#Shes a faint memory from his past lives

[cosmic-d1ce]

i cant remember if you clarified this anywhere, but what do you headcanon phil’s species being? I know you don’t draw him with wings in this but I was wondering if you had any specifics

He is actually an avian and he used to have wings

He's based on an angel but q!phil specifically has no connection to actually being an angel, he just is one?? and he has no idea why. Unlike in his past lives, he never earned his wings or divinity, he doesn't even have a connection to any gods

He lost his wings because of that, he just didnt deserve them and had no reason to have them

[jupiterpilgrim]

Collision

Christmas Special🎄

Yujin x Male Reader

word count: 17K

The driveway crunches under your tires, the snow thick and fresh, the icy wind biting at your face the second you step out of the car. It smells like home—pine trees and the faint whiff of wood smoke from the chimney. But none of it feels comforting. The weight in your stomach isn’t from your bag slung over your shoulder; it’s dread.

Christmas is supposed to be easy, right? Some lights, shitty jokes from your dad, a pile of gifts no one really needs. But this year? No, this year is a fucking curveball. Your dad remarried. Out of nowhere. Surprise! He’s got a wife, and she’s got a daughter. You haven’t even met them yet. They could be anyone. Strangers, stuck in your house, calling it theirs. What if they don’t like you? 

Worse—what if they do?

The front door swings open before you even reach it, and there’s your dad, grinning like he’s already three spiked eggnogs deep. “Hey, kiddo!” he booms, pulling you into a bear hug that smells like aftershave and nostalgia. You pat his back awkwardly, your fingers cold and stiff.

Inside, the house is warm, almost stifling, and decked out like Christmas threw up everywhere—tinsel, garlands, the works. You catch a glimpse of the tree in the living room, its blinking lights like a sugar rush for your eyes. You put your bag on the floor for a moment.

That's when you see one of them.  

Your stepmother’s standing in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a towel, her smile wide but a little hesitant. She’s tall, polished, the kind of woman who looks like she’s never eaten a carb without guilt. She steps forward, offers a hand. “Good evening, sweetheart. So nice to finally meet you.” Her voice is smooth, polite. You shake her hand, mumbling your name and something about being pleased to meet her as well.

But your eyes slide past her, drawn like a goddamn magnet, and there she is.

Yujin. 

Yes, her.

It’s like getting punched in the gut. She leans against the doorway, arms crossed, lips curled in that same fucking smirk you’ve had nightmares about. Her black hair falls over one shoulder, her skin flawless, her legs impossibly long in ripped jeans that should be illegal. She hasn’t changed, except maybe she’s hotter now, and isn’t that just the ultimate middle finger from the universe?

“Hey, sweetheart,” she says, her voice low and syrupy, and it knocks the air out of you. Her smile widens as your brain short-circuits. “So nice to finally meet my stepbrother.”

You can’t even answer. 

Your throat’s dry, your palms clammy. All the memories come rushing back—her cornering you by your locker, stealing your homework, making you trip in front of half the school. She was your personal tormentor, a one-girl wrecking crew of humiliation. 

And now? 

Now she’s in your house.

You force your legs to move, stepping forward to shake her hand, because what the fuck else are you supposed to do? But she doesn’t take it. Instead, she pulls you into a hug. A hug. Her body presses against yours, warm and soft and so fucking wrong, and then she leans in, her breath hot against your ear.

“God, you’re still such a little bitch,” she whispers, her voice so quiet only you can hear. “This is gonna be so much fun.”

Your heart’s slamming in your chest, your hands shaking as you pull away, trying to act normal. But she’s watching you with that sly grin, her eyes sparkling like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. 

“Dinner’s almost ready,” your dad says, oblivious to the tension in the room. “Why don’t you kids catch up?”

Yujin winks at you. “Yeah, let’s catch up,” she says sweetly. Too sweetly.

