barnes x f!reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : Sam, Bucky, and you head to Madripoor with an unlikely ally. Steve says goodbye to Peggy, then travels in time to where he truly belongs.

themes/warnings : language, even more pining, even more smut!, Zemo being Zemo, Sharon cutting through our bullshit

word count : 5.8k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist

━━━━━━☆━━━━━━

The 1950s, seven months after Steve’s arrival

Steve sits by the window, watching the fading sunlight pour into the room. For the first time in months, he feels calm—an eerie, unnatural calm, like the eye of a storm. He has come to accept the truth, bitter as might be: this was never his home, and soon, it won’t exist at all.

Mobius had warned him. When he goes back to his timeline, it will be as if none of this ever happened. This branch, this brief stolen life with Peggy, will be pruned. She will never know what they had here. Steve will fade from this time, and she will move on, be with the man she was always meant to be with, and have the children she was destined to have. She will live the life she was always supposed to.

But he will remember everything. He will carry the ache of knowing that none of this was ever really his to keep. 

And deep down, Steve knows it’s the right choice. His normal, whatever semblance of it he can grasp, is always going to be with you. It has always been you with whom he belonged. With his friends. With Bucky. 

His very being is meant for the picket line and not a picket fence.

“Are you ready?” Peggy’s voice breaks the silence, and Steve turns to find her standing in the doorway, looking at him with those sharp, knowing eyes. She has accepted it, just as he has. There’s no anger, no confusion. They’ve had too many talks in the past week about this—about how something always felt off for both of them, like an invisible weight pressing against their happiness. 

“I am,” Steve answers. 

“It didn’t feel right, did it?” she says quietly. 

“No… it didn’t.” He hesitates, the truth weighing heavy. “But I think I know why.”

She steps closer, her hand reaching out to touch his arm. “You don’t belong here, Steve,” she says gently, her voice unwavering. “You belong with them. You belong with the one who truly holds your heart.”

When he lifts his eyes, there’s something new in them. Certainty. “Yeah. I do. But I’m glad we had this. Even if it was never meant to last.”

Peggy’s smile is bittersweet as he presses her hand to his lips. “Me too.” 

Steve nods, his throat tight as he steps away. Hunter pads over, his loyal companion waiting patiently by the door. Mobius and Loki wait in the other room, the quiet harbingers of the life he’s meant to return to.

“Goodbye, Peggy,” he says, for one final time. 

“Goodbye, Steve,” Peggy says, her voice filled with quiet grace. “Go get your girl.”

A shiver runs down his spine. You had said the exact same words when he left you. But it didn’t stick, because he was too stupid to realise that you had always been his girl. He can picture it so well, picture you, and the thought of seeing you again soon inspires an overwhelming happiness in him.

“Ready?” Mobius asks, his usual lighthearted demeanour replaced by something more solemn.

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly. “I’m ready.”

Loki taps the device, and with a flash, Steve’s world shifts.

And just like that, he’s on his way home.

2024, seven months after Steve’s departure

Your first encounter with the Flag Smashers did not go as expected. Or maybe it did. Fighting a bunch of serum-powered radicals – kids, practically – on top of cargo trucks moving at high speed was perhaps the likeliest outcome of this whole thing. After everything you’ve been through, in your decade and a half as the Huntress and all your run-ins with the Big 3, this is just another afternoon, just another mission.

Except the appearance of John Walker threw you in for a loop. Captain America, he calls himself, but there is no chance of you ever addressing him by that name, and you know the same goes for Bucky. John isn’t even carrying the right shield, the only shield, the one Steve brought with him. All he dons is a replica, much like he himself is one. 

Seeing that red, white, and blue paraded around almost made you forget about the kiss you shared with Bucky before the fight. Almost.

But you feel its undercurrent in every moment, you catch glimpses of it when you close your eyes, you feel him… and you know he does too.

The three of you made your way back to New York, recuperating in your apartment, and planning the next move, but what Bucky proposes seems the farthest from sensible.

“Zemo?” Sam stops mid-step. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Bucky doesn’t flinch. “He knows about the serum. More than anyone alive.”

“Yeah, and he’s also the guy who tried to tear the Avengers apart,” Sam counters. His voice is rising, filled with disbelief. “You want to break out a criminal mastermind? For what, a history lesson?”

“I’m not saying I like it,” Bucky says. “But if these Flag Smashers have the serum, then he’s our best chance at understanding what we’re up against.”

You can see Sam’s shoulders stiffen, his eyes wide with incredulity. You, though—your gut reaction is different. Zemo is dangerous, but your concern isn't for yourself or Sam. It’s for Bucky.

You meet his gaze. “Bucky… do you really think you can handle him? Zemo’s not exactly a small problem.”

He looks at you, something quiet and intense behind his eyes. “I can handle it,” he replies. “I have to.”

There’s a finality to his words, but they don’t ease the knot forming in your chest. Sam throws up his hands. “This is madness! I’m just supposed to be okay with busting a guy out of maximum security prison? You people are crazy.”

A moment of silence passes before you let out a resigned breath. “We don’t have much of a choice, Sam. If Bucky thinks this is the way forward, I trust him.”

Sam glares at both of you, then mutters under his breath, “You two have been spending way too much time together.”

The Berlin Correctional Facility is colder than you expected—both literally and figuratively. 

Sam checks his watch, then gives Bucky a sideways glance. “You know, this is the part where I remind you again that this is a bad idea.”

Bucky shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Noted.”

Sam sighs. “I just want it on record that I’m the voice of reason here.”

You smirk, leaning against the wall. “Come on, Sam. What’s life without a little danger?”

“You don’t get to say that when we’re about to break a supervillain out of prison,” Sam deadpans.

The plan, despite its insanity, goes off without a hitch. The guards are neutralized with minimal force, and the security systems go offline like clockwork. You hack into the mainframe to open Zemo’s cell, and when the door finally slides open, you see him—Helmut Zemo, calm and collected, standing there as though he’s been waiting for you all along.

He steps forward, his movements slow and deliberate, like a cat stalking prey. “I must say, I didn’t expect visitors.”

You glare at him, your hackles rising instantly. “Let’s get one thing clear. This is a means to an end. One wrong move, and you go back in.”

Zemo’s lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of causing any trouble.”

You don’t believe him for a second.

Zemo’s private jet is the epitome of luxury—plush seats, dim lighting, the hum of the engines barely audible. Chump change compared to what Tony used to travel in, but still. It’s surreal, sitting in this polished environment, knowing you’re en route to one of the most dangerous cities in the world with one of the most dangerous men in the world.

You’re seated across the aisle from Bucky. His body is tense, his fingers twitching in his lap as if he’s holding himself back from something. You wish there was something you could say to ease the weight he’s carrying, but you know better than to push him. Not now. Not with Zemo sitting across from you, watching everything with sharp, calculating eyes.

Zemo leans back in his seat, looking far too relaxed for your liking. “I must say, I’ve always had a fondness for Madripoor. It’s a city of endless possibility, wouldn’t you agree?”

Sam glances up from across the aisle, his expression unimpressed. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s paradise for a guy like you.”

Zemo smiles, but there’s no warmth in it. “It’s a place where the lines between good and evil blur. A place where one can truly be free.”

Your grip tightens on the armrest, and you glance at Bucky. His face is turned toward the window, his jaw tight, eyes dark. You lean closer, keeping your voice low. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” he says, but you can hear the lie in his voice.

You open your mouth to press further, but Zemo speaks up again, cutting through the tension. “It’s interesting, isn’t it? The way history repeats itself.”

You glare at him, your protective instinct flaring. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Zemo’s eyes flicker between you and Bucky, his gaze too knowing for comfort. “It’s just... curious. The way you watch him. The way you stand between us.”

You feel a surge of anger rise in your chest, but you hold it back, keeping your tone steady. “You’re not part of this conversation.”

Zemo chuckles, leaning back. “No need to be defensive. I’m merely an observer. But I must say, the loyalty you show to him... it’s quite touching.”

Bucky shifts beside you, his hand balling into a fist. You place your hand on his arm, silently communicating that Zemo isn’t worth it. 

You warn lowly, “Don’t push it, Zemo.”

Madripoor is a city of lights and shadows, the streets buzzing with a kind of energy that makes your skin crawl. Zemo leads the way, his steps confident as he navigates the underworld with ease. He fits right in, and so do you. You’re not unfamiliar with the city yourself, with many of your contacts residing here. Sam picks at his flashy fur coat, having to wear the guise of the Smiling Tiger, and you have to bite back a laugh.

What you hate is Bucky’s role in this. Zemo insisted that Bucky act the part of the Winter Soldier again, and seeing him slip into that persona makes your stomach turn. You’ve fought so hard to help him leave that part of himself behind, and now he’s being forced to wear it like a mask.

You stick close to Bucky, your eyes constantly scanning the crowd for threats. Your hand brushes his occasionally, a silent reassurance. He doesn’t speak, but you can see the conflict in his eyes, the way his jaw clenches every time someone looks at him like he’s a weapon.

Zemo’s voice cuts through the noise. “Ah, here we are. The Brass Monkey Saloon. You’ll need to put on a show, Soldier.”

Your heart twists at the cold way Zemo refers to him. Soldier. Like Bucky’s nothing more than a tool, a means to an end. You step forward, putting yourself between them.

“Watch yourself,” you snap, your voice low and dangerous. 

Zemo raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your protectiveness. “Of course. I merely meant that appearances must be kept."

The atmosphere inside the Brass Monkey Saloon is thick with tension. Zemo’s plan, of course, involves a show of force. Bucky takes on the role, fists flying, and you stand helplessly on the sidelines, watching as he dismantles anyone who stands in your way. You can see the fear in the faces of the crowd, the whispers of “Winter Soldier” passing between them.

When the chaos finally subsides, Zemo steps forward, calm and collected. “Very convincing, James,” he says, clapping Bucky on the shoulder.

You can’t help yourself. “Don’t touch him.”

Zemo leads the way to Selby’s hideout, the plan already set. You, Bucky, and Sam follow close behind, nerves taut. You can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you, recognizing not just the Winter Soldier, but the Huntress.

Inside Selby’s lair, things unravel faster than you can react. The exchange was supposed to be smooth—get the information on the serum, figure out who’s behind the Flag Smashers. But Selby, sly and dangerous, catches on too quickly. The words turn heated, tension thick in the air. When the situation escalates, a gunshot rings out, and Selby collapses to the floor.

Everything goes to hell. 

Selby’s guards surge forward, the entire operation blown to pieces. You don’t even have time to think before the room erupts into chaos, bullets tearing through the air. 

Bucky grabs your arm, pulling you toward the exit. “We need to move!”

The narrow alleyways of Madripoor are a maze, and no matter how fast you run, the sound of pursuit is never far behind. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline surging as you push forward, leading the way through the twisting streets.

“I can’t run in these heels!” Sam yells, his voice tight with effort as he ducks behind cover.

The sound of gunfire grows louder, and just when it seems like you’re cornered, Sharon Carter appears from the shadows, her expression all business. 

“You guys really know how to make an entrance.”

The tension in Sharon Carter’s loft is thick enough to choke on. You can’t deny the relief that floods through you at her arrival—she’s saved you from the brink more than once—but the comfort quickly dissolves the second she opens her mouth. Sharon’s never been one to coddle, and it’s clear she’s ready to let you know exactly what she thinks about this whole situation.

Her apartment reflects her new life in Madripoor: sleek, stylish, and modern, with a hint of danger lurking beneath the surface. The large windows offer a panoramic view of the chaotic city below, bathed in the neon glow of a world where morality has always been in short supply. You’re reminded of who Sharon has become—the Power Broker, controlling Madripoor’s criminal underworld from behind the scenes. And yet, she’s still the woman you fought beside, the woman you trusted implicitly. Your friend. 

“You’ve made a mess of Madripoor,” Sharon says, leaning casually against the bar, one eyebrow raised as she surveys the room. Her eyes flick between you, Bucky, Sam, and Zemo, her smirk cutting. She takes a slow sip from her glass, her posture relaxed. “You’re lucky I showed up when I did.”

“Yeah, we didn’t exactly have time to send out a save-the-date,” Sam mutters, his voice dripping with sarcasm, though you can tell he’s thankful. Sharon’s saved you all from a sticky situation—again.

Her gaze shifts to you, and that smirk widens, a playful but knowing glint in her eyes. “Still running around with these boys, huh? After everything?”

There’s an edge to her words, something that cuts deeper than you expected. Sharon’s always had a way of seeing through you, right to the heart of things. But this time, her words carry an extra weight. You know what’s coming before she even says it, but it still feels like a punch to the gut when she does.

Her eyes dart to Bucky, who’s standing tense and silent beside you, his shoulders tight. Then, they come back to you, her lips curling slightly. “You and Steve were… close. And now, here you are, keeping Bucky in check.” She pauses just long enough to make it sting. “Seems like you’ve got a type.”

Your stomach twists, and you catch the slight flicker of movement from Bucky, the way his fists clench at his sides. His face remains stoic, but you know him well enough to see the storm brewing underneath. Sharon’s words have struck a nerve. 

“What?” you say, keeping your voice even, though there’s a sharpness to it. Your heart races, and you try to keep the emotion out of your voice.

"Wow," Bucky mutters dryly, "she's kind of awful now."

Sharon shrugs, feigning casualness, but her eyes gleam with amusement at you. “It’s just… interesting. You and Cap. And now Cap’s best friend. Two men who can’t escape their own shadows. You seem to have a thing for complicated.”

You bite back your immediate retort, but before you can respond, Zemo—because of course he has to chime in—speaks up, lounging against the wall with that smug, knowing look that makes you want to punch him. “Ah, the familiar,” he says, voice silky. “It’s natural to seek comfort in something... predictable. But I wonder, how much of this is about James, and how much is simply because he reminds you of your precious Captain Rogers?”

You feel the room go cold, and the weight of Zemo’s words settles like a stone in your chest. The air around Bucky shifts, his calm demeanour fracturing just enough for you to see the tension rippling beneath. His posture stiffens even more, his jaw tight, but he doesn’t speak. The silence is worse than anything he could say.

“Leave him out of this,” you snap, your voice barely above a whisper, but the threat is clear. Zemo’s eyes gleam, dark and dangerous, but he raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Of course,” Zemo says, his smile widening. “But… leave who out of it? Which one?”

Sharon watches you closely, her smirk fading slightly as she steps closer. For the first time since she spoke, her gaze softens. She knows you—really knows you. The unspoken history between you feels heavy in the air. She tilts her head, studying you with a sharpness that you’ve come to expect from her.

“Can I have a word?” Sharon asks, her voice quieter now, almost gentle.

You nod, barely noticing the others as Sharon gestures for you to follow her into a more private corner of the apartment, away from the tense stares of Bucky and Zemo. Once you’re out of earshot, Sharon leans against the wall, crossing her arms. The playful glint is still in her eyes, but there’s a seriousness there too.

“You know I don’t mean to be harsh,” she says, her voice quieter, more personal. “But you and I... we’ve always been able to call it like it is.”

You exhale, your shoulders sagging slightly. “Yeah, well, some things are harder to call than others.”

Sharon watches you for a long moment, her gaze searching your face. “It’s been a long time since Steve left. I get it. I do. But you and Bucky...” She trails off, her eyes flicking back toward him. “You’re not fooling anyone. Least of all me.”

You swallow, unsure how to respond. You’ve spent so long trying to navigate your own emotions, keeping them at bay. But here, it feels impossible to ignore any longer.

Sharon takes a step closer, her expression softening. “He’s not Steve. And I know you know that. But Bucky—he’s been through hell too. And I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you.”

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, you can’t speak. Sharon does have a way of cutting through the bullshit, of seeing things for what they really are. 

“I’m not—” you start, but Sharon cuts you off with a small, knowing smile.

“I’m not saying it’s the same as what you had with Steve,” she says. “But maybe that’s a good thing. Bucky’s different. And maybe that’s what you need.”

You glance back toward Bucky, who’s still standing with his back to you, his shoulders tense, his hands curled into fists at his sides. You can feel the weight of his emotions, the way Zemo’s and Sharon’s comments have hit him harder than he’s letting on. You want to go to him, to tell him it’s okay. That he doesn’t have to be Steve. That you don’t want him to be.

But there’s a part of you that’s still tangled up in the past—in Steve’s shadow.

Sharon places a hand on your arm, pulling your attention back to her. “Listen,” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “Whatever this is with Bucky... don’t let it slip away because you’re still holding onto something that’s gone. Steve’s not coming back. But you’ve still got a chance—with him.”

You take a deep breath, nodding slightly, but the knot in your chest doesn’t loosen. Sharon squeezes your arm, offering a small smile before she steps back, her smirk returning as she glances toward the others.

“All right,” she says, her voice louder now, more playful. “Enough emotional introspection for one night. Let’s figure out how to get you out of Madripoor before you make an even bigger mess.”

Zemo, lounging against the wall with a glass in his hand, raises an eyebrow as you sit down beside Bucky. He doesn’t say anything, but his smirk is enough to get under your skin. It’s like he can feel the emotional turbulence swirling around you.

Sharon saunters back into the room, her heels clicking against the polished floor, a confident ease in her step. “Well, now that we’ve aired out some of that dirty laundry, maybe we can focus on the job at hand?”

Sam, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet through all of this, gives Sharon a look. “Yeah, and maybe we can talk about why you didn’t feel the need to mention how deep you are in Madripoor’s criminal scene, huh?”

Sharon doesn’t miss a beat, throwing him a cocky grin. “I’m an opportunist, Sam. Madripoor offers a lot of opportunities.”

Sam mutters something under his breath, clearly not satisfied with that answer, but it’s clear Sharon has no intention of explaining herself further. And you don’t push her on it either, even though you’re the only one here who knows exactly what her role is in this city. You’ve never questioned her decisions before—everyone has to survive somehow—but seeing her now, it’s hard not to wonder if she’s lost herself in the shadows.

“I trust you’ll all stay out of trouble until I arrange our next move?” Sharon says, her eyes flicking back to you, a knowing glint in her gaze. It’s subtle, but you can tell she’s still watching you closely, assessing everything—especially your unspoken bond with Bucky.

Before anyone can respond, she turns and walks out of the room.

After escaping the chaos and making it back to Zemo’s safe house in Riga, the adrenaline finally starts to fade. It’s well past midnight when you make your way into your designated bedroom. You drop onto the bed, your heart still racing, trying to calm the storm of emotions churning inside you.

Sleep never comes easy to you—a side effect of your chosen life. One of high stakes and adrenaline. A lot more losses than wins, if any of your successful missions can even be considered wins at all.

After an hour of staring up at the ceiling, your eyes tracing the curves of the rosettes, Bucky enters your room, as noiseless as a cat. You raise your head sharply on instinct, but relax as soon as you see his figure. His shoulders are slumped as if the weight of the world rests upon them. He glances at you, and you can see the struggle etched across his face.

“Can’t sleep?” you ask, sitting up and patting the space beside you on the bed.

He purses his lips, not saying anything for a moment. After a while, and with a resounding sigh, he settles at the foot of the bed, his back to you.

“What you saw back there…” he starts, his voice low. “That wasn’t me. I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore.”

“I know,” you say softly, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder soothingly. “I’ve always known. You’re just Bucky.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to ever lose control,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

“You won’t,” you say firmly, shuffling closer to him. “You have me.”

Bucky turns halfway, meeting your gaze. “I want to prove to you that I’m not him,” he says, his voice thick with conviction. 

Your throat suddenly feels dry. You don’t know anymore if he’s referring to the Winter Soldier or Steve. You can tell that Sharon’s comments rattled him. You’re familiar with her humour, so you know that she didn’t mean anything negative by what she said, but Bucky might have easily taken them to heart.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” you whisper. 

His gaze softens, and then he’s leaning in, capturing your lips with his. There is no goddamn way you’re falling asleep now, with the fire he’s igniting within you. You pull him closer, your hands threading through his hair as he deepens the kiss. 

“Are you sure?” you whisper against his lips, breathless. A roll in the hay at the height of a high-risk mission is not beneath you, especially with someone like Bucky. With these things, a heated release of pent-up tension might be just what you need. But you want to be sure that he needs it too. That he needs you. 

He nods, eyes searching yours. “I want this. I want you.”

In one fluid motion, he takes your lips again, this kiss softer, more deliberate. He relishes in you, taking his sweet time, his tongue raking the outline of your lips. You melt against him, feeling the warmth of his body pressing against yours, as well as the cool of his left arm wrapping around your torso. 

“Bucky,” you breathe, breaking the kiss momentarily.

“Just Bucky,” he replies, his voice thick with emotion.

He tugs you against him, the two of you moving in a slow, sensual dance. You feel the weight of everything—the mission, the past, the chaos—slipping away as you lose yourselves in each other. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, as you taste the sweetness of his tongue.