You nod, because what else can you do? Christmas Eve has already become your funeral. The nightmare’s just started, and there’s no waking up from this one. 

“Err, sure, I'll just keep my stuff in my room.” 

I'll help you!" exclaims Yujin, the altruist.

“You don’t have to—” you start, your voice cracking as Yujin plucks your bag off the floor like it weighs nothing. 

“Don’t be stupid,” she cuts you off, grinning wide enough to show teeth. “What kind of stepsister would I be if I didn’t help my adorable little stepbrother settle in?”

Her tone drips with mock sweetness, and you glance toward your dad, silently pleading for rescue, but he’s too busy smiling like a proud idiot. Your stepmother nudges him with her elbow, murmuring something about how nice it is to see the two of you bonding. 

You want to scream.

“I can handle it,” you try again, grabbing for the bag, but Yujin just tilts it out of reach and turns toward the stairs.

“Don’t be rude,” she says over her shoulder, her smirk still firmly in place. “Lead the way, champ.”

You have no choice but to trudge up the stairs, Yujin trailing behind you with your bag. You can practically feel her eyes burning into the back of your neck. Your old room’s at the end of the hall, unchanged except for the faint smell of mothballs and abandonment. You push the door open and step inside, already imagining locking it and barricading it with a chair. 

But before you can say a word, Yujin’s behind you, kicking the door shut with the heel of her boot. The sharp click of the latch sends a shiver down your spine.

“Well,” she says, dropping your bag onto the bed with a heavy thud. “This is cozy. Still jerking off to the same anime posters, or did college finally level you up?”

Your cheeks go hot instantly, and you spin to face her. “Shut up,” you snap, sharper than you mean to, but it just makes her grin wider.

“There’s that fire,” she purrs, stepping closer, her dark eyes glittering with amusement. “I was starting to think college turned you into a total bore.”

You take a deep breath, forcing your voice to stay calm. Mature. “Did you know?” you ask, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. “Before today. Did you know I was—” You can’t even finish the sentence. The words feel too ridiculous. Too impossible.

“Your dad’s son?” she finishes for you, arching a perfect eyebrow. “Obviously. He showed me this cute little picture of you two together. Big grins, matching dorky Christmas sweaters. I thought I was gonna piss myself!"

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “So you’ve been planning this.”

“Planning?” She tilts her head, mock-innocent. “Oh, no, stepbrother. I’ve just been… looking forward to it. Every day since I found out.” She pauses, leaning in until you can smell her shampoo, something sharp and floral that makes your head spin. “You should’ve seen the look on your face downstairs. Priceless.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to hold your ground. “You’re acting like we’re still in high school,” you say, your voice steady, even though you’re sweating bullets. “We’re not kids anymore. Can you try acting like an adult for five minutes?”

“Hmm.” She taps a finger against her chin, pretending to think. “Nope. Too boring.”

You want to scream again, but instead you sit on the edge of your bed, burying your face in your hands. “What do you want, Yujin?” you mumble through your fingers. “Why are you like this?”

“Why am I like this?” she echoes, feigning shock. She perches on the bed next to you, so close her knee brushes yours. “I’m like this because it’s fun, dummy. Look at you. You’re so easy.”

“I’m not—” You stop yourself, clenching your jaw. “Can we just… not?”

“Not what? Talk about college? Your big, important life now?” She rolls her eyes, leaning back on her palms. “Alright, let’s hear it. Tell me all about your boring classes and your boring friends.”

“It’s not boring,” you mutter, glaring at her. “I’m doing well. Better than high school, anyway.”

“Well, that’s a low fucking bar.” She smirks, nudging your shoulder. “C’mon, I’m kidding. Lighten up.”

You sigh, leaning back against the headboard. “Fine. What about you, then? What are you doing with your life, besides making mine hell?”

“Oh, you know.” She waves a hand lazily. “This and that. I’ve got a part-time job. Still deciding what I want to do long-term. For now, I’m focusing on hobbies.”

“Hobbies,” you repeat, narrowing your eyes. “Like tormenting me?”

“Bingo.” She winks, crossing her legs and making herself way too comfortable on your bed. “But seriously, I’ve mellowed out. College must’ve made you soft.”

You bristle at the jab, but you don’t take the bait. Not this time. “Can you just—can you try to be normal? Just for Christmas?”

“Normal?” She laughs. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re in my house now. Normal’s not on the menu.”

You close your eyes, exhaling through your nose. 

This is going to be the longest Christmas of your life.

“Remember that time I locked you in the janitor’s closet during lunch?” Yujin says, lounging across your bed like she owns it, her smile is as sharp as ever, her voice dripping with nostalgia. “You cried so loud, the janitor thought the fire alarm was going off.”

You stiffen, gripping your knees so tight your knuckles turn white. “I didn’t cry,” you mutter, though your face burns hot at the memory. You’d been pounding on the door, desperate to get out, and yeah, maybe your voice cracked a little, but crying…? No way.

“Oh, you definitely cried,” she shoots back, her grin widening. “Tears streaming down your nerdy little face, begging for someone to let you out. It was adorable.”

“It was traumatic,” you snap, glaring at her. “I missed half my math test because of you.”

“Half your math test?” She gasps, mocking a look of horror. “God forbid! How did you survive without your precious GPA?”

“Can you not?” you groan, dragging a hand down your face. “Why do you think this is funny? You made my life a nightmare.”

“Nightmare?” She laughs, the sound light and cruel. “Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad. You’re acting like I burned your house down or something.”

“It felt like it,” you grumble under your breath.

She smirks, propping herself up on one elbow. “You know, I was doing you a favor. Toughening you up. Making sure you didn’t grow up to be a total pushover.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, thanks for that. Really shaped me into a beacon of confidence.”

She leans closer, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “You’re welcome.”

“God, you are a sociopath,” you mutter, turning away to stare at the wall. You feel her gaze burning into the back of your head, like she’s trying to decide whether to poke the bear or let it simmer.

“So,” she says after a beat, her tone turning mock casual, “what about that time I replaced all your locker stuff with tampons? Classic, right?”

You whip around, your face a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “Classic? That was humiliating. Everyone laughed at me for weeks.”

“Months,” she corrects with a smirk. “Come on, though, you’ve got to admit it was creative.”

“Creative?” You bark out a laugh, bitter and sad. “You literally ruined my high school experience.”

“And yet here you are,” she says, spreading her arms as if presenting you. “Still alive. Still kicking. Still, uh… well, you.”

You glare at her, trying to ignore the smug look on her face. “How do you even live with yourself?”

“Easily,” she says with a shrug. “I’m amazing.”

Before you can retort, your dad’s voice booms from downstairs, calling your name. “Dinner’s ready! You two coming down?”

Yujin hops off the bed, stretching her arms over her head like she didn’t just spend the last ten minutes reliving your personal hell. “Better not keep the old man waiting,” she says, sauntering toward the door. She pauses, glancing over her shoulder with a sly grin. “Try not to trip on the way down, nerd.”

You grit your teeth, swallowing the retort that’s bubbling up. You can feel your temper boiling under the surface, but you clamp down on it. She’s not worth it. Not here, not now. 

Following her downstairs, you try to shake off the memories, but they cling to you like cobwebs. Her laugh echoes in your ears, and for a moment, you wonder if this Christmas can get any worse. 

Something tells you it can.

—

The dining room is warm, the table set with enough food to feed a small army: a roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, cranberry sauce—the works. The smell alone would normally make your stomach rumble, but you can’t think about eating right now. You’re too busy trying to disappear into your chair while Yujin holds court.

She’s sitting directly across from you, a glass of wine in her hand and a mischievous glint in her eye. Your dad and stepmother are at either end of the table, smiling like this is a damn Coca-Cola commercial. They keep stealing glances between you and Yujin, clearly delighted that their kids are finally “bonding.”