“I want you,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “I want to show you how much you mean to me.”

You shiver at his words, the sincerity behind them sending a rush of heat coursing through your veins. “Then show me,” you whisper, your heart pounding in your chest.

The world tilts slightly as he lays you back against the soft sheets. He hovers above you, his expression a mix of desire and reverence, as if he’s afraid to touch something so precious.

“You’re so beautiful, doll,” he breathes, his gaze travelling over you as if memorising every detail, and you suddenly forget how to speak. 

You’ve never considered yourself meek by any means, always able to stand your ground. The last time you’ve actually felt shy, and felt blood rush to your face at the attention of an admirer was with….

You shake Steve out of your thoughts.

“It’s just me,” you say, mirroring his earlier words.

His lips curve into a soft smile, and you can see the flicker of warmth behind the shadows that often cloud his expression. “Just you is everything,” he replies, his voice dropping to a whisper.

His hands slide under your shirt, fingers brushing against your skin, igniting every nerve ending. The sensation is overwhelming, and you gasp against his mouth, the heat pooling low in your belly.

“So perfect,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck, kissing a path along your collarbone. Each soft touch leaves a trail of fire, and you can’t help but arch into him, your body instinctively seeking more.

“Bucky,” you gasp, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if you can fuse your bodies into one. “Please.”

His response is immediate. He pushes your shirt up, baring your torso to him, and you feel exposed yet completely alive under his gaze. Then he leans down to press soft kisses along your midriff. The sensation is electric, maddening even, as he drifts ever lower. 

Bucky lifts his head, meeting your gaze with a burning intensity. “Let’s make this moment last,” he murmurs, his eyes darkening with desire as he shifts his weight, settling between your legs. His hands find the hem of your pants, his fingers grazing your skin as he slowly pushes them down your legs, along with your underwear, revealing you completely to him.

“Bucky,” you moan, when he kisses a trail along your inner thigh. “Patience, doll,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. You watch him as he continues his exploration, his kisses drifting higher until he reaches your core, and the breath hitches in your throat when he sucks at your aching bud.

The heat builds, swirling around you as he loses himself in you, the world outside fading away completely. You can feel the tension tightening in your belly, a delicious coil that threatens to snap.

“I’m getting close,” you breathe after a long while, the words almost lost amidst a long bout of incoherent moaning. You reach down and roughly push his face into your pussy, wantonly craving more as his tongue laps at your juices. 

Bucky responds with a growl, his hands gripping your hips as he pushes you closer to the edge. “Let go,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with desire. “I’ve got you.”

With those words, you explode, pleasure crashing over you in waves as you cry out his name. He holds you tightly, a steady anchor as you ride the waves of ecstasy, feeling more alive than ever.

As the pleasure subsides, you gasp for breath, your heart racing as you come down from the high. “You okay?” Bucky asks, hovering over you and brushing a stray hair from your face.

You nod, your body still buzzing from the aftermath. “Better than okay,” you reply, a smile creeping across your lips.

He chuckles, the sound resonating deep within his chest, a rich, warm sound that makes your heart swell. For all his worries about falling back into the darkness, you find that he is slowly becoming your source of light. 

“I want you to know,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, “that was only the beginning.”

“Oh really?” you tease, raising an eyebrow, letting your fingers trace along the contours of his vibranium arm.

“Yeah, babydoll,” He grins wolfishly, and you’re glad to see this playful side of him resurfacing. 

You roll on your side, pressing a playful kiss to his lips. “Well, I’m all for that.”

He undresses in a haste, his motions careless and frantic that his black shirt gets stuck around his head, earning a giggle from you. His groans are muffled when he protests, “It’s not funny.”

You reach up to help him out of it. “It’s kinda funny.”

When he’s finally free of the confines of cotton, his hair is all mussed. He looks downright adorable that you could just melt at the sight. But then he frees himself of his trousers too, his thick cock bobbing erect from his boxers, the vein running down its side angry and swollen. 

He’s not just adorable; he’s sensual, virile, erotic.

And you want him so fucking badly.

But he beats you to that admission. “You drive me crazy,” he rasps, his hands massaging your sides. “In the best way possible.”

“I could say the same about you.” There’s a teasing glint in your eyes as you lean back slightly, letting your fingers wander down his chest, tracing the solid lines of his body, each muscle taut and inviting. He groans softly at your touch, his head dropping slightly as his control wavers. 

He positions himself just right, teasing at first, his breath ragged as he enters you slowly, inch by inch. The stretch is exquisite, your body tightening around him as a disjointed gasp escapes your lips. His jaw clenches, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as he savours the sensation.

“You feel so good, doll,” he groans, his voice hoarse with restraint. There’s a primal hunger in the way he looks at you—like he’s claiming you, and that realisation ignites something deep within you.

You meet his thrusts, your hands gripping his back, nails biting into his skin as he starts to move. His rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as though he’s drawing out every moment of pleasure, letting it pool deep inside you. Each thrust pushes deeper, more intense, as he slams his pelvis into you.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice dripping with possessiveness, his lips brushing against your neck before he bites down softly, enough to make you moan his name.

“Fffuck, yes, Bucky—”

“You’re so tight,” he gasps, his voice thick with need as he watches your reactions, the way your body responds to him. “God, you feel incredible.”

Before you can respond, he shifts his angle, driving into you harder, deeper. Your knees are pressed together, pointed to one side as he lifts your hips slightly. Every time he ruts into you, he hits that fleshy, sweet spot in your cunt. 

“Yes, Buck!” you gasp. “Just like that.”

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice barely above a growl. “I want you to remember this every time you think of him.” His words are punctuated with a dangerous tinge that almost makes them sound like a threat. A warning. 

“Want you to fall apart around me, doll. Go on. Cum on me,” he commands. His movements grow frenzied, his body shaking with intense pleasure as he drives his cock mercilessly into your core.

You practically scream out hoarsely, the sound mingling with his as he follows you into bliss, his hot seed filling you completely.

Bucky collapses beside you, panting, and you turn to face him, a blissful smile breaking across your lips.

“That was fucking incredible,” you whisper. 

He catches his breath, his fingers trailing along your cheek, his gaze softening. “You have no idea how much I needed that,” he admits. 

“I can kind of tell,” you tease lightly. 

He smiles, a wicked glint in his eyes as he leans in, brushing his lips against yours again. “You’re amazing.”

You smile back, despite the pang of wistfulness in your heart. Because even as his memory lingers, you can feel yourself falling deeper for Bucky. 

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, “So are you, Buck.” You take a breath, the words caught in your throat, as you desperately attempt to address whatever it is that needs to be addressed, but he sees the turmoil in your eyes, and gently cradles your face with one hand.

“I’m sorry, I don’t… I don’t know…” you mumble. 

“Hey,” he says, offering a soft smile, “it’s okay, it’s okay.” You feel hopeless—it should be you consoling him. About whatever this is, and how the memory of Steve continues to complicate everything. Perhaps it always will. But here he is, carrying that burden for the both of you.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, a gesture carrying nothing but tenderness. 

Maybe even love.

“I’m with you, doll,” he promises. “Until the end of the line.”

taglist (let me know in the comments if you wish to be added!) : @vicmc624 @littleliyah16 @babezawa @klammykayla @justsebstan @blue--ingenue @numblytemporary @bradshawass @delicious-xx @mrsevans90 @heartarianagran @tinystarfishgalaxy @mochibochinochi @spngingerbread21 @zbeez-outlet @rena15 @raging-panda @marveldaydreamer @integers @imthebadguyyy @iidear @blackhawkfanatic @smhnxdiii @nommingonfood @loki-laufeyson68 @queenofshinigamis @samkickikc @utterlyhopeful-fics @mthealy @angelbabyyy99 @rabbitrabbit12321 @cloudroomblog @haruvalentine4321 @pommblog @yujyujj @thetorturedbuckydepartment @sanoorie1 @cjand10 @micasaessakusa @croftyspock90 @froobaloob @mavrellover91 @dexter99 @barnes70stark @ordelixx @radiantdanvers @chaotic-wanda @mrsnikstan @otterlycanadian @baw1066 (continued in comments...)

Some notes in the margins:

I'm kinda rushing through the events of tfatws, but I want to reach a certain point in time for Steve to make his entrance!

Writing this made me really, really feel for Bucky. My allegiance sways every week. I don't know what to do 😫🥲

oh, and the header images have been updated to include our Buck! As always, I am keen to know what yous think about this chapter 💙💙💙

[f1cflcfic]

Won't Say I'm in Love (SMAU ft Lando Norris) part ii

pairing: lando norris x tennis player!reader (fem!y/n); past carlos alcaraz x tennis player!reader (fem!y/n)

summary: As a general rule, y/n does not date athletes. You've been there, done that - would not recommend. Besides, you definitely don't do love. There's no time in the world for complicated feelings when there's a career Grand Slam to be won. But what if your heart just refuses to listen?

genre: social meda/mixed au, friends to lovers

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons

series: part i

end of January, 2025

1st week of February, 2025

[Excerpt from Red Carpet interview]

Hi Y/N L/N! We're so glad to see you here. First of all, congratulations on your win at the Australian Open.

“Thanks so much! I’m really excited to have started the year this way.”

We’re excited too – and very happy that you could make time to come here to London for this. Your calendar must be incredibly full.

“I do try and always have a week off after the Grand Slams at least, but the WTA Tour schedule has definitely filled out over the years. It’s always a bit of a puzzle to both ensure I can play enough, win points, and at the same time strike that right balance in terms of fitness.  Both mentally and physically.”

And yet you’re adding work for yourself by not only being a top athlete, but now also a brand ambassador for Dior. What made you want to do this?

“It’s a really cool opportunity to just play dress up from time to time, to be honest. Plus, I love that they recognise athletes and sports can be high fashion, too. I always think of how incredibly inspiring Serena Williams is, both on and off the court for breaking boundaries and for showing that sports and fashion can go really well together.”

Did you get any time to relax at all?

"Weirdly, this almost feels relaxing to me, because of how much time you have to carve out and focus on yourself – without any performance target attached to it. But I’ve also taken some time to hang with my friends and family."

You’re turning 27 this year as well, and you’ve been a pro athlete for almost 10 years now. Obviously last year wasn’t the best for you, performance wise. Has that made you reflect on what those performance targets will look like in the future? What’s something you’ve learned in that time?

"I mean, the main goal for me would be to achieve a Career Grand Slam – and just play the best tennis that I can possibly play. And in terms of what I’ve learned, I would say that it’s to choose your friends, your team very wisely. Sometimes I’ve regretted missing major events, and sometimes I’ve regretted giving people too much room in my life. You need people who help you keep that balance.” People who keep you grounded, who tether you. Because being a pro athlete means you have to be really selfish from time to time, and it means sacrifice. I don’t see my baby niece as often as I’d like, for example. But it’s just the way it is."

2nd week of February, 2025

3d week of February, 2025

[Transcript excerpts of Quadrant video]

“Alright so we’ve got our pro-athletes here, ready to battle it out in a game of Wii Sports,” Max starts, quickly introducing Lando and Y/N.

“You are going to lose so bad, Norris,” she says.

“Oh I see, we’re already starting the trash talking,” he retorts. “Haven’t even started the game yet.”

“That’s half the fun, isn’t it? Are we also going to play Mario Kart after this, just to see if Lando has what it takes to beat me on there?” Y/N asks eagerly, turning to Max.

“No fucking way, you always cheat!” Lando exclaims, with Y/N heard protesting in the background. “No I don’t, I just use the shortcuts that exist in the game! That is legitimate!”

(...)

“Birdie gets a birdie,” Lando cheers, though Max quickly chides him for encouraging the competition. “What? It’s not like she’s going to do it again, she’s terrible at this game,” Lando adds, motioning at the otherwise abysmal golf score that Y/N’s Mii character has racked up.

“Hey! She is right here, and she is currently in the lead after winning the bowling and tennis already.”

(...)

“Do you feel good about beating up a girl?” Y/N pouts, after losing the boxing match between her and Lando. He immediately makes a face, spluttering out an indignant “no!” that elicits a laugh from Y/N.

“Alright, that’s enough from both of you. With Lando’s win, it’s now tied again with only baseball to go. We’ll allow you both to consult your coach before starting this next round.”

They both turn to their coach for the day, one of the other Quadrant members, before taking their places – Wii Remote and Nunchuk in hand.

“You ready?

“Ready,” they nod, looking incredibly competitive. They even try and push each other to mess up their scores, devolving into a tickle fight halfway through. “No, Y/N stop, stop, I can’t - I’m crying,” Lando laughs, face red with tears streaming down his face.

“Does that mean I win?” She looks up from where she’d all but tackled Lando onto the ground, but then Max just shakes his head.

“It’s very close – but you’ve got one more pitch to go. You’re gonna need to let Lando hit it, or at least try to.” As soon as the words come out of his mouth, he blanches. Y/N rolls her eyes but starts uncontrollably giggling nonetheless.

“I regretted it as soon as I said it,” Max apologises profusely, but the camera zooms in on Lando who’s trying to hide his face behind both his hands, wheezing as Y/N tries to stand up and compose herself. Once they’ve finally managed to continue, it’s Lando who has the tiniest edge over Y/N.

“Ugh, well. This better not be a bad omen for me this season, but I guess I’d quite like to see you win the championship, Norris.”

“That’s actually very sweet,” he slings his arm around Y/N’s waist, then cracks open the champagne and pours it out over the two of them, with Y/N shrieking loudly at the cold, stickiness.

"So glad that's not part of tennis traditions."

4th week of February, 2025

[Excerpt Exit Press Conference]

“BBC Sport here. Your track record on hard court against Iga is not the best, now with 4 wins and 5 losses. How does that affect your training moving forward?

"Well, it was really close – so I feel like those type of numbers don’t really mean that much when it comes down to just a handful of winners or errors. Iga and I have played each other quite often, and she’s just an incredibly strong player. There’s a reason she’s had a long run at #1 and has returned to that spot for now.

In terms of training, I mean, we’re moving to gravel soon so it’s a completely different ballgame. Literally. We might run into each other again at Indian Wells, so of course we’ll come up with a plan – but my focus is already shifting towards the next Grand Slam, to be honest.”

Question from ViaPlay. Indian Wells is of course known for being the Grand Slam of the West and it’s one of the few 1000s tours where both ATP and WTA players meet. Last year, you entered into the mixed doubles with your then partner. Is that something you’d consider doing again in the future?

"Thanks for the question, but no. I’m playing singles, I’m not ready to mingle – I’m ready to pringle."

Will you actually have time to pringle, as you say? Or is it straight back to training for you?

"I’m going to spend a few days just hanging out, especially because I now have an extra day off all of a sudden. So I’ll try to make the most of that, then switch gears. Thanks."

A/N: Hope this uploads from the airport!! lol - next part coming March 14th, featuring Indian Wells, an interview faux-pas by Y/N, and of course some very fast cars 👀

♥ likes, comments, reblogs are always very much appreciated ♥

taglist: @linnygirl09 @julesbog @midnight-and-books @sarx164 @obxstiles @freyathehuntress @vhkdncu2ei8997 @berrnuu @lightdragonrayne

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。what if you’re someone i just want around (i’m falling again)

synopsis. somewhere along the line, you started to hate suguru—that doesn’t mean you stopped loving him too

— word count. 9.5k (i am in misery)

— contents. post canon! au — fix it! (we all need a good fix it fic with suguru don't lie), this fic was started before recent manga chapters so the higher ups are still alive—just go with it ok :,), geto survives + lives free of kenjaku, exes to lovers, kind of redemption i suppose, mentions of blood, injuries, and weight loss (geto), mentions of canon character deaths (nanako, mimiko, nanami), mentions of wanting to raise children with geto and have a family, no gendered terms but reader has a personality and actual thoughts and feelings, references to the hunger games (you have movie night lol), BFF satoru (he is babie), there is a kiss y’all !! (scandalous i know :O)

— notes. i started this fic back in march and i had trouble with it and put it on pause for a while. i’m very glad i finished it in the end. i always like fix it! fics and this is self-indulgent and idk if ppl will read it bc it’s sfw but it’s ok if they don’t, i loved writing it. thank you koi for beta-reading this whole bad boy. mwah <333

the day suguru is declared a free man is actually the day he signs away his freedom for good. 

you say nothing, but you know it’s the truth. satoru fights tooth and nail to plead suguru’s case—you think it’s perhaps a little too desperate for it to be in the best interest of suguru and not himself. but satoru has suffered enough, and admittedly—although you deny it—a small part of you does not want to lose suguru twice. you watch as satoru argues that suguru has already died once—surely he can’t die again? and losing control of his body and mind is paying for his crimes enough, is it not? he argues that there are no ideals left for a man like geto suguru to chase after losing himself to every principle he had left. 

and then satoru wins. 

you expect it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. you watch numbly as suguru is assigned under your watch. you should be happy. you love suguru—you never stopped. but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not a free man, and now he drags your freedom with his. you’ll never break away from him, never cut through the ropes that tie your hands behind your back and bind you to him—and then you wonder for a moment, unsure if it’s selfish or selfless or some cruel in-between to think this way, if geto suguru was better off dead. 

whether that’s for your sake, or his, you’re not sure. 

and yes, he’s let off alive, and sure, there’s no real punishment for all he’s done, but you know deep down he’s as chained and shackled as he’s ever been. he’s not allowed to leave the house unless you or satoru are there to chaperone, and it’s never to be anywhere near non-sorcerers. he’s not to live in a place of his own until the higher up’s deem him trustworthy. he has to ask you to buy the things he wants from the grocery store. he can’t even step outside for a smoke unless you’re aware. 

for a long time, he doesn’t speak much—can hardly muster a barely audible mornin’ back when you force a smile and greet him cheerily for breakfast. slowly, it turns into half-snarky conversations that get cut short by one of you leaving the room. finally, you’re civil—maybe even friendly. you’re not so sure where you stand with him as of now.

it’s not the same suguru you remember falling in love with, it’s not even close to the version of the man you fell for all those years ago. it’s hard having him here—some days you’re angry and want to throw him out, to scream at him for haunting you again just when you think you’ve moved on from the horrors of your past. some days you want to cry and cling to him, bury your face into his neck and thank him for being here again, for finding his way back to you. and some days you wish you never met him at all, that this would all be easier if it didn’t exist in the first place. 

he’s not the same geto suguru you loved, but somehow, because life is as bitter as it is ruthless, you fall in love with this version just as hard no matter how much you deny it. 

“i made your favorite,” you smile gently, placing a neat plate of french toast with freshly cut strawberries on the side. you even take great care to get the syrup-to-powdered sugar ratio he likes right, but he doesn’t make a move to reach for the plate. instead, suguru sits at the table stiffly, like he has to be here or there are consequences for that too. it almost makes you sad—even here, he’s not free. 

“thanks,” he says quietly, “but i’m not hungry.”

“you said that last night, suguru,” you sigh, “and at lunch. and at breakfast. and at dinner the night before—”

“i’ll eat it later,” he cuts you off, playing with the ends of his hair. 

it’s a lot shorter now. it’s you who finds his body battered and bruised after the smoke clears. he’s almost unrecognizable, not the same charming and perfect suguru you’re used to seeing. not the same silkened strands and smooth skin, not the same muscled and toned body, not the same chiseled jaw and soft cheeks. instead, he’s a shell of himself. his hair is matted in knots, his body is almost frail, and you notice the sunken hollows of his cheeks and dark undereyes as you lift him from the rubble a little too easily. but his body is his own—that much you can tell from the way the stitches have disappeared. 

it takes shoko a long time to nurse him back to health—it takes even longer for him to open his eyes.

you waited day and night by his side, hand over his as he breathed slowly, unconscious and unsuspecting. it would be so easy, you think one night, it would be so easy to kill him and forget and move on. 

you’ve already grieved him once before. you’ve felt and conquered the pain of loving geto suguru and losing him first to himself and then to death. but love is as selfish as it is selfless, and it’s under your mercy that you let him live—yet it’s under your cowardice that you keep him close. 

“you have to gain back the weight you lost, suguru,” you sigh, “you’re w—”

“weak?” he finishes for you, eyeing you for a second and then grinning. it’s unsettling, a grin that makes your skin crawl and your heart stop for a moment before he’s reaching for the fork and stabbing into his toast. “is that what you wanted to say? that i’m weak?”

“suguru, you know that’s not how i meant—”

“you’re not wrong,” he hums, chewing on the first bite as he speaks, “i suppose i am pretty weak right now, huh? couldn’t even kill you in your sleep if i tried could i?”

your throat is dry as you shrug, “i suppose not,” you whisper. 

“ah,” he grins again, “but that doesn’t stop you from locking your door every night, does it?” 

suguru is still healing. his body is weak, and sometimes, he leans against the wall as he walks. his arm is healed—you’re not entirely sure how, but you catch him rolling the shoulder out every now and then like it’s sore and stiff. he’s lost a lot of weight—part of it is from being bedridden for as long as he was, injured and half alive, and part of it is from barely eating—save for the few bites you force into him. you never thought there’d be a day when you could say this—but the odds of you beating suguru in hand-to-hand combat are high, and the reality is an everlasting reminder that he is not who you fell for. 

you swallow, letting out a shaky breath as he watches you closely, diligently cutting another bite from the french toast sitting on his plate as he stares you down like he can see past your soul. you don’t know what’s scarier—that suguru can still practically see yours, or that you’re unsure he even has one anymore. 

“you tried coming in?” you ask, unsure what else to say. he merely shrugs, takes another bite, and sets his fork down. 

“thought i’d check on you,” he pops a strawberry half into his mouth as he speaks.

“is that what it really was?” you raise a brow, “or was i right to lock the door?”

you’re not sure why you lock the door at night. maybe it’s because you don’t trust him, or maybe it’s because you don’t want him near you just yet. you’re not sure. you’re not sure how satoru can go back to his cheery self, how he can step through your door and boom a loud yo, suguru! before settling beside suguru on the couch with his feet on the coffee table as he rambles away. maybe it’s not real—maybe it’s satoru desperately pretending that if he tries hard enough, things can go back to how they were. 

but you don’t know how he still has the energy to try, and you don’t know if you have it in you to try anymore yourself. 

you and suguru stare each other down like that for a bit, the tension rising with every silent second that passes. you’re sure he doesn’t want to be here as much as you don’t want him around—but you’re also sure he’s glad it’s here with you as much as you’re glad it’s with no one else.

“you tell me,” he smirks after a bit, the hint of amusement making your fists clench. how dare he have the audacity to look at you like that in your own home? like he has the upper hand over you without trying? “what do you think i was there for?”

“i think you should stay in your room, suguru,” you say carefully, “i bought a new bed just for that room.”

“how sweet of you,” he hums. he sips the tea before him—it’s cold by now, but it’s just how he likes it, rose with one sugar. “you must have been excited to have me.”

“hardly,” you mumble bitterly—you can’t help it. you want him to feel hurt, even just a little. you want him to know that just because he’s back, it doesn’t mean you’ve waited all this time for him to be. liar, a part of you says, you’ve always waited for him, haven’t you? but suguru doesn’t seem phased—he doesn’t even blink.

“then tell me, why am i here?” suguru asks, his tone is as casual as ever. 

i wish i knew, you want to say. i wish i knew but i don’t.

“because satoru asked you to be,” is all you can say.

he nods, pushing back his plate and standing up, offering you that same grin. “you’re right,” he hums, “that’s exactly why i’m here.”

it hits you why his smile is so unsettling once he leaves—it’s almost genuine, like he’s still loved you all this time. impossible, you tell yourself. suguru stopped loving you a long time ago. and you need to stop trying to figure out why. 

————————————————

even despite telling yourself you don’t care what suguru thinks, a small part of you needs to prove to him you’re not scared of him. that you don’t fear for your own safety in your home, and that him being here is not some form of him haunting you. you don’t care. he shouldn’t get the luxury of thinking you care. he can come in and watch you sleep like the creep he is if he wants—you couldn’t bother to give it a second thought. 

the first night you take a chance and leave the door unlocked, suguru slips into bed beside you. it wakes you up instantly, and before you can question it, his head tucks into your neck, and his hand grasps your shirt tightly. you notice the panting almost instantly—and then you realize, it must be a nightmare. 

you fall into old habits, even after all these years, defaulting to care for him like it’s second nature. 

“you’re safe, suguru,” is what you settle for saying after a moment of contemplation. it’s all you can really think to say, so you brush your lips over the top of his head as you murmur, “you’re safe,” over and over again. 

as difficult as it is to have suguru around, as painful and cruel and aggravating as it is to be reminded of his distant existence even as he’s two doors down, this part feels natural. it’s almost like you’re back in jujutsu high, waking up to him sneaking into your room as he presses his weight over your body and wakes you with soft kisses along your face. 

except this time, he’s not annoyingly demanding cuddles or telling you about his weird dream, he’s not stealing your blanket and demanding you play with his hair. this time, it’s not the same suguru—and this time, it’s not jujutsu high. 

it’s your room. the one you got on the other side of town to leave the sorcery world behind, somehow still stuck right in the center of it no matter where you go. and yet, just like all those years ago, your legs tangle, and your arms wrap him up, and you murmur, “you’re safe,” while he catches his breath. 

“but they’re not,” he mutters in between labored pants, making you pause. 

and then you remember. 

faintly, you recall the blonde and black hair from a distance, you remember bitterly wondering what’d it be like watching suguru fathering children of your own as you came to the reality that it would never happen. sometimes, you wonder if you hate nanako and mimiko for existing, for living as the dreams you never got to live through with suguru. 

it’s selfish—to hate two children because they are what you do not have. 

but then you feel something wet hit your neck, and then you wish they were okay—for his sake. and just for a moment, you’re selfless again. 

“they’re not safe,” he mutters, making you sigh. 

“they are,” you whisper, hesitating for a moment before letting your fingers slip into his hair. you scratch gently at his scalp, feeling his body melt into yours almost instantly—like it’s a response that’s natural to him. “they’re not suffering. not anymore.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” he scoffs. you shrug, letting your cheek press against the top of his head as you sigh.

“it helps me feel better,” you say softly, “‘s just how you learn to cope.”

it’s an understanding you both silently come to. loss on both sides. bloodshed on either ground. defeat no matter which ideal you take. to love is to bear the pain of mortality—it’s a lesson that you never cease to learn until the ends of time itself. 

“the jujutsu world is one of suffering,” he grits, sniffling into your neck. you hum, pressing a kiss to his head as your eyes close. 

“every world is one of suffering, suguru, you can’t erase them all. the sooner you realize that, the easier you’ll find peace.”

you fall into a slumber after that, faintly aware of the way he shuffles closer to you, faintly aware of the soft kiss pressed to your skin as sleep takes over your body and drifts you out of consciousness. 

when you wake up the next morning, suguru is gone, and the door is closed. the blanket is tucked up to your chin, and your neck still tingles from last night. 

————————————————

“get up,” you throw a pillow at suguru, waking him up with a start as he sits up. his hair is tousled and messy from sleep—it’s now long enough that he can put it in a bun without strands slipping from the bottom anymore. you chuckle as he glares at you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he groans. 

“the fuck was that for?” he grunts, holding the blanket up to cover his exposed chest. 

it’s funny that he does that, in a way. it’s not as though you haven’t seen his chest…and then some too. it’s not like you haven’t torn his shirt off to stanch the flow of blood from his injuries before or feel the bare skin with your palm under the pale moonlight as the lingering scent of sex breezes through the room. 

but somehow, even though he doesn’t need to cover his chest around you of all people, you’re glad that he does. truthfully, it keeps you slightly comforted to know that he’s aware you’re still technically strangers—no matter how well-versed you are in each other’s pasts. but you don’t ponder on it too much. instead, you grin, shoving aside the visual of the small glance you caught at his pecs, and you clap your hands to motion him to hurry. 

“we are going grocery shopping,” you say casually—as though it’s not something to make him raise a brow in shock.

“me?” he points a finger at himself. you roll your eyes, and he challenges you with another raise of his brow. “aren’t i supposed to stay away from civilians?”

“yes, you,” you nod, pointing back at him, “and satoru has worked overtime to get you granted permission to roam around with me. he says you’re welcome, by the way.”

“tell him to go fuck off.”

“that’s ungrateful,” you say flatly, “his feelings will be hurt.”

“his feelings will find a way to cope,” suguru huffs. “i don’t want to be around…them,” he says bitterly. 

you suppose it’s wishful thinking to hope suguru has let go of his past beliefs. perhaps he’s long abandoned the possibility of the vision he once planned on bringing to life, but you can’t say you expected him to revert back to the old suguru who fought alongside you and satoru. you yourself certainly have no intention of returning to the sorcery world after all the events, so you can’t say you’re shocked by the lack of change he seems to show. but then again, you suppose suguru has changed. whether he sees it or not. 

he stays here and doesn’t put up a fight to leave even though he can now that he’s healed. he eats lunch when you tell him and even washes the dishes. sometimes, when you come home a bit late, dinner is even ready on the table as he sits and stares at you expectantly. his plate is empty like yours—like he’s been waiting for you even though he doesn’t need to. you suppose you can see he’s changed in the way he doesn’t scoff at the tv channels you surf through, he silently sits on the opposite end of the couch now and watches with you, and perhaps if you’re lucky, you’ll hear a light chuckle or a quiet sigh as the scenes roll on the screen. 

you suppose this suguru is a step closer to your suguru every day he spends with you, but you don’t know if any suguru is what you need right now. perhaps that name should’ve been buried away as a distant memory, perhaps it should’ve only been something you unlock once every year on his death anniversary—when satoru clambers through your door drunk and unsteady as he clutches the hand that killed his best friend, only to share pancakes with you in the morning and pretend like you don’t notice the dried tears on his cheeks while he acts like he doesn’t catch the way your hand shakes as you cut into your breakfast. 

but suguru is here now. whether it’s as geto, one half of the strongest duo in jujutsu high, whether it’s as suguru, the love of your life and the sole reason you exist, or whether it’s as geto suguru, the curse user and mass murderer who haunts your past, present, and everything in between. 

so you simply sigh, grab the pillow again, and hit the top of his head before walking over to the door as you call over your shoulder, “i’m gonna wait for you by the door in fifteen minutes. be ready or face the consequences..”

“no thanks. don’t wanna,” suguru grumbles petulantly, frowning at you as you stick your tongue at him, smirking as if you’ve just played your ace. 

“too bad,” you sing before swinging the door shut.

he’s at the door in exactly fifteen minutes, like he waited until the last possible second to join you as a move of spite. but you simply gesture him out the door and lock up, taking your sweet time as he stands there with an annoyed face. you stare at the doorknob once you’re done, taking a deep breath before turning to him with your best smile. 

“let’s go,” you hum.

“after you,” he mutters.

—

he grimaces as soon as he sees the people going about their business, clearly unhappy with the idea of being around non-sorcerers, but one sharp glare from you has him sighing and trekking along. the grocery store, admittedly, is not as bad as suguru thinks—in fact, there are lots of things he doesn’t realize he misses until he watches you grab a shopping cart. 

suddenly, he sees shadows. the silhouette of your figure climbing into the cart, the angry wave of satoru’s hands as he claims it's his turn to be pushed around, the figure of shoko pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation from the back—and then, he sees the dark shadow of baggy pants and a small bun. it’s him. suguru watches himself almost in slow motion through the remnants of his imagination as he gently shoves satoru out of the way and reaches to poke the tip of your nose before he pushes the cart with you in it.  

it’s a happy memory—and it’s gone all too soon.

as soon as he blinks, the shadows have disappeared—instead, it’s you waving a hand in his face, concern written on your features as you call his name. 

“suguru? hey, hello? are you with me?”

he exhales, pulled from his trance as he gently grabs your wrist from in front of his face and sets it down as he nods, “yeah, i’m fine. just thinking,” he mumbles. 

for a second, you hesitate, like you almost mean to say something. but in the end, you only nod before turning to grab the shopping cart. but he stops you—grabs the handle and turns to you with a small smile on his face, making you raise a brow as he gently moves you away. 

“what are you—”

“get in,” he grins, making you stare at him in bewilderment. 

“what?”

“just get in,” he sighs, “you love it when you get to sit in the cart.”

“i’m not a teenager anymore—”

“get in, will you?” he groans, “always so damn difficult.”

“hey,” you pout, glaring at him with your hands planted at your hips, “that’s rude.” it’s cute. suguru stares at you with amusement in his eyes and a soft look on his face that you don’t think you’ve really seen in years. 

“humor me,” he hums, “just get in, okay?”

so you do. 

with a huff and a grumble under your breath, you fight back a smile and climb into the damn cart just like old times. you swallow and try not to let it get to you when he reaches over and pokes the tip of your nose and pushes the cart around, letting you name off the things you need from your list while he grabs them. and when he sneaks snacks into the pile, you roll your eyes and glare at him in the way you always did—the one that isn’t actually annoyed. fond. happy to let it slide because it’s him.

“we need candy,” you murmur, “that’s the last thing on the list.”

“okay. what kind?” he asks, turning the cart into the candy aisle and smiling softly down at you.

“doesn’t matter, satoru eats anything as long as it’s sweet. he’s more likely to die from sugar than fighting a curse, i think.”

“you buy candy for satoru?” he asks, making you shrug as you reach over and grab a few bags of candy off the shelves, setting them down beside you. 

“he comes over a lot so i learned to keep stuff stocked up for him. you know how he gets when he’s hungry.”

suguru feels something he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager. jealousy—specifically of satoru. 

suguru is not foolish. he knows as soon as he meets gojo satoru that of the two, one of them is stronger and it’s definitely not himself. for the longest time, he’s okay with that, okay being the strongest only when alongside satoru—until he’s not. and even if suguru always had a bit more attention in the romance department than satoru, in his head he’s always known that perhaps satoru can keep you safer, more well off, maybe even happier. with smooth smiles and eyes as welcoming as an oasis, gojo satoru would never leave you in the dark pit of misery as suguru once had. 

something about the thought of you and satoru keeping each other company through the lonely years, filling that empty spot suguru left behind, sharing moments over candy and empty wrappers makes suguru wonder for a moment if perhaps he’d be happier if he stayed. maybe he could have worn a heartfelt smile in a world that carves them off the faces of sorcerers with bloody knives as long as you were there to wipe the blood.  

but before he can dwell on it, you snatch one more bag—this time of his favorite candy, placing it into the cart and grinning gently up at him. 

“i haven’t bought this one in years,” you admit, “i almost forget how it tastes.”

“me too,” he says quietly.

“well,” you hum, “we’ll have to have some when we’re home.”

home. you say it as though it belongs to him as much as it does you, and then like you always have, without even meaning to, you wash away the dark stains of his jealousy with no trace left behind.

“yeah,” he chuckles, “we—”

“daddy, look! candy!” suguru is cut off by the gentle pitter-patter of two tiny feet running into the aisle, pointing at a bag of candy as a man follows close behind. 

his breath hitches. 

she’s small, the girl—she has two pigtails with soft strands of blonde hair falling out of the loosely tied bands. it reminds suguru of the first time he perfected tying up nanako’s hair, the soft giggles behind her tiny hand as she twirled in the mirror. 

there’s another girl in the man’s arms—dark hair on her head as she curls into her father’s chest and tucks her head into his neck when she sees you and suguru in the aisle. she’s shy, he realizes, like mimiko, and suddenly he remembers the tiny fingers that used to hook into his pants when she got too overwhelmed by the people around her, waiting for suguru to scoop her into his arms. 

perhaps in another life, suguru would redo everything differently—he’d be happy with you and satoru and shoko, and nanami and haibara would be there too, well and alive. but no matter what, he’d never redo nanako and mimiko differently. he’d never change a thing about them, not even the way nanako whines too much about small things or the way mimiko never speaks up even when something is clearly bothering her. he’d never change the way he saved them and took them in at the tender age of eighteen, too lost to be a father but choosing to raise them anyway. he’d never change the feeling of pure joy and unbridled pride when they climbed into his bed for the first time, shushing each other so as not to wake him—even though he’d awoken as soon as the door to his room opened. 

because he realized that night that yeah, maybe he’d made mistakes in his lifetime, lots of them too. maybe he’d made a bad choice choosing the path he did, or maybe he didn’t. he’s never been completely sure—just that he had to try at least to make his vision for a different world come to life. but one mistake he never made was his girls. one thing he was always sure about was the soft clutch at his pants and the tiny hands reaching for his own.

suguru wouldn’t change anything about nanako and mimiko—except maybe the fact that they aren’t here, gone because of him. 

“suguru?” you ask softly, reaching for his hand as he grips the cart tightly and pulling his gaze away from the family in the distance. 

he blinks, meets your eyes, and knows that you know. with one glance at your face, he knows you understand. the world is cruel, one filled with suffering, he thinks. but then he remembers what you said, that every world is full of suffering, not just his—that it’s a truth he has to come face to face with.

but it’s hard. it’s hard when this man has his two little girls and suguru does not—it’s hard to watch someone have what he wants with no worries of losing it, all because of people and their own weaknesses. he thinks for a moment that he’s been right all along—that non-sorcerers are too weak for this life, that the jujutsu world has always suffered so they don’t have to. 

but then the man speaks up, catching both of your attention. 

“your mother used to love those,” he says quietly to his daughter, a pained smile on his face. instantly, you and suguru both seem to understand the weight of that single sentence. 

every world has its own pain, suguru realizes. its own cruelties and unfairness, its own way of bringing suffering in its wake as it rips away the things closest to you from your begging fingertips, leaving them cold and empty and numb from the lost weight underneath them. 

“let’s go, suguru,” you whisper, “we have everything we came for.”

“yeah,” he whispers back, clearing his throat so his voice doesn’t crack, “let’s go.”

suguru leaves the grocery store with you after you pay, and for a brief moment, he’s unsure. unsure whether he’s grateful to satoru for fighting for him to be able to come and grateful to you for dragging him along, or if he wishes he died along with the rubble, gone before you could find him and turn him into this.

“before you even think about hiding away in your room,” you say, grabbing the bags from the cart as you put it back where it belongs, “you have to help with putting away the groceries.”

“sure,” he says smoothly. he grabs all the heavy bags from your hand, and you make a move to protest that you don’t need him to take the heavier ones, that you’re fine and can handle them like you’ve always handled them. 

but he walks off, and finally, you decide to simply follow.

————————————————

satoru likes to come and visit—you’ve started a routine movie night every week (unless he’s away, of course.) it’s fun, but it also means he makes your veins pop because he’s a headache like that—always makes himself right at home and eats your snacks like this is his place and not yours. he helps himself to your already limited candy and puts his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table no matter how many times you tell him not to. 

you try sitting with legs as long as these, he always whines, earning a harsh glare from you as you smack at his shins until he ultimately caves and begrudgingly sets his feet down. 

but then they always make their way back up to the coffee table, and you’re too busy enjoying his company to care—although you’ll never admit it. 

satoru is endearing like that, swallowing the dark clouds from your shoulders whole and eating up your burdens with that side of responsibility that you don’t think you could ever stomach. satoru is just like that, you realize, taking the brunt of the weight and laughing off every concern until you can’t help but not take them seriously yourself. 

it’s hard to remember that sometimes you didn’t just lose suguru, the love of your life, that night. everyone lost something. shoko lost someone to smoke with, yaga lost a student to scold, nanami lost a headache to avoid, and satoru?

well…satoru lost what you think might’ve been the only filled void of his miserably empty life. 

it’s hard to remember that satoru lost his best friend—the only best friend he’s ever had (although you like to think of yourself as a close contender)—because he’s so good at letting you forget. he brings you ice cream (that he eats half of because it’s only fair he gets a share), and he sits and hogs your couch (that he argues you don’t really need as much space as him on because your legs aren’t as long), and he watches those stupid sitcoms that are dry with boring jokes (that you used to make suguru watch back in the day).

it’s hard to remember that satoru also lost as much as you because he’s so damn good at making you forget about your own loss, you don’t care to think about anyone else’s for a while. just a short while. just until he’s yawning that obnoxiously loud yawn and stretching those awkwardly long limbs of his before he claims he really should go and that being the world’s best teacher requires as many hours of beauty sleep as you can squeeze in. 

and then he’s off. and it’s empty again. and just like that, you’re reminded of why he was there in the first place—to fill in that sick and painful void that geto suguru left in you. 

it’s gaping, like he tore a chunk of you right out with sharp teeth, like you’re just a piece of meat for him to get his fill of. if suguru really loved you, would you be so easy to let go of? why couldn’t he smile? because you could—god, you could smile just from the sight of him alone, you realize a long time ago. him with his cigarette tucked between his lips, those death sticks as you called them, hung loosely from his mouth as he gives you a lopsided grin. 

geto suguru is enough of a reason to smile. the world could crumble at your feet and leave you with nothing but rubble and dirt, and still, suguru is the core of the earth you’re searching for. 

so why couldn’t you be the same? what is it you were missing? what about you was just not enough for him like the way he was enough for you? 

it dawns on you one night, through bitter tears and shaky sobs, and that sick, twisted, pleading feeling in your gut that begs the wind to carry him back to you—geto suguru has never loved you the way you loved him.

and for that, you can never forgive him, you don’t think.

“you tryin’ to go bug-eyed?” he asks, settling down on the couch next to you, making you snap out of your trance. you shake your head a little, stare back at him for a moment before putting on that look on your face where you roll your eyes and pretend everything is fine.