“So,” your dad starts, cutting into his turkey, “how are you two getting along so far? Hitting it off?”

Yujin’s grin stretches wider as she sets her glass down, her fingers trailing along the rim. “Oh, we’re getting along great,” she says, her voice sugary sweet, but her eyes are locked on you, daring you to contradict her. “It’s like no time has passed at all.”

“That’s wonderful,” your stepmother gushes, clasping her hands together, apparently without noticing the subtext of her daughter's speech. “I was hoping you two would click. It’s so important, you know? Especially with blended families.”

Your dad nods enthusiastically, raising his glass. “To new beginnings!” 

You mumble something noncommittal, raising your water glass just to avoid looking rude, but Yujin doesn’t miss a beat.

“New beginnings,” she echoes, winking at you over the rim of her wine glass. “Though, really, it’s more like picking up where we left off.”

The words hang in the air like a challenge, and your stomach churns. You glance at your dad, praying he doesn’t take the bait, but of course, he does.

“Oh?” he says, perking up. “Did you two know each other before?”

Yujin leans back in her chair, crossing her legs, her expression pure amusement. “Oh, sure. We were… friends in high school.” She emphasizes the word “friends” in a way that makes you want to crawl under the table and die.

Your dad’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? That’s incredible! What are the odds?”

“It’s like fate,” Yujin says, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “We were absolutely inseparable. Weren’t we, little brother?”

You choke on your mashed potatoes, coughing violently. Your stepmother hands you a napkin, her face full of concern, but Yujin just watches, her smile never faltering. 

“You okay, champ?” she asks, tilting her head like she’s genuinely worried. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” you croak, your voice raw. “Just… went down the wrong pipe.”

“Well, don’t die on us,” your dad jokes, oblivious to the tension. “So, you two were close, huh? Why didn’t you ever mention this before?”

Yujin answers before you can even open your mouth. “Oh, you know how it is. There are so many things we need to remember daily... And High school’s such a whirlwind. But yeah, we spent a lot of time together. In fact…” She pauses, letting the suspense build as she picks up her fork, stabbing a piece of turkey. “Some might say I had a… profound influence on him.”

You grit your teeth so hard you’re surprised your molars don’t shatter. “That’s… one way to put it,” you mutter.

“Don’t be modest,” Yujin teases, pointing her fork at you. “You were so dedicated. Always trying to impress me, always going out of your way to… help.” She says the last word with a sly smile, and you feel your face burning.

Your dad looks between the two of you, clearly delighted. “Well, that’s just fantastic. See? This was meant to be.”

“It really was,” Yujin agrees, taking another sip of wine. “I mean, what are the chances? You, me, and now—” She gestures around the table dramatically. “One big, happy family.”

“Exactly,” your stepmother says, beaming. “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to see you two getting along. It’s like a Christmas miracle!”

You force a tight-lipped smile, shoving a forkful of green beans into your mouth to avoid saying something you’ll regret. Meanwhile, Yujin’s smirk grows impossibly wider, like she’s savoring every second of your misery.

“Tell us more about this,” your dad says, clearly eager to keep the conversation going, “what kind of stuff did you two do together back in high school? Any fun stories?”

Your heart sinks. Before you can come up with an excuse to dodge the question, Yujin leans forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh, so many stories,” she says, her voice light and breezy. “Like the time we… Oh, but I wouldn’t want to embarrass him. You know how sensitive he is.”

You glare at her, your hands clenched into fists under the table. “I’m not sensitive,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended.

Yujin gasps, her hand flying to her chest in mock surprise. “Wow, defensive much? Relax, stepbrother. We’re just reminiscing. It’s healthy.”

Your stepmother chuckles, keeping a conspiratorial and amused expression with your father. “They’re just like siblings already, aren’t they?”