“no,” you huff, “i’m just thinking.”

“about…?”

“satoru has rarely ever missed a movie night.”

“maybe he’s sick of you,” he shrugs, grinning slyly at you as you narrow your eyes with a glare, “there’s someone here to keep you company now so he’s probably taken his opportunity to run.”

“you’re hardly company,” you scoff, “freeloader.”

“hey,” he defends, shrugging as if it’s not his fault. you suppose it’s not. “i didn’t ask to be rescued. you can’t be high and mighty and petty. ‘s not how that works.”

“says who? you don’t make the rules. i can be graciously kind and a jerk all at once.”

“complexity,” he nods, “i like it.”

“i’m not as complicated as you might think,” you grumble, crossing your arms as you stare at the time. yeah, satoru isn’t making it—which, he told you as much, but he’s strolled in at the last second too many times to count before. you figure today would be the same. “as long as you don’t skip movie nights with me, i’m pretty simple to keep appeased.”

“alright,” he props his feet up on the coffee table—seriously, what is it with asshole men putting their feet on your table? satoru is a terrible influence. “let’s have a movie night.”

“what?” you blink.

“movie night,” he repeats, “you said you don’t like skipping movie night—”

“well, i meant i don’t like satoru skipping movie—”

“well, it was me before satoru, wasn’t it?” he says with a smile. his eyes are closed, crinkled at the corners, but his voice is carefully neutral—like he takes extra care not to let you see any emotion behind it. 

but that only means there is an emotion, isn’t there? is he jealous? does he hate the fact that you and satoru have a routine of your own without him? that you don’t need him to continue living your life? 

good. he should be. he walked out on you all those years ago. he killed a village. killed his parents. you never even got to meet them—he never even got to take you home and introduce you to them before he ripped away every fantasy you ever had with him. 

and now he’s back—he has the audacity to live, to laugh in your face with his existence that yes, geto suguru is here. and he was supposed to be executed, but your stubborn friend didn’t let that happen. he was supposed to be your husband by now with kids and a happy little home, and you were supposed to be his parent’s new addition to their family that they loved so much. but none of that is even close to happening, and it’s suguru’s fault, and the least he can do is show you some regret and maybe feel just the slightest bit bad that you now have to watch shitty movies with his best friend instead of him to feel normal. 

ex-best friend? half best friend? you don’t even know—do they still consider each other their best friends? does anyone consider suguru anything? you don’t know what you consider him. but you think the least he can do is act just the slightest bit pathetic after making you feel so pathetic for so long just to even the score. 

he should be a stranger. he feels like an old friend. but either is dangerous. 

“alright,” you sigh, “let's bring back movie night. don’t fall asleep.”

“i get plenty of sleep nowadays,” he hums, “i have more than enough free time for that now.”

“how lucky of you,” you snort. 

—

picking a movie with suguru is difficult. he actually has standards—satoru watches anything so long as he gets snacks, and he can make anything fun to watch with the way he comments from the side like a critic. suguru, on the other hand, actually cares about the quality of a movie, the metrics that make it good. 

so you pick the hunger games just to piss him off. 

“seriously?” he raises a brow, “this is your pick?”

“yes,” you grin, “i like these movies.”

“of all movies—”

“my house, my rules,” you grin cheekily, “you can pick the movies as soon as you start paying the bills.”

“wow,” he deadpans, “stooping to use my financial status against me? i thought you were better than this.”

“oh suguru,” you sigh dramatically, grabbing a bag of chips from the table, “you don’t know me at all.”

all things considered, you think it’s a rather enjoyable experience. it’s not as fun without satoru’s stupid comments that you pretend to hate, but suguru provides his own commentary that earns a giggle out of you here and there too—although his are not meant to be funny. but that’s the appeal of it, you think. 

“she should have picked gale,” he mumbles. you raise a brow.

“peeta was always there for her, did you miss the rain scene?”

“so was gale,” he says smoothly, grabbing a chip from your bag and making you scowl.

“gale killed her sister,” you point out, “and a lot of other people too. he was ruthless. she needed peeta.”

“gale did what he had to do,” suguru mumbles. 

suddenly, it doesn’t really feel like you’re discussing the movie anymore. it feels more than that. it feels sickening—the air is heavy, and your throat is dry and god, you just wanted a movie night and not this heaviness as you talk about stuff from the past without actually talking about it. 

you blink before turning to your chips, playing around with the bag as you shrug. 

“in the end he didn’t get katniss, did he?”

suguru studies you for a moment, stares a little too deep into you that you start to feel the urge to bolt to your room and go to bed. 

“guess not,” he says quietly, “guess that’s the one regret he has, huh?”

you think for a second, as suguru stares at your eyes with something you can’t quite read, that you might cry. you might cry and throw that half-empty can of soda in his face for speaking in codes and making you question what he means and remember your past. you might cry because suguru could’ve always gotten you—in fact, he had you.

it’s not fair. nothing is, but you can’t help but dwell on it.

“i’m going to bed. it’s late,” you mumble after a few moments, standing. he only nods, staring at the tv as the credits roll. when you make it to your room and the door shuts behind you, you debate clicking the lock in place. 

in the end, you don’t lock the door. suguru climbs into bed with you once more later that night, shaking slightly from his nightmare but calmer than usual. he’s still gone by the time morning comes, and you still never mention it.

it hits you one night that maybe he still has you—maybe you never let him stop having you, no matter what you say.

————————————————

suguru is good at cleaning while you’re away. you have to go out and do adult things like breadwinning and grocery shopping and bill paying. he dusts and cleans and even takes out the trash when you’re home to monitor him as he steps two feet out of your front door. sometimes, because you like to get on his nerves, you accidentally mess up a corner of the house just as he cleans it, laughing as he shoots you an unimpressed look. 

“stop getting crumbs on the floor,” he mumbles, “i just vacuumed.”

“you make a good malewife,” you giggle, “vacuuming and everything. how cute.”

“don’t call me that,” he grumbles, sitting down on the couch. 

“but you missed a spot,” you point to the crumbs you’ve sprinkled from your fingers as you snack away, making him glare. “failwife.”

“i’m going to divorce you and take everything,” he snaps, making you snort as you put your hands up in surrender.

“you don’t have to, you know,” you murmur, “clean, i mean. i can handle it.”

“i think i should carry my weight around here,” he shrugs, “since you are basically sugar babying me around for now.”

“dangerous curse user to the world, but sugar baby to me,” you tease, pulling a chuckle out of him as he rolls his eyes. 

sometimes it’s nice to have his company. suguru is good with banter like that, he’s not annoying like satoru where you run in circles. suguru makes you laugh from your belly, makes the hiccups catch in your throat as you double over. he’s always been like that, always known how to make laughter pour from your lips and trickle down your chin. it’s comforting to know he still knows how. it leaves a small amount of bitterness that he’s still able to make you feel like this. 

“by the way, next time you go shopping, take me with you,” he says casually, “i need to buy stuff for my hair. it’s growing.”

“you’ll finally see the sun just for your hair?” you gasp, “who knew that’s all it’d take?”

despite the playfulness in your words, there’s still shock. suguru is willingly stepping foot outside your house. he’s finally choosing to return to life after living like a recluse no matter how many times you and satoru have tried to beg him to get up and go somewhere. the most you can get out of him is a walk around the neighborhood before he goes back to wandering your home and hiding away in his room. 

suguru is returning to life, his life, and you can’t help but wonder where that leaves room for you.

“my hair is my charm,” he reasons, “wouldn’t you agree?”

there’s a smirk on his lips when he asks—it’s like he’s seventeen and teasing you again, giving you that unfairly flirty smile that used to make you stutter as a kid. back when you were hopelessly in love. back when it was you, suguru, and the world in your corner. back when you had dreams of your future, practically giggling as you planned it away in a notebook. 

suguru was always perfect like that, the kind of guy you could only dream about. he’s always been handsome—he’s always been the center of attention everywhere you went. you used to huff about it, about all the attention he managed to get from walking into a room alone. but then he’d smile, give you that tender look of his as he’d chuckle, and you’d be hopeless again. 

he shouldn’t have that effect on you anymore after over a decade. but he does. it’s cruel, the way the universe works. it’s like there’s a magnet that pushes you together no matter how far you try to go, still pulled by gravity straight into his awaiting eyes and devilish smile.

“i cut your hair off once, i can do it again,” you huff. he laughs, it’s good-natured and kind. 

“i was a bit heartbroken when i realized it was so short, i have to admit,” he says, “i didn’t look like me.”

“you looked good,” you say quietly, “i think you’d make anything work, to be honest.”

“yeah?” he grins, “any requests? i might consider it if it’s you.”

“oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, “how about shaving your head bald? let's see how much charm you have without all that hair.”

“i could charm you without the hair still, couldn’t i?” he winks. 

it’s unfair how he acts like normal. like a few months in your home undoes everything he’s ever committed, all the atrocities he’s caused. the way he flirts with you feels like you’re his again. the way he’s aged and changed feels like you’re meeting someone new. you don’t understand how suguru is so natural with that—with seamlessly falling back into a rhythm with you like nothing has changed at all.

deep down, you know that suguru is just moving on with his life. he’s making the most of what he can. he can’t die, satoru would never let him have a peaceful death after all this. he can’t go back to the way things used to be, whether that’s his sorcery days or his curse user days, and he certainly can’t start over. so he’s making do with what he has—which is very little in reality.

it’s you, your home, and the biweekly visits from satoru and occasionally shoko. so he weaves you seamlessly into his life and treats you with a sense of normalcy you can’t hope to treat him with. maybe it’s because suguru was actually able to move on after he left. 

it’s the part you hated him most for. for building a family with new people. for having two girls that he raised as daughters. for finding people to follow him and trust. suguru, after he walked away from everything he ever knew, actually did something with his life—even if it could hardly be considered good. 

you? you fell deeper and deeper into a pit of denial until clawing your way back out was too impossible, until you had to leave behind everything you’ve ever known to get away from the remnants of his existence. 

it’s easy for him to weave you back into his life because he chose to cut you loose. it feels damn near impossible to let him weave back into yours after he tore himself from the edges and frayed away. 

“don’t do that,” you sigh, making him frown.

“do what?”

“you know what, suguru,” you pinch your nose in frustration, “stop acting like things are normal.”

“things are definitely not normal,” he snorts bitterly, “i think needing your approval to take the trash out is not equal to normal.”

“then why are you acting like…” you trail off, unsure.

“like what?” he raises a brow. 

“like we never changed,” you slam your hands down on the couch in exasperation. 

he stares at you for a minute, blinks once, then twice, and then furrows his brows.

“well, of course we changed,” he mumbles in confusion, “i know that—”

you shouldn’t have said anything. you quickly realize that. suguru is not trying to act like things are normal—he’s trying to be civil, and you’re just a fool. a fool who looks too deeply into everything and assumes what you want to out of things and god, you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of your one and only ex-boyfriend in over a decade who was once dead and somehow came back to the land of the living.

of course, he knows things are not the same. he doesn’t want what you think he does. it’s been years and suguru has moved on—he had already moved on all those years ago, and you’re the only one here that is still focused on the past. and now he knows it too. 

you stand before he can finish, nodding as you stare down instead of meeting his eyes, pretending to adjust your clothes. 

“right, of course you do,” you nod, “i don’t know why i said that. just ignore me, i’ll be going to my room now. i have…things to do, so i’ll be—”

“hang on,” he frowns, hand grabbing your wrist, “i don’t mean it like that,” he says gently.

fuck geto suguru for being so confusing and fuck him for being nice about it too. 

“you can let go, suguru,” you pull at your wrist, “forget what i said, i wasn’t thinking—”

“i still feel the same,” he cuts you off, making your eyes widen, “if that’s what you mean. i never stopped.”

never stopped—that’s almost worse than moving on. how could he have felt the same all those years and still never come back?

“that does not help even a little,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “that makes this so much worse, do you see that?”

“i know,” he sighs, “i’m sor—”

“don’t say you’re sorry,” you grit your teeth, “we both know you’re not.”

“maybe not,” he admits, “i had to try. and that meant leaving—i’m sorry that’s not what you wanted.”

“it’s not!” you turn around, pulling your arm out of his grasp—suguru, for what it’s worth, takes the shove to his chest like a champ. “of course i didn’t want you to leave and kill a bunch of people and have an execution stamped on your forehead and live your life without me.”

“i know—”

“and now you’re back. back! in my house, eating my food and sleeping in my bed for half the night and i just have to act like this is normal. how is any of this normal?” 

“it’s not,” he agrees. he’s calm. so calm, it almost makes you mad. why is he so calm? “nothing about anything in our lives is normal. it never was.”

“you ruined my life,” you blink back tears. he smiles sadly, taking a step closer.

“i guess i can take the blame for that,” he nods, hands finding their way to your hips. against your better judgment, you lean half your weight against his body. this is bad, very bad—but it’s also the best thing ever. 

being close to suguru feels like the sun’s heat tearing through your skin—it’s warm. it’s pleasant. it leaves you parched and drained with a dry throat. but still, you need it to survive. 

“why did you come back?” you ask tiredly. his hand finds the small of your back, rubbing slow circles.

“i don’t know,” he hums, “i didn’t really get a say. maybe i was always meant to, who knows?”

you look at him at that—tilt your head to get a good look at his features. his eyes are more tired, and his cheeks are a bit more sunken in compared to the youthful flesh you remember him with. his hair isn’t as healthy, and his forehead has the slightest traces of pale marks from the scars. but he’s still suguru—and you have always loved suguru, even if he gives you every reason to hate him.

“you make my life unreasonably difficult,” you mutter.

he hums, smiling. “can i?” he asks breathlessly, pleadingly. you stare at his eyes, he stares at your lips. you know what he wants—but fuck, you can’t let him have it so easy. 

“can you what?” you ask, raising a brow slowly.

“are you really gonna make me say it?” he grunts, lips almost curled into a pout. it’s cute, the way he looks longingly at your lips—it’s so cute and beautiful and dangerous all at once, just like suguru. 

“yes,” you say, “yes i am. i deserve to hear it suguru, after everything you put me through. you…you left me. i wasn’t enough for you. i mourned you. i grieved a body i never even saw. do you know what that does to a person? to lose them not once but two times? the least you could do is tell me what you want,” your voice wavers just a little. 

it shakes for the lost time. for the moments you’ll never have. for the memories you lost. for the past that’s tainted. time is cruel like that. but that’s the beauty of it all—the fragility. it’s like sand falling through the cracks of your fingers, every grain slipping from your reach but still soft and soothing against your skin as it falls. everything fades over time, everything starts to hurt one way or another. but it stops. it heals. it starts over. the sand fills the cup of your palms again, warm and delicate and just as beautiful as before it crumbled. 

“can i kiss you?” he asks desperately, “please?”

“kissing me is not a temporary thing,” you shake your head, “not anymore. it’s for good. only for good.”

“i want to kiss you for good,” he nods, hands digging into your hips impatiently. you’re close. you’re too far. he can feel you, smell you, hear your unsteady breaths. but it’s not enough. he needs to devour you, taste you on his tongue, and melt you with his touch. “i won’t stop this time,” he promises. 

“you better not,” you sniffle, tears blurring your vision. you hated suguru for leaving you. you hated him for coming back to you like this. you never stopped loving him, never will stop loving him—and maybe that’s what love is. when the darkness is worth trekking through for the afterglow of the light. “if you fucking leave me again, you’re dead to me. i don’t care how many times you come back to life. you’re dead to me.”

“okay,” he agrees through a shaky chuckle, “i suppose i deserve that. let me kiss you, yeah?”

“yeah,” you breathe.

he kisses you—years too late, he kisses you. it feels like you’re teenagers again. it feels different and foreign. you know this feeling like the back of your hand. you don’t understand what this sensation is anymore. it’s new. it’s old. it’s perfect. it hurts. suguru is here. he promised not to leave—you don’t know if you believe him, but you’re going to trust that finally, for once, you are enough. 

you’re enough to make him happy. to give him a sense of purpose. to keep him swimming when his limbs start to sink. 

finally, for once, you’re enough. 

“i love you,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing the words into you like he’s offering you the air from his lungs, “i never stopped. i promise.”

“you don’t deserve to hear it from me,” you murmur back, panting against his lips, “not yet.”

“fair enough,” he chuckles, “you sure know how to leave a guy waiting.”

“i learned from the best,” you shoot back.

he grins—suguru smiles, heartfelt and real. life is full of misery, it’s painful, and nothing fucking makes sense. everything is cruel. everything dies no matter how carefully you water the roots. there’s always something, someone, ready to tear it from the earth. but if you keep planting the seeds, suguru will keep watering. 

maybe something kind can bloom from that, something big enough for him to hide under the shade when the scorching heat of tragedy becomes too much. 

in this world or in the jujutsu world; in this life or in the next. suguru is yours.

“why am i here?” he asks gently, his face digging into your neck. you hold him, cradling the back of his head as you hum. 

“because i need you here. will you stay?”

“yes,” he murmurs, “i think i’ll stay.”

hi. i have been working on this since march. its still not how i envisioned it to be originally but that's okay. i had fun writing it and it means a lot to me even tho its kind of. well....cliche LMAO like everything i write. but. i enjoy the cliches okay ?? i do. kxljchskdf hope u guys didn't hate it </3

also the fic banner is …. not the greatest. just ignore it ok

[kooyabooya]

HIERARCHY

dahyun x m reader

9k words

(shoutout to @passingnotions for allowing me to adapt this idea <3)

“I have her here waiting at the desk if you’re ready to see her, sir.” 

“Perfect. Send her up.” 

It’s peculiar for these kinds of rumors to circulate given her status - and even when the sounds of her heels click off against the polished tiles and get gradually louder; until she steps past the open door and into the oval office, you still can’t put together why she’s a controversial topic in the first place. 

“I’m glad that we can finally have this arrangement,” you say, glancing over the more she makes her presence known, “Overseer.”  

-

It’s as simple as it sounds: 

She’s the regulator. You’re the higher-up. It’s your job to assess, determine, and take action. 

And the roles exist for a reason, and every system has its necessary balance. Nobody gets out of line, and nobody ever questions the orders that come from the superiors. Everything feels right in its place, between the people and where this institution stands, but there’s one catch that you’ve sought yourself to see out personally, after hearing some peculiar commentary building up with various faculty members.

This very woman standing in your quarters exudes this infectious aura that sweeps up the whole room. In the case of the students, it would send a chill down their spine, get a few beads of sweat to form in the palms of their hands and foreheads - a quick breath beneath their lips as they tense up because despite not being the main person in trouble, and she makes them feel that way regardless. 

“I would like to know why you asked to see me in the first place,” she says, face stoic as she settles into the seat, gaze locked with yours, “Hopefully this isn’t about what we discussed the other time, is it?” 

Something in the way that she sits, and how the two-piece set of her dress rests along the line of her shoulders, how her eyes dart through yours when you’ve caught yourself staring a bit longer than expected. Make the goosebumps along your arms stand up underneath the sleeves. 

“It’s partly that,” you answer, pinching the edge of your cuff, hoping to divert the attention of death staring in your direction. “Among other things.” 

“Meaning what, sir?” 

Breaking eye contact, the formality alone snaps some composure into you. To recap: you’ve been in and out of meetings all day, talking about future plans to implement amongst the student body and faculty; then there was some discrepancies that was dealt with from past incidents brought to your desk, but the common thread from these accounts all pointed to the same thing: 

“It’s about your recent-” the pause alone of the intended word hanging between your lips makes the Overseer puzzled about this discussion (though with the implications through the reports sitting on your desk, tell a different tale). 

“-modes of conduct.” You tell her, which only earns a quirked eyebrow and a nod, signaling that you’re right. “I’m sure you’ve heard what’s been going around between the other staff members and what not, Dahyun.” 

Even the name alone sometimes sends chills to your body. Overseer Kim Dahyun: the academy’s best instructor. Lead figure when it comes to dishing out disciplinary measures to those who were stupid enough to go against the rules. Once she has someone that’s out of order, it’s automatically assured that there won’t be any further incidents coming from them moving on. You’ve looked at the written reports, noticed that there’s nothing worth putting against someone like her with the reputation that she carries, but no one ever really stays perfect for this long. 

“So tell me, Superior,” Dahyun begins, one leg over the other in her chair while you continue with the glacial pacing around the office, “What is it that you have heard about me, circling around with the other staff in the past weeks?” 

“I guess it’s mainly the latter, the ‘forms’ of discipline you’ve been committing with various students.” 

“What about them?” 

“That's the reason why I’m having this discussion with you in the first place.” 

Dahyun tilts her head down, eyes wandering the opposite direction, reflecting almost as her mind tries to piece the different shards of information rummaging about in her head. She’s one to not leave anything unchecked - down to the minute detail possible. Intricate in the way that she does her line of work, and meticulous with how she wants things to be done. She also gets along well with others to which they speak highly of her. You wouldn’t want to call these accounts ‘accusations’; not yet, until you’ve seen both ends of the scope before drawing up a solid conclusion. 

She turns her head around to see you at the tray table next to the door, tending to the two glasses of water before a wave to the keypad locks the deadbolt into place, to ensure privacy and know that someone will eventually knock without even going to the front desk in the first place. “This is a first for me, especially coming from you, questioning my methods.” 

“I don’t see what you mean,” you tell her, making peace with the glass in your left hand to which she accepts, “I’m only aware of the stories that were told in recent weeks.” Dahyun acknowledges with a sip, eyes still trained on you now on the other side of your desk, “Let this be a simple conversation between you and I, please.” 

“Okay then,” she remarks, handing back the empty glass once she’s done with it, “I’ll ask this again: What is it that you’ve heard about me that caused this whole debacle in the first place?” 

Her look shifts up, maintaining her posture, hands resting on her lap. There’s a few strands in her hair that look out of place, but most of it is neatly tied up in the bun hanging low behind her head. She knows that she holds this sort of entitlement, this status - even from the glances alone in all sorts of seriousness tell you not to mess with a woman like her if you were a student. 

But you’re not. 

The lift from her eyebrows, above the upper rims of her glasses, prompting you to answer. It’s all in your head, right there, the only problem is how the delivery is going to hit her. You have every right to feel bad to be the bearer of not-so-good news, but it’s the part of the job, and the more you stand there in silence with her looking up waiting for a reply, adds on the slow building tension in the room. 

You’re reminded however, of the actions she committed. 

“We have an issue, technically it’s not really an issue, yet.” Dahyun’s gaze twists at that, but it isn’t a look of clear confusion, moreso thrown off at the very topic of discussion. She scoffs, slightly amused, and you can’t blame her for giving that reaction. “Though it’s been brought to my attention in the past few days.” 

And in terms of issues, there’s hardly any throughout the academy; thanks to the dedication towards molding the best and brightest students into civilized beings for the real world. Most of these incidents come at a scarce occurrence alone - but it still happens even if it’s an ordinary day throughout the week. 

She blinks twice, maybe thrice, turns her head away, fixated on the edge of the desk still. Her hands mold together with a small unease, but she still looks empathetic with how her eyelids flutter in the small lines of breaking light past the windows. 

“So say it then,” she says, tone flat - like in her lectures or when having a one-on-one conversation with a troubled student outside the hallways, “since you’re always so on top of the loop with the faculty here.” 

The prompting. It’s so on brand for her to be like this - to set someone else up as a way for them to keep their attention, carrying on with the conversation till she finally has that satisfaction with the answer. There’s some admiration for her, in the way that she doesn’t back down from a disagreement, because she’ll always see it through no matter what the circumstance may be. It’s her strength, and also her weakness, but she’s good enough to not let it show on her face. 

At some point you were afraid of her, something that you can admit to yourself from a long while ago. Not a lot of people at the academy even really liked her because she’s extremely intimidating, and that still seems to be the case now. Though, with all of the different events spread out across the place, some of the roses were given in her effort to come out of her shell which she takes your encouragement. It’s in those rare moments where she laughs or smiles, like a blue moon passing in the night sky. 

You remember the task at hand, what needs to be done. 

“It’s about the students,” you tell her, air slipping through your upper lip as a way of preparation, “I’ve been told by a few individuals that you’ve been having an affair with one of them.” 

“What!?” 

“This is all just speculation,” you say, settling into your chair as Dahyun keeps her posture upright and composed, “Hence you being here to tell me your side of the story so that we can try to line up the two different perspectives together.” 

“That’s what this is about?” 

“Dahyun.” That sense of professionalism has to be cared for. An eye to the desk to the few different reports that insinuate a wrongful framing; some of them were just verbal accounts and had to be on the record, but the whistleblower tip in the form of a post-it note already caused quite a stir around the teachers lounge. 

“All of this is unbelievable.” She plucks her glasses away from her face, catching a few wisps fall out from their spot on the top of her head, clearly irritated. “I have- I have not. In no way those accusations are true.” 

You pull your lips inward, trying to be sympathetic as much as possible in addition to being transparent. Her eyes darted back at yours, fully interested as to what you might say next. She expects an answer, and you’ll give it to her, but all you do is raise an eyebrow to where she scrunches her eyes in response. 

“Are you sure?” To that, Dahyun rolls her eyes. You notice a quick pull from one of the corners of her lip, shuffling the small stack of files off to the side, leaning closer with both elbows on the wood. “I hope you realize that if you are withholding information from me, it can lead to harsher consequences.” 

Dahyun clasps her hand to a fist, face still as stone as you watch her eyes sweep across the floor. A heavy bundle of air leaves your chest, keeping your gaze locked to her, waiting for an answer within the next moments or so. She knows that she can’t shy away from this, and she knows that the only direction to take is the one where truth is the sole passage. It’s also very interesting the way she doesn’t falter, sheltering her emotions inside. You’ve only seen her be the opposite of that - only once, a spell ago, and you were convinced that it was only a one time thing. The silence seems to get louder in the room, and she finally shifts her eyes back to you. 

“Well?” you ask, to break the tension a bit, “You’re not my enemy here. I just want you to be as open and honest as possible.” 

You can see the slightest clench at the bottom of her jaw, gritting her teeth behind her lips. There’s that thought of clear common sense, telling you that what she did was wrong, but that’s just one side of the story. Sure, that someone who created the rumor might’ve done it out of spite, or maybe they wanted to see Dahyun in a state of panic just for the fun of it. Some will say one thing, and others will say another. The only way that you’ll know for sure to make all of this go away is the personal statement directly from her. 

“Overseer.” You huff, sighing out of pure annoyance.

Her brows crunch in response to the title. 

“I need to know. That’s all I’m requesting of you right now.” 

She sets herself square on the seat, facing you; she’s matching your height now in a sitting position, but despite the lack in length is replaced with the demeanor that she carries. There’s been some sort of competition thrown around by the students, talking about how Dahyun’s figure comes second to none with the likes of Jihyo or Mina to name a few. Gawking at the fellow staff members who caught wind of the conversation is what you give them, and it would take a metric fuck-ton of persuading to spill an answer out of your lips. 

Still no answer from her as of this second. 

“Overseer Dahyun,” voice now in a much lower register than usual to punctuate the gravity of the situation, “We don’t have all day; so either you fess up now, or I’ll carry on this conversation tomorrow if I’m not going to get it out of you today.” 

Running her upper lip inward, you carry on with the scattered paperworks spread across the desk as she contemplates, unwilling to make eye contact with her while she keeps her eyes focused on you. By all expectations, you were hoping that this meeting would be quick and easy; just get the required information before writing up a report and be on your way. Still, you can’t help but think as to why she’s being so reluctant about saving her status let alone her job - all because she didn't do something that had very little significance to her and became such a big deal. 

“Fine,” you say, slapping the pen lightly on the desk before beginning to stand up from the chair, “Just forget that I asked and you can-” 

“One.” she finally says, after what felt like an eternity it seems. And then again, “One.” 

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere,” you start, falling back onto the seat; Dahyun collects herself with the subtle rise and fall of her chest, breathing carefully. That crucial first step was already taken, and the plan in your mind to diminish this whole controversy is slowly scaffolding into place. “So I’ll ask this once again in a different way: Are you having an affair with one of the students in the academy?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is it…just the one?” 

“Just the one.” 

Despite how this information may be shocking to a degree, composure has to be kept from this point on. You’re just simply doing your job as the superior, and if this doesn’t get solved quickly, there’s more people in higher places than you that will do what you couldn’t. 

“So,” you set yourself up for the next connecting inquiry, “I want a full explanation for this, as to when and how all of this came to be.” 

Dahyun licks her lips, unsure if what she’ll say next will either be her saving grace or a shortsighted opportunity breeding on disappointment. You can easily tell that she’s uneasy, and it’s very impressive at how she’s able to keep an expressionless face for an instance like this. Put anyone else that works here in her seat and situation, they’d all panic or break a sweat pleading for an appeal to save their own skin. To hell with the fading wish for an interesting day every few weeks or so - because this potential scandal might make the whole week or even the whole year. 

“Alright,” she relaxes, finally letting her body release all of the tension while she flutters her eyes back to you, “For the record, he came to me. It was-” a quick look to the side before subduing the sudden impulse coursing through her neck, “It was supposed to be a simple form of disciplinary action. A one time thing. Had him serve the correction and be on his way. Though, you’re very familiar with, well- you know, the methodology.” 

“I see, and it took you that long to tell your side of the story??” Swallowing the small lump in your throat growing as her eyes fail to leave yours. “But let me guess, he-” 

“He wanted to see me. Actually, he wanted to keep seeing me. I asked him as to why one day, and he was just fascinated with the approach that I do; he just wanted the pleasure for himself and as for me, I reveled in the satisfaction of taking advantage of him.” 

“And you found it to be completely appropriate for this little entanglement to keep on happening?” 

Dahyun then leans forward, and thank Christ you managed to save your wandering eyes from leering a second too late at the overflowing swarm of pale thighs ballooning on the cushion as more and more skin is revealed at the help of that tight light blue dress getting hiked up with the press of her legs. The inquisitive angle of her head at the given question, letting a stray wisp of her hair fall from the side before she drags it back behind the cuff of her ear. “So what are you saying?”

“Well, I’m the one who asked you first,” you answer, twiddling the pen around your fingers, maintaining eye contact with her. “Besides, I’m also not the one stuck in the middle of this debacle in the first place anyway.” 

She sighs, head cocked back, almost vexed that this meeting has gone way longer than intended. You could’ve waited until after hours once all of the students had left the campus, but this was also the best possible convenient time because of the gap in her schedule during the regular day. Her lips stay shut, the soft tick of the clock mounted on the wall keeps on going. Maybe raising a white flag in the means of things might be better for today, and you’ll pick up where you left off tomorrow. 

Most days don’t often go this way. Aside from the usual responsibilities throughout the typical day whether it would be out your desk or out and about peeping in different classrooms, you’re slightly ecstatic for the sudden change in pace around these halls. “I digress,” you say, leaning forward before finally carrying on,  “So as your superior, Overseer, I’ll leave it off with this. Do you have anything else left to say before I draft up a report for all of the parties affected?” 

Dahyun crosses her left leg over the other, clutching the glasses in her hand, her head tilts at that same right angle as earlier. The gaze she has is unchanging, staring at you right in the face while you’re quickly examining the two sheets of paper placed next to each other on the desk, sliding them away into the pile as you stand up off the chair. You’ll take this meeting as a win, at least some of the information was suitable enough to your liking for now. With all that done and over with–

“Still no answer?” You ask, fingers dancing along the button of your cuff, carefully threading it through the small slit, “Don’t make me ask this again–” 

“No.” 

“No?” 

“I told you. No.” 

“Really now?” 

“I have already made my case with you, sir. There’s nothing else left for me to say for the time being.” she answers with a shrug to her shoulders. 

Dahyun’s throat tenses when she sees the once needling eyes from you become quickly disinterested with her return. Incompetence was a sheer rarity with the way you operate your role, let alone a hindrance that you see in other people. Like the rest, it wouldn’t be long for everyone to get whipped into the ‘new regime’ all those years ago; some stimulating commentary at the time, but everyone understood once the policies were put into place. 

Though, this meeting has gone long enough, and keeping her here wouldn’t really do anyone good at this point. 

“Consider this conversation to be over, then,” you say, turning your body to the window panes set behind your desk, looking out at the moving trees in the breeze. “You’ll hear from me within the next few days so, carry on until you’re notified.” 

She then stands too, hand clasping to her wrist, subjectively giving you a nod with your back turned, seeing  her out of your peripheral vision. The emotionless look that’s her only mask, unimpressed and cold, as if nothing ever phases her in the tiniest of mishaps. You know that she’s just like the rest, despite wearing that facade like if life were to depend on it, part of you wants to break her- to tear up that infuriating fray of nothingness, spark some kind of fear into her core that would have her screaming, beg for a twinge of mercy. 

Reading those accounts of what she did with that student, wasn’t supposed to make you interested, but it is. A worthy head-scratcher for someone like her to have a few screws loose every now and then. It just didn't add up, for her to treat this so pointlessly. 

Even when she starts to bundle her feet together, swiveling them across the tile, she still carries this peculiar gracefulness in her step as her profile sweeps out of the picture - her back coming into view. She’s put up with that facade against you for so long, you know that it’ll be easy for her to comply in her case because it’s not in her nature for her to defy orders. 

A turn of the head signifies a chance out of desperation; a lifeline, and you’ll give her the luxury of deciding her fate. 

“And one more thing,” you setup, rolling the sleeves of your shirt to the elbow, to where Dahyun turns her body the long way round, hands behind her back, waiting for the next thing to leave your lips, “I’ll be perfectly blunt with you because I know that you clearly know better.”

Her forehead twitches at the cause of her brows bridging against each other. You see the small nick of her head that also shows the acknowledgement she’s willing to give you, both ears and eyes trained on you once the spread of your fingertips rest on the polished bark. 

“You’re aware of this academy’s policies when it comes to relationships among peers, it’s basically frowned upon,” you tell her lowly, “Let alone of the fact that you’ve been having this intolerable amount of behavior out of the false guise of indignancy.” She starts to internalize this short reproachment you’re dishing out on her, watching as her eyes expand by the passing second, “Now, I’ve could’ve let this be handled by the high council, but they’ve gave the chance to me in order to see if I can get this incident resolved without having any further escalating conflicts.” 

She parts her lips, wanting to take the opportunity at clearing her name, but she holds back since there’s that hanging impression of ‘what’s there left to be said once everything is put on the table?’ And even so, would anything serve to be better in the good graces of innocence for her case?

So she says nothing. Forever holding her peace while you audibly scoff at her. “I expected better from you, Overseer, I really did.” 

It takes the next few seconds to re-organize your workstation, she hangs herself in limbo, gathering her thoughts as the window to save herself starts to close smaller and smaller, and she finally takes the sealed fate into her hands. 

“If I may,” she says, diverting your attention from the desk back to her - hesitant to the point where you can rightfully assume that she’s eager to finally set everything straight: “I’d like to formally tender my resignation here at the Academy.” 

A bold move, Overseer, but a surprise one too- 

“On what grounds?” you ask, clearly taken aback with the sudden course of action by her own admission. “I don’t really see to understand while you would go to such lengths for this little incident-” 

“Because I will admit to you, Superior, that I saw that student out of my own volition. I’ve made the effort to set time aside from my schedule so that he and I could have our private meetings in my office; for the sake of his pleasure and for my sake of being able to satisfy those kinds of requests for him.” 

This tidbit of honesty coming out serves as a great reaction to your scolding, and not a lot of people get the credit they deserve trying to convince a person like Dahyun, but luckily you’re the one - if not the only one to have that ability in advising her. You always believed that she’d come around in some way or another, considering that this was the very first big fuck up from her too. 

“Superior.” The name alone brings you back. “Please, consider my resignation. And I’ll make all of this go away.” 

“I can’t do that.” 

“Why can’t you?” Her voice is strained, a fist at the side of her thigh, nails deep into her palm enough to draw blood, “I have to do this. I need to do this, sir. Please, let me-” 

You can see the desperation start to break through the cracks of her stoic persona, inching closer to where you want her to be. She can play the cool, level-headed teacher all she wants, but you know that this whole fiasco was her doing; like anyone else, they’ll do anything to make things right, no matter the cost. Then the getting ahead starts to seep through your frontal lobe: what she’ll start asking for next, the kinds of lengths she’ll commit to if you’re not the one to throw the figurative lifeline at her. 

Not just yet, guiding her into the right mindset will fall into place if you let the inner workings of panic do their thing. 

“Overseer Kim.” You slowly navigate closer to her, rounding the desk with every moving step across the room. “Even if you were to leave, you can’t. I’ve taken the liberty of locking the door here because I knew that this would happen: the way that you’re acting, we can’t have this.” 

It’s amazing at how she’s at ease, despite having the mini breakdown just an instant before. 

Because her act is rapidly deteriorating. 

“Sir, I don’t follow-” 

“Dahyun.” With a hand to her shoulder, her face freezes right when she flashes a look of suspicion, tensing up at the touch before she locks eyes with you again, the unsureness diminishing with a singular eyebrow raise. “I’m giving you an opportunity to have all of this resolved without any loose repercussions.” You can feel the heart rate within her start to calm down the way her breathing stabilizes, tension along the line of her shoulders releasing with every pass of air, “There would be no need to resign, and we would find a workaround to prevent this from ever happening again.”

“And how would you suggest that, Superior?” 

“By granting you amnesty. Without the word from anyone else but me.” 

You can see that same sweep of her eyes moving left and right, unable to meet yours. The offer alone is taking her a significant amount of time to consider, a mistake that she’s willing to undo. She then looks up with a wistful gaze, the small spark dashing through her irises - as if she had just made the discovery of fire. Her mind starts to work and it’s so easy to tell, reflecting on this potential choice that she’s able to make. “You don’t mean-”

“Mean what?” Letting a sly grin break through your lips. 

“By amnesty,” she adds, tilting her chin up, bearing your arms across your chest, “What would I have to do in order to achieve this?” 

She has a general idea of the term itself, and maybe you think she’s also heard of the many things thrown around with this specific practice or policy of yours. This occurrence has happened a few times, whipping up a few notable individuals into shape - some much more needed than others, but the commonality between all of them: they’d always submit themselves to you. 

“Do you admit and accept the responsibilities of your actions, Overseer?” You formally request with hands reaching to the fine creases of her dress to which she accepts. 

There’s a brief pause of consideration again, and you’re watching her eyes never leave yours, thinking about the whole reason that you two are in this position in the first place. It may be a little hard to believe still; knowing what Dahyun will do not only for herself, but for the academy. Then there’s the logged report from your desk, in detail of what she did with that student, makes you realize that she’s got a screw loose in her head. 

“Yes, sir.” She answers, looking up with a delighted smile, fully realizing the opportunity and taking it with no regret. “I do.” 

“Good.” With a sigh of relief,  a hand escalates to the back of her neck. “Because your punishment begins now.” And she’s in awe of the shimmer in your eyes, slowly grinning when you’re dipping your head down lower, minimizing the distance. It lights a fire within you, a motive of what will entail from this point going forward. 

This is what amnesty is, Dahyun would think, be oh- she has no idea what she just got herself into. 

You learn that she’s receptive, the way that she takes your lips with hers so well, hands flying freely, breath clashing with yours. It’s messy, the way more slick starts so spread on the lower half of both of your faces, wanting more. Her tongue weaves its way past your mouth, a leg hiked up that you greatly take the hint for, channeling the hum of approval coming from her down your throat. She grips tight on the back of your shirt, adamant on taking this chance to build a clean slate, a perfect rush of gasps followed with even more kissing. Her hands are well into your hair when you pull away, a pause to probably call a stop and- 

“So it is true,” she admits against your cheek, “About this little policy?” 

You lift an eyebrow unimpressed at her. 

“What do- you don’t even know what you’re talking about.” you mumble, grip getting tighter on the fine part of her ass, chest heaving slightly, breaths getting uneven. 

“I thought it was just some legend here, around these halls.” Dahyun answers, letting her wrists relax while swooping under her legs, instinctively wrapping them around the small of your back. “Maybe you can show me if that’s actually a real thing.” 

She doesn’t see the flared nostrils you’re giving her, “I’d like to thank you, Overseer,” setting her on the desk nicely when the clack of her heels fall onto the floor, echoing the room as she removes the top piece of her dress, tossing it over to the chair she was previously sitting at, “For reminding me what I was doing.” 

“And that is?” She asks, naively. 

There’s a bit of a shock when you force her body to the desk, a flushed reaction covered with a gasp when you have one hand fastened to her wrist, the other lightly on her neck with the grip on the fingers getting delicately tighter. She tries to read your expression, map out the crinkles falling towards a cross or a devilish smile, feeling your breath graze along the line of her neck in these soft hitches. 

“Allow me to show you,” you whisper, flipping her small body to where her back is facing the ceiling, toe tips nearly grazing the floor but just barely. The same hand to her wrist is now shifted to her back, the other set flat; searching for something to take hold, she peeks over her shoulder, watching you study the way her dress hugs along the shape of her waist and hips. 

Doing this kind of practice was no surprise to you, and it doesn’t happen as often as you would’ve liked. Ryujin took three tries before she’d agree to not be a bother to you, Haewon probably took a few days or more to finally come around, and even Mina just recently. This revolving door into your office and form of chastising was the last resort of necessary actions for your fellow colleagues, some willing to challenge your authority, others were willing to submit. 