“Just like siblings,” Yujin echoes, her tone syrupy and smug. She catches your eye across the table, her smirk so infuriatingly smug it makes your blood boil. “Don’t you think, bro?”

You grind your teeth, stabbing your turkey with unnecessary force. “Sure. Just like siblings.”

The meal continues, the conversation flowing easily for everyone except you. Every time you start to relax, Yujin finds a new way to dig her claws in—mentioning a “funny” story that conveniently paints you in the worst possible light, brushing her foot against yours under the table, or throwing out a sarcastic comment every time you try to speak.

By the time dessert rolls around, you’re ready to fake food poisoning just to escape. But your parents? They’re over the moon. As far as they’re concerned, this is the happiest Christmas dinner ever.

—

The circus of horrors ends in a swirl of polite conversation and over-loud laughter, the kind that covers up awkward silences and unspoken tension. You pick at the crumbs of your dessert plate until you can’t justify sitting there anymore. Your dad, ever the enthusiast, claps you on the shoulder as everyone starts to disperse. His eyes are bright, his cheeks flushed from a few too many glasses of wine.  

"Hey, kiddo," he says, steering you toward the living room while Yujin and your stepmother clean up the table. "Can we talk for a second?"  

You stiffen but nod, letting him guide you to the couch. He plops down, gesturing for you to do the same, and you oblige, your hands fidgeting in your lap.  

“Look,” he starts, his tone softening in that way parents do when they’re trying to get serious. “I just want to say how proud I am of you. I know it’s not easy, this whole blended family thing. But seeing you and Yujin getting along? It means the world to me.”  

You swallow hard, guilt twisting in your gut like a knife. “Yeah,” you say, forcing a tight smile. “She’s… great.”  

“She really is,” he says. “And you, you’ve grown up so much. I know high school wasn’t easy for you, but look at you now—college, a bright future. I couldn’t be prouder.”  

Your chest tightens. How are you supposed to tell him that his perfect stepdaughter was your high school tormentor? That every smile she throws your way feels like a dagger aimed at your sanity? 

You can’t. 

It would ruin everything.  

So you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Thanks, Dad.”  

He pulls you into a quick hug, ruffling your hair like he used to when you were a kid. “Alright, get some rest. Tomorrow’s a big day—Our first Christmas morning as a new family!”  

You force another smile, mumbling something about heading to bed. And with that, this one-sidedly joyful conversation ends. 

—

Your room feels like a sanctuary as you close the door behind you, the silence wrapping around you like a blanket. You set up your laptop on the bed, scrolling through animated movies until you land on The Lion King. The opening notes of “Circle of Life” fill the room, and for the first time all evening, you start to relax.  

You’re halfway through the Mufasa's death when you hear a knock on the door. 

You freeze, your heart sinking. 

There’s only one person it could be.  

With a sigh, you pause the movie, put the laptop on the desk and shuffle to the door, pulling it open just enough to peek through. Sure enough, there’s Yujin, leaning against the doorframe in pajamas that leave very little to the imagination—short shorts that barely cover her thighs and a tank top so tight it’s almost transparent.  

“What do you want?” you ask, trying to keep your eyes on her face and not the way her shorts cling to her hips.  

She smirks, tilting her head like she’s already won. “Relax, nerd. I just need to borrow your toothbrush.”  

You blink, sure you misheard her. “My toothbrush?”  

“Yeah.” She pushes past you into the room without waiting for an invitation, looking around like she owns the place. “I forgot mine at my mom’s place, and I’m not going to bed without brushing my teeth.”  

You turn to face her, incredulous. “You’re insane if you think I’m letting you use my toothbrush.”  

She glances at your laptop screen, her smirk widening when she sees the paused scene. “Wait—are you watching The Lion King?”  

“Yeah, so?” You fold your arms, trying to deflect.  

Her laugh is sharp, cutting. “Oh my God, you’re such a child. What’s next? Gonna snuggle up with a teddy bear and sing 'Hakuna Matata'?"  