“What do you think this treatment entails?” you ask vaguely, raising the lower part of her dress to reveal more and more of her ass into the light, taking note of the noticeable choice of lace as she hikes it up with her free hand. “I sure hope that this should help you learn a thing or two. Though, it’s entirely up to you.” 

Dahyun’s side profile is amazingly flawless to see when you’re gently kneading her soft ass with your hand, palm moving graciously along the fine skin, fluttering her eyes shut, her breathing begins to become irregular, a small tremble to her hips as you press down lightly on the waistband, tugging on the elastic before letting go. The potential is right there at your hips - at your fingertips, to ruin, break skin, a perfect canvas for you to mutilate in any way you see fit. 

You laugh and admittedly, out of spite. “I’m sorry, if this meeting didn’t occur, you were going to invite him over for another one of your private sessions?” 

She seethes, but in anticipation, drawing a sharp inhale of air when your hand slides up her back. Part of you wants to put her back onto the wood, but you let it slide when she lifts herself off to meet your cheek, getting a bit selfish when she’s refusing to pull away. Her swollen lips and lidded eyes are too tempting to stop yourself- as if she’s the one pulling you into her spell. 

“Had I not been found out, I would’ve,” she murmurs, clutching onto a bit more of her hiked up dress, revealing her bare ass to the open air, unveiling a strike point. 

A fast hand tends to hers, placing it with her other hand still pressed behind her back. She writhes at the uncomfortable position but the tension passes through her body once you adjust. 

“You know what I would say to that, Overseer?” 

“What-” 

Nothing is said, but all is shown with a harsh slap to her ass. A statement. 

Strike one. 

Dahyun quietly yelps at the sudden hit to her backside, everything from the waist down clenching from the contact. The rough palm on your hand stings to the point where you’d have to flick your wrist a bit to subdue the burn. Her breathing starts to become irregular, wiggling her legs hanging from the side of the desk. 

“Superior, ah-” 

“I should’ve also mentioned that I’m permitting you to use expletives, but you’re already ahead of the curve as it is,” you tell her, massaging the crimson mark now apparent across the breadth of her ass, feeling the bits of heat emulating across the rough creases of your palm. “You’re now free to speak your mind.” 

“God, f-fuck. I can’t bel-” 

Another rough hit cracks an echo in the room. Earning a high-pitched whine from her. Strike two. 

“Choose your words more carefully.” Fighting the urge to smile at the sight this woman splayed across the table, letting out these heaves of desperation, body tightening and untightening on the surface as she’s hiding her face from you. “I don’t plan on easing up after what you did.” 

“Sir, please. I just need to-” 

You press her deeper into the table, hike up more of that insanely tight dress to her waist, letting her struggle under your grasp. The sounds leaving her pretty little lips would drive anyone else drastically crazy, watching as this uncrowned beauty crack under the weight of your touches with a third slap. Strike three.  

What sets Dahyun apart from the rest that has gone under your specified practices of treatment is the appeal she possesses. At least everyone from the faculty to the students have shared their thoughts about her: few envying and others fantasizing. You’re somewhere between the two, impossible to really tell for yourself, but what’s rest assured: 

There's more than a boatload of things to discover with Dahyun that’s already a list growing by the second. Dragging your fingertips along her thighs, pressing and pinching in spots where you’re trying to assess how nimble she can get, the way you can twist and mangle her limbs into a plethora of ways that’s drawing up with the imagination running through your head. How she shudders when you’re pulling on the elastic of her panties down her luscious legs, drinking in the sight of her glistening pussy lips hanging off the rim of your desk, clearly having an enjoyable time with the slick soaking her undergarments as well. 

“Have we had enough? Or are you willing to take more?” you ask, letting Dahyun keep her own hands behind her back with yours fastened over the curve of her hips, sliding down to her red cheeks, handprints visible as you're soothing the damage. “I definitely think that you can handle more, shall we continue?” 

She shivers, the slightest grasp to her ass gives another hitched breath, caressing it briefly as you’re plotting the next move in your head. 

“You can answer me, Dahyun,” you tell her, leaning down over her back, nose tangling within the threads of her hair, brushing the cuff of her ear before planting a kiss right below it, “But from these sounds I’m hearing tells me that you’re enjoying it.” 

A small twist from her singular eyebrow, lids still sewn shut, “You’re ecstatic, that I m-misbehaved.” 

“Can you tell?” Another slap to her ass and a tug to the soft skin. 

“Y-yes sir, I-” 

And another. 

“I’m not convinced yet.” 

Then another strike. 

“F-fuck sir-” 

One more hit to bring the tally up to seven. 

“Makes me wonder what you were going to do with that poor student if this carried on without my interference.” And at this point her ass has morphed into this ruby shade with every strike that follows. Her shoulders roll back, you’re keeping her in place, wrists still stacked on top of each other, hands opening and closing in response to the pain the more slaps you dish out.  

Dahyun struggles to keep her breathing stable, one firm grab to her asscheek as you’re planting a few scattered kisses down the column of her throat, teetering along the bridge of her collarbone. “Tell me, would this be on your mind with him also?” 

She doesn’t open her voice to tell, but a simple nod is all she gives. “My, my, Overseer. You really are something.” 

You could be satisfied with the way things transpired in this very room, content with the message sent and the warning laced between the lines. A momentary pause, hushing her whimpers, tending to the red tint of her ass, easing the ache of pain mixed with pleasure. Her eyes are scrunched along with the bridge of her nose, gnawing on her bottom lip as your fingertips continue to dance along the sensitive skin. 

“Are you ready for the next part?” you murmur into her ear as your hand trails down to the space between her legs, dragging a pointer finger across the warmth of her leaking slit, listening to the sharp breath passing through her lips again. 

“Mmmm…” Her legs buck against the drawers, dipping the two pads into her walls. The corner of her lip wobbles as she throbs around your fingers, dragging and sliding in a form of trial and error; seeing what she likes and what doesn’t, the light in her eyes filling with lust. “Sir, please, yes, God-” 

She sees another idea spark in your irises, drawing away from the warmth of her pussy temporarily, hands fast to undo the belt around your waist. Dahyun could only watch as you’ve got the leather wrapped around, creating a loose hoop at the end before lightly placing it across the two divots in her back resting above her ass. 

You test the pliancy of the looped belt on your other hand, ensuring that the article rebounds nicely across your palm. “I’ve got one more thing to do, consider this to be a test of some sorts.” 

“What do you mean, Superio–” 

Her voice screeches when you strike the leather in the same spot where your hand hit on her ass cheek; entire body tensing from the sharp pain before breaking down into broken down sobs. She tries to resist by getting up, but you keep her in place as she whines, adamant in believing that she can’t handle it any more. 

“Oh no, we’re not through yet,” you hiss, not paying any attention to the stray heel hitting your thigh in retaliation. “Not until you tell me that this won’t happen again going forward.”

“Just for the record, sir,” Her hand grips the underside of your forearm at the same time your weight begins to stack along her back, furrowing her brows and gritting her teeth. “I wanted this.” 

“So are we going to have a problem like this again next time?” 

“Absolu-” 

The leather belt finds her ass again, the crack in the atmosphere strong enough to mistake for the clap of lightning. 

“No,” she pleads, twisting her head back and forth, sounding off another thwap to make a point. “No sir, we’re not going to have another problem with this ever again.” 

“Good,” you say, the formality alone shortly returning, hands hovering over to her wrists, slackening the belt as you begin to wrap it around her. You’re keeping focus, maintaining your thoughts meticulously, fighting your cock that’s beginning to ache in your trousers. “I’m gonna take good care of you now.” 

Once you’ve got the leather fastened around her wrists, there’s another fill to be satisfied when you slip your fingers back into her cunt, throbbing at the way you curl them inside, earning a few harmonious sounds as her back arches to the touch. She’s melting by the second, “Yes, yes, please sir, I want-” 

“Speak up,” you breathe, sinking down to your knees, hands resting at the rise of her hips, glistening lips into view. Everything about her is a new learning curve, and the way her lower half is still hung over the edge, ankles neatly crossed together like her bound wrists, you almost feel bad for enacting this onto her. 

Keyword almost, and you put your mouth on her other set of lips. Unsure, testing, getting those first savoring seconds up her wet cunt. Her whole body pulls inward, choking down a cry, and you realize, this woman is filled with surprises. 

But you didn’t want to get too ahead of yourself, the shivers she dishes out, the string of hums continue to leave her mouth. This wasn’t the time to keep the niceties - shoving your whole face and tongue into her pussy, tongue slipping through her opening in these strokes, body contracting and relaxing. The fingers also come into play, tapping along her clit and eventually dipping in to where your tongue can’t reach, the wetness soaking your fingers, the short grasps letting you know of that beautiful high fast approaching. 

“I’m gonna-” she says, voice peaking in a higher pitch than the last, the balls of her feet hitting your chest, holding her down at the bottom of her thigh and ass. “Sir, I’m gonna fucking-” 

“That fast?” you ask, gaze glassy, drunk on the sweet slick that’s all over your lips. Biting down the laugh from the top of your throat, “And here I thought you’d hold out a bit longer for me there.” 

She pulls her body up with what little strength she has while being tied up. Panting. Heaving. You’re content with the structured appearance of her face completely ruined, tense, letting her eyelids flutter when she feels your finger slip inside her once more, because another feeling like this wouldn’t really hurt anyone. 

“Final question. Are you going to be good for me from here on out?” 

There’s a silver lining with the sense of humiliation you’re giving her, nearly sympathetic when your knuckle finds its way deeper. It’s wrong, you think, to be like this, but you’ve learned with the years of experience of being in this place that people will only listen when backed to a corner with no other way out. Everyone here is aware of the rapport you have with others, the kind of power that shouldn’t be really shown until it’s a desperate call to make to ensure everyone’s on the same page as you. This time isn’t really different. 

But still, it’s a first with her, and you’ll take this grand opportunity to pressure her into not making another issue for the next time. 

“Dahyun,” you’re telling her again, because she’s just staring at you in awe. The way you’ve been handling her; professional at the surface level, finding a pressure point to the things that she’s been accused of committing, drawing that out of her by any means necessary, until you’ve managed to break her. “Answer me, darling.” 

She comes back to her senses when her body shifts more inward to the wood, resting right at the bending point of her hips, listening to the zip from your pants. The most evil thing she’s done all day: a sly smile breaking across her face, watching you tease the head of your cock along her wet lips. This will be a problem, but a welcome one. You’re hoping that you’ve done your part to the best of your ability. 

“Yes sir,” she answers, shimmying her hips to tease. “I’ll be really good for you. I promise.” 

“I hope so.” you retort, “I can be very convincing.” 

A slip inside, a slow push. It’s electric. Further. Deeper. Filling her cunt up, her walls leisurely stretch around you. The heat alone is euphoric, coming to you in a fast rush. You hold yourself in for as long as possible, but it’s futile; she may have a few screws loose in the head, but you’re not far off the mark as well. 

“God,” she mumurus again, and you drag yourself out slightly. Back in nicely, smoothly into that heat, until Dahyun nods her head in approval. She gasps again when you move past the previous spot your cock was inside her, nearly to the base. 

“Oh, my fucking-” 

A shared gluttal moan parts from your chest and hers, eyes fixated on the sight of your slicked up cock carefully impaling Dahyun, the friction becoming more and more addicting. The muscles in her back start to freeze up along with her clenched hands, fighting against the leather around them. You make it easier for her case, lifting her chest up at the breast, leaning down to seize her lips on yours, holding her steady, cock carving up her walls with every building thrust. 

Nose against her cheek, “This cunt,” you utter, pushing yourself deep as this girl is faltering moans with every hit your hips make with her sore, red ass, “I can’t believe how tight this grips me, god- fucking, no wonder he wanted to keep seeing you in the first place,” and you lean down the line of her back, letting her pussy clench around your cock, feeling the clutch of her walls, all wet and aching for more. 

The thrusting starts to pick up, unrestrained and unrelenting now. You’re not even sure what to do with your hands, alternating between holding at the endpoint of her waist where her hips meet or press her unbelievable thighs together, to make the press around your cock that much better. A premature call to make, in comparison to the other’s that have preceded Dahyun: her pussy takes it in so well, you could bury yourself inside her for what feels like forever. 

“Sir,” she groans out, the sentence being cut off with another slap to her ass, following up with the crash of your hips into hers, holding on to her binded wrists. “Please, please, please-” 

“Please what, hmm?” You can’t really conjure up the proper thoughts to put in conversation, heaving out scattered spells of air with every stroke into her. “You’ve gotta help me out here.” 

“Need more.” It’s a request for sure, and not a vague one. “Please keep fucking me.” 

You do give her more, and nothing less. With every passing second you dive deep into her cunt, the beating in your heart accelerates just that teeny bit faster. The thoughts are out the window at this point, the only thing keeping you from figuratively passing out is the sopping wetness of her cunt every time you pull out and drive back in. The pace gets a bit faster, then you dial it back, watch as her upper body convulses across the desk, mouth hung open for all the moans to be let out, getting louder, more higher, and needier. 

She gasps when you hold yourself inside, thrown off guard with the firm hit you give her, a moment to catch her breath. “Wait, no, fuck, why did you-” 

Dahyun had managed to do something to you that the others couldn’t in this short span of time: break you. Even after all this time, it’s really interesting how the very person you’ve been wanting to see out for an instance like this is the one that’s managed to make you go all out into setting them right. She’s spearheading this thing, and not you. When it should be the other way around. 

A fistful of her hair is grabbed, and her body is raised up, hips flush with hers. “If I hear another question leave your sultry lips, I’ll tape it up so that nobody can hear you screaming down the hallways.” 

She bites her wobbling bottom lip, assuring you that’s exactly what she wants to happen, and it will. Her half-open eyes sees your head go sideways, planting a kiss down her neck, inching your cock deeper into her cunt past the hilt and her body shudders at it. 

“Want me to fuck some sense into you now? Properly? Fuck this pretty little pussy that it’ll make you think right?” 

She nods desperately, “Yes sir. Please.” 

You bend her over across the desk again, hand still tangled into her hair with the other resting at her hips. The pace deliberate at first, savoring the sensation of how her body takes you, parting her folds with every inch of your shaft. She shivers when you tease her still, not going all the way, but making her earn it. 

Now wasn’t the time for easygoing now, the sight of her backside is an eighth wonder of the world to admire, sliding out and dragging your cock back into her, gradually increasing as the additional slaps to her ass again, fucking her deep. You eventually decided that she’s served her punishment long enough, untying the belt at her hands and discarding it somewhere in the office, putting her hands up to the other end of the desk for her to hold on as you mercilessly bury your cock into her. 

“Sir, I can’t keep- fuck!” she cries out, the litany of lovely whines and sounds the more you fill her up. She also takes the liberty of letting you take a breather, moving her hips back, bouncing her ass with you just standing there, watching as her perfect ass does this little ripple effect on the skin, jiggling with an endless movement. 

It was getting all too much, and Dahyun herself was enjoying it as well, smiling with every groan that rips from your throat, hand floating over her hips, piercing your cock roughly back into her again and again, unwilling to yield the remaining bits of pleasure before either you or her reach that point-

“I’m gonna fucking- god, sir, keep going, so close-” she strains, gripping your wrists and tight enough for her to rip them off. 

“Don’t fight me,” you spit, voice leaning towards something primal, “Cum all over this cock.” And she does. 

Your muscles should be spent at this rate, but they hold out long enough as your ears are picking up the endless babbles and whimpers, mixed in with the sloppy strokes of your hips hitting hers. The mind is overloaded with so much, but your hands find rest at her ass again, burying yourself deep. And then it hits you in a flash. 

One firm hit sheathing your cock into her cunt, and you pull out, cumming all over the fine plane of her ass. You’ll need to take a mental image to save for eternity - the way you’re painting in these lovely slashes with your release, all over her ass, her back - because you learn that she looks amazingly good like that. A fine figure, waiting to be defiled and tarnished, and it happens. 

“God, would you look at-” you’re also left in disbelief, the grip around your cock loosening, eyes on leaking pussy lips, she’s hung down, face off to the side, eyes closed, steadily breathing. The words coming out of her mouth are inconceivable, but she’s thankful, praising you, giving thanks. Judging from how content she looks, proves that your hard work is done.

“S-sir,” she tries to say, still left speechless. 

A kiss to the temple of her head, and a ruffle with your hand sliding down to her back. “So, are we satisfied with your conversation?” 

Dahyun takes a minute or two, maybe more, to process everything that’s happened just now. She’s still on your desk, and you’re getting right back to it, slipping on your slacks, picking up the tossed belt that you used as a makeshift rope. Your ears pick up on the heavy breathing from her as she slowly gets up, hands giving her support on the desk, dazed and astounded once things start returning back to normal. 

You fix up the rolled up sleeves of your shirt; Dahyun blankly stares out in space, fixing up her dress and placing some of the various items hit in the crossfire back in their right spot, off the floor and somewhere where you’ll fix soon. 

“Dahyun?” you ask again, watching as she starts to make her way out the door. “Overseer.” 

She turns at the title, realizing she left behind a vital piece to her appearance, dipping her head down in embarrassment, but you can already see the blush breaking through her cheeks. Her breathing is also irregular, but it’s a lot calmer than before. 

“Sorry,” she says, squaring her shoulders, a hand taking the heels in yours. “Thank you, for- uhm, the persuasion.” 

An inquisitive look is what you give her. Meeting your gaze, you notice a few stray strands out of place in her hair, take it upon yourself to use the tip of your pinky to move it away from her forehead. Not much is left said between the two of you, probably just small talk or the comfort of silence finally setting in like before. You can’t really seem to get over the wistful constellations behind the lenses in her eyes - and it’s something that you want to study more about. 

“Right,” you tell her, patting her shoulder before guiding her to the doorway, fingers fast to the touchpad and the quick clicks of the deadbolt finally opens it. “I’m happy enough to see you again, without the intent of correcting your little issue.” 

Dahyun nods in agreement, pulling both of her lips inward to force back the smile, but you see right through her. She begins to make her way out, bare feet on the floor, heels in her hand - a solid lasting impression after today.

“Before I forget Dahyun,” you’re calling out again, and she twists her head around to meet your eyes, “Let’s speak again sometime soon okay? My door will be open for you if needed.” 

She squints, smiling a bit to where you see the bottom bits of her teeth. You give her a nod to emphasize your point. “Count on it sir. I guess I’ll be coming around more often, then.” 

[originalwinnerfanfish]

Well, this was a big piece of work, hah

I took a break from RW and decided to draw something nostalgic

Actually I've been stuck with this idea for two years now and I'm glad I finally found the strength to do something about it. Thanks for inspiration from one good man)

Long story short

In this AU autobots and deceptions are two unions of different tribes: mudwings, seawings and sandwings for the firsts and icewings, nightwings, rainwings and Pantala tribes for seconds. Skywings doesn’t exist anymore (because we need someone who takes place of predacons).

People are just people or scavenger if you prefer. And instead of whole cosmos it’s just two mainlands.

- Optimus Prime - I kinda like tfp Optimus. So formidable, powerful and mysterious but really gentle at the same time. And mud/sea combo works here in the best way. As the representation of two main tribes union and strong father/brother figure for team members.

I also think he might be an animus (but don’t use his magic often, especially for killing someone)

- Ultra Magnus - Pure Icewing already will be great for him, but I gave him part of seawing so he could be more like an Optimus. But instead of being softer and warmer, Magnus is more cold and pragmatic version of him. A character who sees other dragons not as close allies and friends but as ordinary soldiers.

- Ratchet - Yeah, the seawing would fit him better, but i just don’t know how to make the colors work here sooo… he’s a weak-fire mudwing. Like a skywing, but mudwing. Why not. Make sense with his lack of guns in origin. I think he’s design can be better, and maybe I’ll remake it.

I love his arc of recognizing people as equals and especially his interactions with Raphael. I think Ratchet often read him scrolls about history and magical artifacts.

- Bulkhead - No surprises here - mudwing fit him perfectly. I think that the Wreckers could been a big and strong mudwing troops, and Bulkhead was a bigwings in such a one. He is lost a lot of his siblings during the war, and therefore tries with all his might to protect the new members of his family. I absolutely adore his relationship with Miko and Jackie, so for me he’s one of the cutest character, and I tried to make his forms round and soft.

- Bumblebee - I know that majority draw him as a hivewing, but in that case the most logical for him will be a night/sandwing. Literally, autobots get their own Sunny)

I think in this version with his lack of a voice he could communicate using sign language or some variation of aquatic.

- Arcee - Also nothing special - she is a seawing. I originally wanted to give her a helmet but it was too hard to draw. Just like Sunny she was born pretty small and now even younger dragons can be bigger than her. I’m pretty sure she is old enough to have seen Bumblebee when he was a dragonet, so she's literally like an older sister to him.

Actually she really gives me a Queen Glory vibes with her sarcasm and dangerous beauty, so rainwing might fit her as well.

- Smokescreen - I used to think he was just a cringe, but now I realize he's a pretty interesting and realistic character. Like Ultra Magnus, I wanted to make him look like Optimus, only this time Smoke is more of a younger and much more irresponsible version of him. I think in this version (being part rainwing) he's trying to mimic Optimus's coloring using same red, blue and pale-gray shades.

- Wheeljack - The scruffy boy! I think in this version he could be Bulkhead's "adopted sibling", so they are really close to each other. And, because he spent most of his life with Bulkhead, it's harder for him to get close to other tribes and dragons.

Painting scales to keep canonical colors is kinda cheating, but for this dude it totally works. He should have a pretty bright appearance with all those scars and bright spots.

Cliffjumper - Ohoh… this poor guy. I didn't even think of putting him here, but I like his smug face too much. Even making his scales darker than the original, it's still too brightly colored for mudwing. He probably jokes about it a lot, saying that his ancestors were skywings.

I really like his dynamic with Arcee, and it's a shame we haven't seen much of their relationship. I think I need to do something cute about that.

[moonlightwritingf1]

Holiday Movie Marathon | LN4

❄️‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡❄️ summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N attends a spontaneous movie night at Lando’s, where their usual banter deepens into a confession of feelings. Lando reveals he feels the same, and they share a kiss. 

❄️‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡❄️ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

❄️‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡❄️ word count ━━━━━━━ 1.7k

The streets of London were aglow with twinkling fairy lights, the holiday season blanketing the city in a warm, magical glow. Y/N stepped out of her office building, wrapping her coat tightly around her as the December chill bit at her cheeks. It was just another evening in her life—a quiet one, predictable even. But tonight held the promise of something different.

A soft chime from her phone pulled her from her thoughts. Pulling her gloves off, she fished it out of her pocket. The message was from Max, the mutual friend who had introduced her to Lando Norris a few months ago.

Max: "Change of plans—movie night at Lando’s instead of mine. You in?"

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go. She did. But spending the evening at Lando’s flat felt… significant in a way she wasn’t sure she was ready to confront. Still, before she could overthink it, she typed a quick response.

Y/N: "Sure. What time?"

By the time Y/N arrived at Lando’s flat, it was a little after 7 PM. The air was crisp, her breath visible as she exhaled. Standing at his door, she adjusted her scarf nervously. It wasn’t the first time she’d been here, but it still felt surreal. Lando’s world—his high-profile lifestyle, his effortless charm—always felt a little removed from her own quiet, 9-to-5 existence.

The door opened before she could knock, revealing Lando with a tray of drinks in his hands. His face lit up when he saw her.

"Y/N!" he said warmly, stepping back to let her in.

"Hey," she replied, her voice soft. She shrugged off her coat, her sweater clinging to her frame as she smoothed it nervously.

"I’m glad you made it," he said, setting the tray down on the coffee table in the living room. His grin turned a little sheepish. "Max bailed last minute, so it’s just us tonight."

Her stomach flipped. "Oh. Um… I can leave if you—"

"Don’t even think about it," he cut her off, his grin widening as he turned to her. "You’re not leaving me to watch Love Actually alone."

Y/N laughed, a sound that was light but genuine. "Well, when you put it like that…"

"Exactly," he said, handing her a steaming mug of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and marshmallows. "Now, come on. Couch is ready. Snacks are ready. All we need is you."

The two of them settled into the large sectional sofa, blankets draped over their laps and snacks within arm’s reach. The first movie played in the background, though neither of them paid much attention to it at first. Their conversation flowed easily, punctuated by Lando’s teasing remarks.

"So, do you always root for the bad guys in movies?" he asked, his eyebrows raised as she defended yet another movie villain.

"Only when they make sense," Y/N shot back, her cheeks warming under his amused gaze.

"You’re dangerous, you know that?" he said, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"I make no promises," she replied, her voice bolder than she expected.

Lando chuckled, his laughter rich and warm, and Y/N felt her chest tighten. Being around him was like standing in the sun—bright and intoxicating, but overwhelming if she stayed too long.

Somewhere between the second and third movie, the teasing faded, replaced by a comfortable silence. It wasn’t until Y/N shifted slightly that she realized how close they’d become. Lando’s head had found its way to her shoulder, his body leaning into hers as his breathing slowed.

Her heart raced as she glanced down at him. He looked peaceful, his long lashes resting against his cheeks, his usual playful expression softened in sleep.

She allowed herself a moment to take him in, her thoughts drifting. Over the months since they’d met, Lando had become more than just a mutual friend. Despite his glamorous life, he had a way of making her feel seen, like she was the only person in the room when he looked at her. He was warm and thoughtful, funny in a way that disarmed her.

And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to admit how she felt.

Thinking he was fully asleep, Y/N let the words slip out in a whisper. "I really wish you knew how much I like you."

She froze as his eyes fluttered open, locking onto hers.

"How much of that did you think I didn’t hear?" he asked, his voice husky from sleep, a teasing smirk pulling at his lips.

Her face turned crimson. "I—I thought you were asleep!"

"Clearly not," he murmured, sitting up slightly but still leaning into her space. "So… how much do you like me?"

"Lando…" she started, but the words caught in her throat.

"No, no," he said gently, his smirk softening into a sincere smile. "Don’t back out now. I want to hear it."

She looked away, her heart pounding in her chest. "I… I like you. A lot. Probably more than I should."

"Why 'should'?" he asked, his tone suddenly serious.

"Because… you’re you. And I’m just me," she admitted quietly.

His frown deepened at that. He reached out, tilting her chin so she’d face him. "What’s that supposed to mean? Y/N, you’re amazing. You’re smart, funny, and you make me feel like just a normal guy when I’m around you. I like that. I like you."

She blinked at him, her mind struggling to process his words. "You… like me?"

"Is that so hard to believe?" he teased, though there was an edge of vulnerability in his voice.

"I mean, yeah," she admitted with a nervous laugh.

"Well, believe it," he said firmly, his eyes holding hers. "And just so you know, I don’t fall asleep during movie nights with people I don’t care about."

A soft laugh escaped her, her chest feeling impossibly light. "So this is your version of a compliment?"

"Pretty much," he said, his grin returning. "But if you need more convincing…"

Before she could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was both soft and certain.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of quiet laughter, shared glances, and stolen kisses. By the time the final movie ended, Y/N was curled up against Lando, his arm draped over her shoulders as though it had always belonged there. The warmth of his presence made the room feel smaller, cozier—like their own little world.

But as the credits rolled, the reality of the time set in. Y/N stretched slightly, reluctant to move, but knowing she had to.

"I should probably get going," she murmured, glancing at the clock.

Lando tightened his arm around her for a moment, his reluctance to let her go clear. "You sure? You could stay a little longer. Maybe one more movie?"

Y/N chuckled softly. "It’s past midnight, Lando. If I stay any longer, I might as well sleep here."

His lips curved into a teasing smirk. "I wouldn’t mind that."

Her cheeks warmed at the suggestion, though she shook her head. "Nice try."

Sighing dramatically, he stood up, offering her a hand to pull her to her feet. "Alright, but I’m not just letting you take the train this late. I’ll drive you home."

"Lando, you don’t have to—"

"Y/N," he interrupted, already grabbing his jacket. "I want to."

She opened her mouth to argue but stopped when she saw the firm set of his jaw. There was no point in arguing; he’d already made up his mind.

The streets of London were quieter now, the usual hum of the city softened by the late hour. Lando’s car cut through the cool night, the soft sound of music filling the space between them.

Y/N glanced out the window, her head leaning lightly against the seat. The night had been surreal—what had started as a casual movie night had shifted into something so much more.

"Quiet over there," Lando said, glancing at her briefly before returning his focus to the road. "Penny for your thoughts?"

She hesitated for a moment before turning to him. "Just… thinking about tonight. About you."

His lips tugged into a small smile. "Good things, I hope."

"Mostly," she teased, her lips curving into a faint smile.

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Careful, Y/N. Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you enjoy giving me a hard time."

"Someone has to keep you humble," she replied, the playful banter easing her nerves.

When they pulled up outside her flat, the quiet between them grew heavy—not uncomfortable, but charged with unspoken emotions. Lando turned off the engine and shifted to face her.

"Thanks for driving me," Y/N said softly, her fingers fiddling with the strap of her bag.

"Anytime," he replied, his tone sincere. "I meant what I said earlier, by the way."

She looked at him, her brows furrowing slightly. "About what?"

"About this being a tradition," he said, his gaze steady on hers. "And about wanting to keep you around for a long time."

Her breath hitched, the weight of his words settling over her. She searched his face, finding nothing but honesty in his expression.

"I’d like that," she finally whispered, her voice barely audible.

Lando’s smile softened, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. "Good."

Without giving herself time to overthink, Y/N leaned in, her lips meeting his in a kiss that was tender and lingering. When they pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away from him.

"You should go in before I find another excuse to keep you here," he murmured, though his hand lingered on hers.

Y/N laughed softly, her heart impossibly full. "Goodnight, Lando."

"Goodnight, Y/N," he replied, watching as she stepped out of the car and made her way to her door.

He waited until she was safely inside before driving off, a small smile still playing on his lips. As he navigated the quiet streets back to his place, one thought kept circling in his mind: this was just the beginning of something far better than he ever could have imagined.

[b14augrana]

Newbie

You meet Kika for the first time

Kika Nazareth x teen!reader

Part of the Scrubber universe

GIF credits: @a-lexia11

masterlist

Warnings: ✖️

A/N: i love kika so much 🥹 her good vibes are off the charts and because of that i really think she’d get on with scrubber well so here’s a blurb of those two

for the sake of my own happiness lucy is still thriving in sunny cataluña.

“Kika!”

You sat up rapidly as you heard Aitana speak, and the foam roller slipped out from beneath your leg and rolled away slowly. You looked around curiously, and everyone was spread out yet bunched together as they swarmed the three new additions to the team. You were just barely familiar with Ellie Roebuck from following each other on Instagram and you were more than familiar with Ewa Pajor through your mutual ties with her that existed through Frido and Ingrid. However, the girl that Aitana had beelined to, you hadn’t ever met her or known of her. A hand belonging to Mapi tugged you up from the ground and dragged you along to meet the new transfers, and you happily did so.

“You’ve grown so much from the last time I saw you!” Ewa gushed, smiling fondly at you to which you returned the gesture. The last time you had seen Ewa was during the 2023 Champions League final, when you weren’t a main player in the team but merely a reserve. It was an experience either way and Ewa was right — you had grown, physically and as a player. Throughout your entire little conversations with Ewa and Ellie, you could only think about meeting the unfamiliar one. You slunk away from the conversations with the Englishwoman and the striker before approaching Aitana and the final transfer.

“…miss Benfica a lot, actually, because this is my first time playing away from home,” she said to Aitana, who nodded along understandingly as you spoke, until you appeared by her side and her face lit up.

“Kika, I need to introduce you to (Y/N), mi pequeñita,” Aitana exclaimed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. You smiled at the woman across from you, who grinned back. “Hola! I’m Kika,” she introduced herself. You already liked her; just the way she spoke and smiled at you gave the impression that she’d fit right into the team, and most importantly, get along with everyone. “I’m (Y/N),” you responded, but before you could continue and say anything else, you were engulfed in a warm hug by the Portuguese woman. It was yet another reason for you to like her, so you gratefully accepted the hug.

“I’ve watched you before, and all I can say is, I’m glad we’re on the same team,” Kika laughed, making your cheeks swell up with a rosy tint. Aitana nodded and squeezed your arm affectionately, “That means you’re already Barça. We feel like that everyday, ask Caroline.” She giggled and looked at Caro standing a little to the side of her, rolling her eyes with a smile.

“I’m alright…” you mumbled, shuffling around nervously with an awkward smile. To this day, you still weren’t the best at compliment-taking — especially from people way better and experienced than you — despite the amount of compliments you received often. It was still insane to you that the likes of Mapi and Irene complimented you on your defending, when they were the ones that deserved all the lauding more than anything.

“You’re more than alright, pequeñita,” Aitana scoffed, nudging you softly, “Te lo juro, Kika, sin ella no tendríamos la tercera Liga de Campeones.”

“Aitana, do you forget that you scored a goal in that final as well?” you laughed, and she shook her head earnestly. “No, and I definitely don’t forget who assisted me,” she responded with a light elbow to your side, which made you laugh even more. Kika joined in on the giggles until it all died down, and you invited them both back to your pre-workout stretches station. There, you three sat down and continued the conversation, until Aitana got up to do a workout with Fridolina and the weighted ball, leaving just you and Kika.

“You came from Benfica, right? Unless I’ve been hearing things,” you asked her, feeling relieved when she nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been there my entire career. It’s been a bit tough, adapting to Spain when I’ve lived in Portugal my whole life, but I love it here. What about you?” she explained.

You placed the foam roller back underneath your legs as you spoke, “I’ve more or less lived in Barna my entire life. I was in France for a couple years but I hated it so I kinda block it out from my memory. It sucked.” Kika laughed at your statement, inciting a smile from you. “Can you speak any French?” she asked, and you shook your head.

“Besides bonjour, au revoir, si vous plait and je suis (Y/N), I’m hopeless. If you ever want lessons, go to Lucy,” you replied, glancing at Lucy before nodding your head in her direction. Kika smiled and looked at Lucy as well, shooting her a charming grin before gazing back at you.

You liked her, a lot. She was nice and easy to get along with, she wasn’t super serious which was a big thing for you and she didn’t baby you any more than the others which was an even bigger thing. Kika was a very smart transfer for the club to have made, and you could see her becoming part of the family very soon. Her being close with Aitana was already a good start to that pursuit, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before the others warmed up to her.

“Are you any good at Catalan?” she asked you, and you hesitated before nodding, “I think so.” She sighed a breath of relief and lunged over to grab her own foam roller, placing it beneath her calf as she spoke, “Good, because I need a teacher for that. I’m not terrible, but I’m definitely not fluent yet. I tried to get Aitana to teach me but she talks too fast, it’s hard to keep up!”

With a lighthearted giggle, you nodded, moving the foam roller from your left leg to your right one. Kika continued rolling her left calf, bracing the floor for leverage and balance as she did so.

“How old are you, (Y/N)? Aita’s told me in the past but I can’t remember at all. You’re around my age, sí? 20, maybe 21 like me,” Kika spoke, shaking her head briefly at her own forgetfulness. You shrugged it off lightly, “Don’t worry about it. I’m– um, I’m actually 16,” you said nervously, smiling at the shocked expression on the woman’s face when you revealed your age.

“16 years old? Dios mío, and you’re a defender? What do they feed the kids at this club, gosh…” she muttered. Your cheeks flushed pink and your smile widened, tugging at your cheeks as you gazed down shyly, not a word coming out but your reaction spoke for itself. “Wait, so, where do you live? Do you go to school?” she questioned, intrigue capturing her facials expressions as she looked at you eagerly.

“My family don’t live in Barna, not anymore. I live with Irene most of the time but I just bounce around between apartments, and I attend classes at the academy,” you explained. “Oh, and I don’t think you’ll fully settle into the city unless you go to one of the cafés downtown. My favourite one is 5 minutes down the road, maybe we could go there after this?”

Kika was on board before you had even finished proposing your idea. After training, you pulled your hoodie over the top of your kit and left the grounds with your new friend, saying goodbye to everyone and explaining to them that you were steering her away from ‘guiri’ accusation territory.

You two walked down the streets, admiring the shops and cafés that were full of people, and on occasion, pointing out the Barça crests and flags displayed in the windows of buildings. You didn’t have a car yet, let alone a license, so you normally caught a ride with someone else, but it was nice to stroll down the streets of the city with Kika and introduce her to the place you called home. Eventually, your adventure came to a close when you found yourselves outside your favourite café of all time, before you walked into the entrance and took a seat right by the window.

The café was furnished with two-seat tables all around and a large display of everything you could imagine, from sandwiches, quiches and savoury muffins to decadent cakes and pastries. The comforting aroma of tea and other brews wafted through the air and only added to the warm atmosphere emitted from every corner of the room. You placed your bag down beside your chair, resting your hands on your thighs as Kika did a similar thing and relaxed her hands on the table. She looked around with an admiring gleam in her eyes before meeting your watchful gaze with an appreciative smile. “This is a lovely café, I can see why it’s your favourite.”

“Wait until you try the food, it’s even better,” you responded with a cheeky grin of your own, making the pair of you laugh simultaneously. “Do you want to go up and order first? I’ll stay here and watch our stuff and then I’ll order,” you said, gesturing for her to go up to the counter. She agreed, and you waited for a couple minutes until the woman returned to your table with her food; an iced tea, chocolate muffin and an apple danish. “I was going to order something healthy but I do not feel like vegetables right now,” she grimaced, placing her food down on the table slowly.

“I’ll be quick,” you said as you stood up and made your own way to the counter, ordering your own choice of food. You settled on an almond and icing sugar dusted croissant along with a cup of tea and a platter of mini donut bites. Once you received your order, you balanced your meal on your hands and carefully walked back to the table, talking slow steps until you reached Kika and placed it all down hurriedly, sinking into your seat once again. “Oh, yum,” she remarked, eyeing up your food before teasing you, “You’re making me regret getting this.”

You didn’t respond, because you knew from the moment she sunk her teeth into the chocolate muffin, her mind would change immediately, and you were correct — her eyes widened once she got a taste of the rich chocolatey goodness she possessed, and then they closed for a good minute as she savoured the taste. “Nevermind,” she mumbled between her mouthful, “You can keep it. This is th’ best thing ever!”

You looked at her with an ‘I knew it’ expression, which made her smile as she swallowed her bite and placed the muffin down atop its paper bag. You took a sip of your tea and then threw a donut bite in your mouth, offering one to Kika as you did so, who took one and thanked you with a nod of her head.

“So, you said you go to school at the academy. How is that?” she enquired. Unlike other teenagers who probably got sick and tired of being asked about how school is going, you actually didn’t mind. School was rarely a subject of interest for people when it came to your life, so it was kinda nice to know that someone was making the effort to know you outside of football. “It’s alright. Since the Champions League they’ve been letting me off easy with homework and stuff, so that’s pretty nice,” you answered with a shrug, “Some of the classes suck, like maths, but other than that it’s not too bad.”

“Any friends?” Kika continued, to which you nodded. “Well, I wouldn’t consider them friends, because I don’t talk to them outside of class since we’re all busy with our teams, but I’m okay with most of the people I take classes with. Some of them that play for the men’s first team, I’d call them my friends, but that’s it. I just hang out with the girls in our team,” you explained, “I love them all though, they’re the only friends I need.” Kika made an ‘oh’ expression to signify her understanding, and she nodded to further stress that.

“Yeah, I went to a regular school when I was still in school, and it’s much easier to take your classes in an academy like La Masia where everyone understands that your priorities are in football,” Kika said, taking another bite of her muffin. She paused for a minute to chew, and then she spoke again once she had swallowed it, “When you have friends that are always upset over you not having time to hang out because of football, it becomes a pain in the ass.”

You took a sip of your tea, wincing slightly as you adjusted to the piping hot temperature. “Yeah, I get that. I think we’re gonna get along really well, Kika,” you smiled warmly, invoking one on her own face. She was glad to have made a significant first impression, especially with you, the baby of the team. They undoubtedly loved you, and she was already on the path to joining them, enamoured with how friendly you were to her straight away.

The conversation strayed into talks about Portugal, and what it was like for Kika when she lived there. She told you about Benfica, her favourite restaurants in her hometown of Lisbon, her family and what made her want to play for Barça. You learnt a lot about her during that short café date, and in exchange, you told her more about your personal life and what you loved most; Vidić, slide tackles, your big sisters and Barcelona (the club and city). There were also the trivial things you loved that you decided to save for another day, like your love for Hay Day that she was sure to discover sooner or later.

You two shared the rest of the donut bites after you finished your muffin and croissant. She split her apple danish with you, which you gracefully accepted and thanked her for, and the conversation continued up until the last of the donut bites was gone and you were both stuffed.

“See why it’s my favourite café?” you said to the woman, and she nodded. “I’m definitely coming back, that chocolate muffin was delicious,” she groaned, scrunching her paper bag up. You both stood and grabbed your training bags, slinging them over your shoulders, and on the way out you tossed your rubbish into the bins, thanking the café owner. The pair of you strolled to Kika’s new apartment, and you learned that she was barely 5 minutes away from Irene’s home that was situated just around the corner: “That’s great!” she exclaimed happily as you two neared her home, “That means café dates can happen more often.”