“Classic Disney movies are comforting,” you snap, your cheeks burning. “They’re timeless. Not that you’d understand.”  

“Comforting?” She raises an eyebrow, her grin downright wicked. “You’re pathetic. Do you still sleep with a nightlight too?”  

“At least I’m not barging into people’s rooms asking to share their toothbrush,” you fire back. “That’s disgusting.”  

She shrugs, unbothered. “What’s the big deal? We’re practically family now.”  

“That doesn’t make it okay!”  

“Well, I’m not going to bed without brushing my teeth.”  

“Use your finger,” you suggest, exasperated.  

She gasps, clutching her chest in mock horror. “Oh, the audacity! What kind of savage do you take me for?”  

“An entitled one,” you mutter, regretting it the second it’s out of your mouth.  

Her eyes narrow, but her smirk doesn’t waver. She steps closer, the air in the room suddenly feeling heavier. “Careful, stepbrother,” she says, her voice low, almost teasing. “You wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings.”  

You swallow hard, stepping back instinctively as she invades your space. “I—just… go ask your mom or something.”  

“Nah,” she says, taking another step forward, her eyes locking onto yours. “I like seeing you squirm too much.”  

Your back hits the edge of your desk, your laptop wobbling precariously. The paused image of Simba and Mufasa feels absurdly out of place, but you can’t tear your eyes away from Yujin as she leans in, her smirk turning predatory.  

“So,” she whispers, her voice dripping with false innocence. “Are you gonna lend me that toothbrush, or do I have to get creative?”   

You're tired of being trapped in this kind of situation and know that if you don't make a change, nothing will be different. Decided, you straighten your spine, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare her down.

Enough is enough. 

You’re not the same awkward, scared kid she pushed around in high school. “No,” you say, your voice firm. “You’re not using my toothbrush. Ever.”  

Her eyes narrow even further, her smirk faltering for the first time. “What’s your fucking problem, dude?”  

“My problem?” You laugh. “My problem is that you think it’s normal to walk into someone’s room and ask to scrape your nasty teeth with their toothbrush.”  

Her jaw drops, her eyes flashing with indignation. “Nasty?! Excuse me, but my teeth are perfectly clean!”  

You snort, shaking your head. “Yeah, sure. If you count all the lying and cheating you’ve done with that mouth...”  

Her lips part, and for a moment, she looks genuinely offended. Then her expression hardens, her voice dripping with anger. “You’re such a little bitch, you know that? Sitting here in your sad little room, watching Disney movies like a five-year-old.”  

“And you’re a dumb bitch,” you snap back, your temper flaring. “You only made it out of high school because you stole my homework and cheated on every test. I bet you don't know how to solve even a first degree equation!” 

The second the word leaves your mouth, you know you’ve fucked up.  

Yujin goes very still, her smirk vanishing. Her dark eyes fix on you, cold and unblinking, and for the first time, you feel a genuine spike of fear.  

“What did you just call me?” she says, her voice dangerously low.  

You open your mouth, trying to backpedal, but nothing comes out. She steps closer, her presence suddenly towering.

“I said,” she repeats, each word deliberate, “what did you just call me?”  

“I… I—I didn’t mean—”  

She cuts you off with a sharp laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You’ve got some balls, stepbrother. Calling a woman a bitch like that. You think you’re tough now, huh? Big college guy? Watching The Lion King and talking shit?”  

You hold up your hands, trying to de-escalate. “Yujin, come on, I didn’t mean it like—”  

“I’ll teach you,” she interrupts, her voice dropping into a dangerous purr. “I’ll teach you to never call a woman a bitch again.”  

Before you can react, she moves. It happens so fast, your brain barely processes it—her hands on your arm, a twist, a pull, and suddenly your back hits the floor with a dull thud.  

"Jesus Christ!” you yelp, gasping for air.  

She’s on you in an instant, her knees pressing into your shoulders as she straddles you. “What’s the matter, nerd?” she taunts, leaning down so her face is inches from yours. “Not so mouthy now, huh?”  

“Get off me!” you sputter, squirming beneath her, but she’s stronger than she looks.  

“Oh, no,” she says, her grin returning with a sadistic edge. “You’re not getting off that easy.”  

Her thighs shift, and before you know it, they’re wrapped around your neck, squeezing just enough to make you panic. You grab at her legs, trying to push her off, but it’s like grappling with steel.  

“Holy shit, Yujin! What the hell are you doing?”  

“Teaching you a lesson,” she says, her voice mockingly sweet. “Say it. Say you’ll never call me a bitch again.”  

“Fine, fine!” you choke out, your hands clawing at her thighs. “I won’t! Just let go!”  

But she doesn’t let go. If anything, she squeezes harder, a triumphant laugh spilling from her lips. “Oh, no. Not until you say it properly. Beg me, stepbrother. Let’s hear it.”  

“Yujin, come on!” Your voice is muffled, your vision starting to blur. “You’re insane!”  

“And you’re pathetic,” she counters, her smirk widening. “Now say it. Please, Yujin, I’m sorry for being such a little bitch.”  

You groan, your pride warring with your desperation for oxygen. But as her thighs tighten again, cutting off what little air you have left, you know you don’t have a choice.  

“Fine!” you gasp, your voice ragged. “Please, Yujin, I’m sorry for being such a little bitch!”  

She laughs, a rich, mocking sound that vibrates through her thighs where they clamp loosely around your neck. Her long, toned legs feel impossibly strong, even though she isn’t really applying pressure. The mere implication that she could is enough to make you break out in a cold sweat.

“Sorry?” she repeats, tilting her head like she’s genuinely considering your words. “Hmm, doesn’t sound very convincing. Say it again, but this time really mean it. Oh, and call me ma’am.”  

Your face flushes hot, humiliation creeping up your neck. “I-I’m sorry, ma’am,” you stammer, hating how meek you sound. “Please, I swear I won’t say anything like that again.”  

She smirks, her thighs shifting slightly, the soft warmth of her skin pressing against the sides of your head. “That’s better,” she purrs, “but we’re not quite done, are we? Will you lend me your toothbrush now, or do I have to keep teaching you some respect?”  

You grit your teeth, anger flaring despite your position. “I’m not lending you my toothbrush, Yujin! That’s disgusting.”  

Her expression darkens, but there’s a playful glint in her eyes. “Wrong answer,” she says sweetly, leaning forward so her weight presses just a bit more against your throat.  

“Wait, wait!” you gasp, your hands instinctively grabbing at her thighs. “Fine! Take it, okay? Just let me go!”  

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She loosens her hold, but she doesn’t get up. Instead, her gaze drops, and her grin grows wider. “Oh my god,” she says, her voice dripping with mockery. “Are you seriously hard right now?”  

Your heart stops. You glance down in horror and realize that, yes, the bulge in your pants is painfully obvious.  

“It’s not—” you start to protest, but she cuts you off, shifting her thighs back into position.  

“Don’t even try to deny it,” she coos, leaning in closer. “Look at you, blushing like a little schoolboy. Are you actually enjoying this? Do you like being choked by my thighs?”  

“N-no!” you stammer, though your voice falters as her thighs press just a fraction tighter, the plushness of her skin enveloping your cheeks.  

“Liar,” she says, her voice low and teasing. “Come on, admit it. I can feel you squirming, and I can see that pathetic little boner of yours. Just say it—you like it, don’t you?”  

You try to shake your head, but her legs hold you in place. “I don’t—”  

“Say it,” she interrupts, her tone firm but still playful. “Or I’ll keep you here all night. Admit that you like how warm and soft my thighs are. Tell me you’re a submissive little perv.”  

Your resistance crumbles under her relentless teasing. Your face burns as you mumble, “Okay… fine. It’s kind of… nice.”  