Walking Kika up to the front door of her apartment, you peered inside and got a look of the cozy area. You were surprised at how furnished it was, because you were under the impression that she had only recently arrived in the city, but it didn’t seem that way anymore. “Your apartment is so nice…” you whispered, looking around a little bit more before pulling your head out, “I’ll see you tomorrow, thanks for coming with me!”

She embraced you in another warm hug before you left, smiling widely as she spoke, “I should be thanking you! It’ll be much easier at training tomorrow, knowing two people instead of just one.”

You waved goodbye to her and she returned the gesture before she shut the door. It didn’t take long you to be standing on Irene’s doorstep, unlocking the door with your key and slipping inside. She had known about your plans to go to the café with Kika, so she wasn’t alarmed when you came home particularly late, and instead she asked you about it.

“I love her, she’s great!” you lauded, flopping down beside her on the sofa, “I think we get along really well, and I can’t wait for her to meet Clau and Patri.”

“Oh no,” Irene groaned, shaking her head. “Do not introduce her into your trio of tontos,” she exclaimed. You shrugged, leaning back on the sofa, “I won’t, but the other two will probably do it on their own.”

She let out an exasperated sigh, looking at you with an eyebrow raised.

“Please don’t ban us from seeing each other again,” you begged, looking at her with a grimace. She shook her head, dismissing the idea. “No, because the last time we tried that, you three rode those jet skis at the Barceloneta.”

“Okay, that was not my idea, and you should blame Claudia for that… but it was really fun and it would be nice if you let us go again,” you said quietly, looking at her with an indicative expression.

“…Fine. I guess it would be okay, only if the rest of us come and we make it a beach day.”

“Deal!”

[theresattrpgforthat]

Mint Plays Games: Changelings, Trauma & Gaming

Over the course of October and November, I returned to one of my favourite ttrpgs of all time with @thydungeongal and my girlfriend: Changeling the Lost. About once or twice a year, I get the itch to run the 1st edition of this lovely, lore-heavy game, and every year I come away from it thinking about its potential. This is meant to be a quick break-down of my latest Changeling session, as well as a reflection on the parts of Changeling that really touch my heart.

The Game.

This game happened over three sessions, involving a character creation session, and two sessions of play. We had one character who was a Darkling Gravewright - folks who dealt with the dead in their time in Faerie (and can also see ghosts), and another who was a Fairest Flamesiren, whose entire deal is about burning bright, but also burning out quickly.

I decided to give these girls a murder mystery, with a mortal body found just outside a gate to a Goblin Market, and a missing changeling to track down. We’d talked about themes of grief and addiction prior to my planning stage, so I figured dealing with both a death and a place that offers your wildest dreams (for a price) might be a good place to start.

I don’t like planning out specific plot beats in my games, so instead I tried designing the Market like an adventure location, with various vendors to tempt the players with their wares, while dotting the landscape with NPCs in various states of distress. I figured the Changelings would pick something that resonated with them, and we could go from there. This process also generated a few different villainous characters who could be responsible for the murder, which I’m glad I did, because as usual, what the players decide to do always falls outside the bounds of what the GM plans for.

The story ended up being about saving a kidnapped changeling from a hungry Fae, and bluffing through a group of Privateers (read: mercenaries) and bringing the victim to safety. However, they didn't escape completely unscathed - coming face to face with a True Fae caused a cascade of terrible memories coming back to visit one of our characters right after she thought she'd made it to safety.

Our session was an introduction to the world and lore of Changeling, and I feel like I did a pretty good job on that front. On the other hand, I felt like it was just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the things I think Changeling can be about.

The Potential

When it comes to the World of Darkness in general, I think Changeling: the Lost has a relatively sleek amount of lore regarding the various Courts, Seemings, and faerie characters. Each Changeling’s durance can be typified, but ultimately what they went through can be up to the player who designs them, and the Hedge is limitless in its weird and strange creatures, which gives the GM license to create all kinds of goblins and monsters to fit what they want their game to be about - and the players aren’t really expected to know what’s going on in there anyways. Most Freehold history exists in rumour, because talking too openly about it feels like you’re inviting the Fae to your front doorstep, and in the same way, the true nature of the Fae is left up to rumour and superstition, allowing your group to decide what they really are, or leave their nature forever a mystery.

That being said, the toys that you can play with are still more numerous than anything that you can fit into any one campaign, even if you’re playing that campaign for 4+ years. You can very easily play Changeling as a magical urban fantasy game (and I’ve done this fairly regularly with my group), but C:tL also has a lot of poignant themes that can delve into themes about trauma, addiction, and mental health.

Disclaimer: CtL is not always graceful in the way it represents mental health. There are antagonists presented in the books that come across as “madmen”, some pretty gross Merits you can take that can feel bad to play at most tables, and characters that have lost what makes them human, becoming threats to the players. However, I think that the Clarity system does have some interesting ideas in it that, if treated with care, can still provide some interesting depth to the game.

Clarity

Clarity is meant to be a measure of how well your character can tell truth from Fiction - a high enough Clarity score, and you can sniff out a Fae even if they’re trying to hide themselves; a low enough Clarity Score, and you have a hard time differentiating colour and smell, and might even start seeing an overlay of your Durance infiltrating your weekly grocery trip.

Your Changeling moves up in Clarity if they’re able to keep a stable life with elements that help you ground yourself and give you a sense of identity - and mechanically, once you spend Experience points. Your Changeling moves down in Clarity when they suffer “sins” - moments that disrupt that hard-won stability. This sins could be something we’d consider morally fraught, such as stealing, assaulting someone, or murder - but they could also be significant life changes, like losing your job, buying a house, losing a friend or getting married. You also always suffer a Clarity sin when you come in contact with a reminder of your durance - particularly a True Fae.

The higher your Clarity score is, the harder it is to keep yourself there. Smaller and smaller things can trigger a Breaking point, like going a day without human contact, starting a new college course, or using a Faerie token. Furthermore, the lower your Clarity score, the more difficult it is for you to tell truth from fiction - think of the scenes in Mockingjay where Peeta has to ask Katniss “real or not real” and try to trust her answers.

It doesn’t help that so many pieces of the Changeling experience after getting out of the Hedge seems designed to Fuck You Up - like the doppelgänger that’s been living your life ever since you left, or the fact that mortals can’t seem to notice the ways that Faerie has changed you: you can feel the horns on your head, but all they touch is a well-coiffed hairstyle. In many ways it feels like your whole experience with Faerie is invisible - and you’re fairly certain that even if you told a mortal the truth, they’d never believe you. If they did believe you, they would never treat you the same again.

I like this system because it doesn't really measure how "good" or "bad" your character is - instead it's a representation of how your lived experiences can often trigger symptoms even if others get lucky enough to survive those events with their mental health intact. I'm not a bit fan of derangements - but I think dropping in Clarity is an excellent time to ask characters about pieces of their time in Faerie that haunt them, and perhaps saddle them with Frailties instead - what personal rules do you have to follow in order to navigate the world when you have a hard time telling friend from foe?

Other Themes & Metaphors

The Fae themselves are also exquisite boogeymen, mercurial abusers without the familiar human emotions that we might feel more equipped to understand. They act on their whims and follow their appetites - and while real-life abusers often have very human reasons for being that way, we need not feel such compunctions from the Fae.

We might have to feel some compunctions about their right-hand Loyalists however, changelings who have agreed to work for their Fae Masters in exchange for some semblance of freedom. These are enablers: giving the Fae a step into the mortal realm and throwing mortals and other Lost under the bus, just so the True Fae won't turn their abuses back onto them.

Much of the ethos of the seasonal courts in the first edition has to do with different strategies for preventing a day where you find yourself back under your abuser’s control. Do you pretend that everything is fine, because they won’t recognize their victims if they’re happy? Make yourself physically stronger so you can tell yourself that you’ll win next time? Amass magic rituals in the hopes that learning just the right order of steps will keep you safe? Or do you make yourself as un-interesting as possible in the hopes that they give up on you for other prey? (Yes, I think the Winter Court could totally be all about grey-rocking).

On top of that, the Changelings that your characters embody (and interact with) are far from perfect. They have vices, fears and trauma responses that pull and push them into a dance of backstabbing, power-grabbing politics, full of seeking the upper hand and possibly even selling out their fellows in a gambit meant to keep the Fae focused on someone other than them. (A political game or LARP with these themes in mind feels so juicy to me.)

Next is the metaphors of power and/or addiction. The higher your Wyrd is, the more Glamour you can hold, and the more powerful your magic is. At the same time, the more Glamour you can hold, the more you need to hold it: what starts as a fun magical resource can grow into an addiction, if you lean into it hard enough. Sure, your Contracts become easier to activate and you can Incite Bedlam if you get powerful enough, but are you willing to chance withdrawal if you can’t get your daily fix of goblin fruit? How much are you willing to play with human emotions in order to get that sweet sweet taste of anger or grief?

Then there’s the seeming-specific traumas. Beasts struggle with wondering whether they can be human after giving in to animal instinct; Darklings fell into Faerie because they crossed an invisible or moral line and have had to make morally questionable decisions in order to survive. Elementals are used to being treated as part of the scenery, moulded to fit the whims of their captors; Fairest are constantly pressured to be the prettiest or the best with the threat of terrible terrible things should they fail. Ogres have undergone terrible physical hardships, including physical mistreatment and deprivation, while Wizened have been told time and time again that they are only worth something if they are useful. Stepping out of Faerie doesn’t magically “fix” any of these complexes, and as a result each Seeming has to wrestle with stereotypes even amongst their own: if you need someone murdered, go to a Darkling, If you need something made, go to a Wizened. If you need a hot piece of ass, a Fairest is sure to oblige - right?

Lastly, there's the Fetch: a copy of yourself that was made to replace you when the Fae took you away. This other-you is often so much better or so much worse than the person they used to be - they can act as a foil to your character, haunting you or making your life difficult, reminding you of who you used to be, or never letting others forget how badly you may have screwed up. In Changeling society, killing your Fetch is at the very least a regrettably convenient way of tying up loose ends, and at the most, a rite of passage. But it's also a surefire way to risk losing Clarity. Kind of a catch-22 situation, isn't it?

My Experience So Far

Past Changeling sessions I’ve run have included NPCs getting kidnapped by misguided friends, stumbling across characters who were at an all-time Clarity low, trying to save other Changelings from their Faerie kidnappers, cannibals, Fetches, and antagonists who are set out to betray one or more factions of the Freehold that is supposed to protect them. It’s always bits and pieces of what feels like a bigger picture.

On the one hand, I think that's to be expected. There's so much in this game, and I doubt that any campaign can really dig in to all of its systems and complexities. On the other hand, I’m not sure if I’ve been able to really dig into the themes of Changeling: the Lost in the way that I’d really love to be able to do.

The subject matter can be so close to real struggles, that I’m nervous about making those struggles too bare-faced at my local table. Gas-lighting, torture, hallucinations, drug abuse and cannibalism are so very easy to drop into a Changeling game, but are also so very easy to hit uncomfortable moments for someone who's unprepared.

At the same time, I think that playing a game like Changeling with a high-trust table that uses robust safety features has so many interesting stories that can give power to players, even if the setting is technically a horror one. I’ve been having conversations with @psychhound about a lot of the themes that folks try to explore in ttrpgs, especially in response to this post he commented on back in April. To summarize that conversation: TTRPGs are a great way for folks to tackle personal struggles and traumas from a safe place, in ways that can give them a cathartic experience or that can give them a fresh sense of identity. Changeling has been a significant part of those discussions.

I came to Changeling: the Lost as a fairly new GM the first time I picked it up, and the more I learn about Safety Tools and a culture of care, the closer I feel to getting to that game that lives in my head that lured me into TTRPGS in the first place. Every time I come back to It, I think I'm closer to pulling together a Changeling game that sinks its teeth into the themes I’m interested in and hit some of the grime beneath all that glitter. So every time I come back to it, I’m going to create funky little goblins and design weird Fae bars and take the characters’ memories and ask them why they hurt - figuring out how I can twist the knife just enough to peel back the glamour, without opening any wounds that we’re trying to keep closed.

[xx-dinah-writing-xx]

i love it when love interests in shows/movies end up dating irl. There’s something so sweet about it I can’t explain. Imagine a Matt x reader who started dating after starring together in Doctor Who and the fans just loving it.

Love your works btw!

Pose

Matt Smith x reader

Fluff

The Doctor Who set buzzed with energy. Cast and crew darted about, readying for the next scene. Y/N stood off to the side, wearing her costume—just one of many extras for a crowd scene. Her heart pounded as she glanced across the set at Matt Smith, the Doctor himself, who was cracking jokes with Karen Gillan.

She was young, new to the industry, and still trying to find her footing. Watching Matt’s charisma light up the room, she admired how effortlessly he commanded attention. But that’s all it was—a distant admiration. He was leagues above her, both in fame and experience. And besides, he probably didn’t even know she existed.

She spent the day filming her brief scenes, staying out of the way, and sneaking glances at Matt when she could. She noticed the way he treated the crew with kindness, his infectious laugh, and the subtle glint of mischief in his eyes. She couldn’t help but feel a small pang of regret when the day wrapped up, and she hadn’t had the nerve to introduce herself.

“Maybe someday,” she whispered to herself as she left the set, clutching her small piece of experience as a budding actor.

Years Later: House of the Dragon Set

The grand halls of the House of the Dragon set were a world apart from her days as an extra on Doctor Who. Y/N had grown as an actress, carving out her own name in the industry. She wasn’t a lead, but she wasn’t invisible anymore, either.

And then there was Matt.

She spotted him during the first table read, his presence unmistakable. Now older, more refined, and undeniably handsome, he still carried that same charm she’d admired years ago. Except this time, things were different—this time, he noticed her.

It started small. Casual conversations during breaks, shared laughs over long shooting days. He was always hovering nearby, stealing glances when he thought she wasn’t looking. Y/N could feel the shift—his interest wasn’t just friendly.

“Have we worked together before?” Matt asked one day as they stood waiting for their next scene.

Y/N smirked, deciding to play coy. “Maybe. A long time ago.”

He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in mock suspicion. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

She shrugged, feigning innocence. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Matt found himself captivated—not just by her beauty but by her wit and the quiet confidence she carried. There was something familiar about her, though he couldn’t quite place it. It wasn’t until weeks later, during a casual chat with one of the crew, that the truth clicked.

“You were on Doctor Who, weren’t you?” he asked her later, a grin spreading across his face.

“Good memory,” she replied, laughing. “I was just an extra. You wouldn’t have noticed me.”

“Noticed you?” He stepped closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Y/N, I’ve been noticing you every day since we started this.”

Her heart raced, and she tried to suppress the blush creeping up her neck. The Matt Smith she had admired from afar all those years ago was now standing in front of her, openly admitting his interest.

From that day forward, their connection only deepened. Matt was smitten—hook, line, and sinker. He found himself seeking her out constantly, offering to run lines together, lingering in conversations just to keep her close.

And Y/N? She couldn’t quite believe how life had come full circle. What started as a fleeting crush on a set years ago had blossomed into something real, something tangible.

Sometimes, when they were alone, Matt would tease her about those early days. “You should’ve said something back then,” he’d say with a playful smirk.

“I was a kid,” she’d retort, rolling her eyes. “And you were busy being the big, famous Doctor.”

He’d laugh, pulling her close. “Well, I’m glad we got here eventually. Better late than never, right?”

The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the streets of London as Matt and Y/N strolled hand-in-hand, both trying to make the most of a rare day off together. They were casually dressed—Matt in a fitted black t-shirt, jeans, and his signature boots, and Y/N in a sundress with a denim jacket draped over her shoulders. They looked every bit like a picture-perfect couple, but neither anticipated the storm they were about to cause online.

As they walked out of a cozy café, Matt holding the door for Y/N with an easy smile, the unmistakable sound of camera shutters echoed across the street. Matt’s smile faltered briefly, realizing they’d been spotted. Y/N instinctively squeezed his hand, glancing toward the source of the commotion.

Three paparazzi were camped out on the opposite corner, cameras clicking away like machine guns.

“Smile or run?” Y/N whispered, half-joking.

Matt chuckled under his breath. “Pose.”

He leaned down, planting a soft, lingering kiss on Y/N’s temple as they continued walking, acting completely unbothered. If anything, he looked amused by the attention, his free hand stuffed casually in his pocket. Y/N tilted her head toward him, a warm laugh escaping her lips—making the scene look even more natural and intimate.

By the time they reached the corner, Matt turned toward one of the photographers with a mock stern expression. “You got enough, mate?” he called out, making Y/N stifle a laugh.

The photographers didn’t respond, but their lenses stayed fixed on the couple until they disappeared around the corner.

Later That Evening

The photos hit Twitter and Instagram like wildfire, trending within hours. Fans had been quick to analyze every single frame.

One photo in particular set the internet ablaze: Matt mid-kiss on Y/N’s temple, her eyes closed with a soft smile. The hashtag #MattSmithAndY/N began trending, with fans losing their collective minds.

Fan Tweets:

“OH MY GOD THIS IS A ROM-COM IN THE MAKING!!! LOOK AT THEM 😭❤️”

“He’s so boyfriend-coded it hurts. The way he looks at her? I’m deceased.”

“Y/N is LIVING MY DREAM. HANDS OFF, SIS, I SAW HIM FIRST.”

“Matt Smith, you’ve been crowned the King of Gentle PDA.”

“Them just casually being THE most attractive couple ever? I’m not okay.”

Instagram fan accounts weren’t far behind, posting collages of the pictures and captioning them with things like:

“Matt and Y/N being adorable AGAIN—this man stays winning.”

“Not to be dramatic, but I would die for their love.”

“What’s it like being the sun and moon of someone’s life?? Asking for a friend.”

That night, Y/N lay sprawled across their couch, her phone buzzing with notifications. “Matt,” she called out, trying to suppress her laughter.

He wandered in from the kitchen, a tea mug in hand. “What’s so funny?”

She held up her phone, showing him one of the memes.

Matt leaned over, squinting at the screen. “Is that… Is that me?”

“Yes,” Y/N said, laughing as she scrolled through more tweets. “Apparently, you’re boyfriend-coded now.”

“Boyfriend-coded?” He arched a brow, sitting down beside her.

“It means you’re setting unrealistic standards for all men, Mr. Smith.” She winked, teasing.

Matt chuckled, setting his mug down before pulling her into his lap. “Unrealistic? Darling, I’m just getting started.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin spreading across her face. “Well, congratulations. The internet loves you.”

He smirked, his arms tightening around her. “They’re not the ones I’m trying to impress.”

That night, after the paparazzi pictures had gone viral, Y/N found herself scrolling through TikTok, unable to resist the rabbit hole of edits that had already flooded the app. She lay on the couch, earbuds in, her phone screen lighting up her amused face. The edits ranged from sweet—slow-motion clips of Matt smiling paired with romantic music—to downright thirsty.

She came across one that stopped her dead in her tracks: a perfectly timed montage of Matt as Daemon Targaryen with Sabrina Carpenter’s “Bed chem” playing in the background. It was cut to perfection, highlighting every cocky smirk, intense glare, and swagger-filled moment from House of the Dragon.

Y/N bit her lip, stifling a laugh as the caption read: “You’re telling me she gets to go home to THIS every night??? God has favourites.”

Unbeknownst to her, Matt had just walked into the living room, holding two glasses of wine. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her utterly engrossed in her phone, oblivious to his presence. Curious, he stepped closer, quietly setting the glasses down on the coffee table.

He leaned over the back of the couch, peering at her screen. It took him all of two seconds to figure out what she was watching. His own face filled the frame in a particularly intense Daemon clip, and the accompanying song lyrics weren’t helping.

“Really, darling?” Matt’s deep voice startled her.

Y/N yelped, nearly tossing her phone in panic. “Oh my god, Matt! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

He smirked, leaning casually against the couch, arms folded. “You were watching edits of me?”

“No!” she said quickly, though her burning cheeks betrayed her. She shoved her phone under a cushion like a guilty teenager.

Matt cocked an eyebrow, clearly amused. “I saw the whole thing, love. That was Daemon.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Oh, this is so embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” he teased, rounding the couch to sit beside her. “I think it’s rather flattering.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she muttered, still hiding behind her hands.

Matt gently pried her hands away, his grin playful. “You know, I’ve always wondered what it’s like to live rent-free in someone’s mind. But now I see—it’s you I’ve been occupying.”

Y/N swatted his chest. “Shut up!”

He laughed, pulling her into his arms. “No need to be shy, darling. Next time, just ask, and I’ll recreate the scenes for you in person.”

Y/N groaned again, but she couldn’t help but laugh as he planted a dramatic kiss on her temple. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Matt said, smirking as he grabbed the remote, “you’re still stuck with me. Now, should we make this official and watch House of the Dragon together?”

“Absolutely not,” Y/N said, grabbing the wine glasses and handing him one. “I think you’ve been admired enough for one night.”