Her laughter is bright and triumphant. “That’s what I thought. You’re a submissive little slut, aren’t you?”  

You close your eyes, wishing the floor would swallow you up, but she’s relentless. Her thighs move between your face, forcing you to look up at her.  

“So,” she drawls, “are you a virgin?”  

“No!” you blurt out immediately, your face heating up.  

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “No? Really? I don’t buy it.” Her grin widens as she watches you squirm. “Come on, don’t bullshit me. Who the hell would fuck you?”  

Your mouth opens, then closes. “I’m not lying,” you manage. “I’ve had sex before! In college.”  

Yujin bursts into laughter, loud and mocking, her head tilting back in genuine amusement. “Oh my god, that’s hilarious. You? Getting laid? Please.” She leans in closer. “What was her name, huh? Bet she doesn’t exist. Face it—no girl, not even the most desperate, would fuck a loser like you.”  

Her words hit harder than you expect, and the shame wells up in your chest. But she turns your chin with her thighs, forcing you to face her again.

“Aww,” she coos, feigning sympathy. “Did I hurt your little feelings? Well, maybe I’m feeling generous tonight. Must be the Christmas spirit or something.” She lets out a low chuckle, her thighs rubbing your neck slowly, almost like a massage. “Tell you what. Since you’re clearly a pathetic little virgin, how about I take that burden off your hands?”  

Your eyes widen, your body betraying you as your erection presses harder against your pants. She notices immediately, her smirk turning wicked. “Oh, you like that idea, huh?”  

“W-wait,” you stammer, but her voice cuts through yours.  

“Not so fast,” she says, her thighs flexing against your neck just enough to make your pulse spike. “Before I even consider it, you need to admit something to me.”  

“Admit what?” you ask nervously.  

She leans closer, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “That I’m beautiful.”  

You laugh nervously, shaking your head. “Yeah, no chance.”  

Her thighs squeeze tighter, making you gasp. “What was that?” she taunts. “You sure about that answer?”  

Your heart races as you struggle against the pressure. “Okay, okay! You’re beautiful, alright?”  

Her smile grows triumphant. “See? That wasn’t so hard. But just beautiful?”  

You hesitate, her expectant gaze burning into you. “You’re hot too,” you mutter.

She feigns surprise, pressing a hand to her chest. “Hot? Oh, you’re making me blush. What else?”  

You swallow hard, your voice trembling. “Your thighs… they’re, uh, juicy. And thick.”  

Her laughter is rich and sultry. “Juicy and thick, huh? You like being smothered by them?”  

“Yes,” you admit, your voice small.  

She grins. “What about my smile?”  

“It’s beautiful,” you say reluctantly.  

Her grin widens. “Oh, really? Didn’t you say earlier that my teeth were nasty?”  

You groan, the heat in your face unbearable. “I lied. Your teeth are… perfect.”  

She leans back slightly, studying you with an amused glint in her eye. “You’re not just saying all this so I’ll fuck you, right?”  

“No,” you insist. “It’s all true.”  

Her smirk softens into something almost curious. “Alright then. What did you think of me back in high school?”  

You try to avoid her gaze, but she won’t let you look away. “I… I don’t want to talk about it.”  

“Talk,” she demands, her thighs pressing just slightly again. “Or I’ll keep you here all night.”  

You sigh, defeated. “Fine. I had a crush on you, okay? I just… I wished you’d been nicer to me.”  

She snorts, shaking her head. “A crush? On me? That’s adorable. Why didn’t you do anything about it?”  

“Because I knew you’d never notice me,” you mumble. “I was just the guy you bullied.”  

She grins wickedly. “That’s not true. You were also good at doing my homework.” Her laugh is loud and unrepentant, and you can’t help but feel a flicker of humiliation all over again.  

Her fingers tug at the hem of her shorts. “What do you think of my pajamas?”  

You glance up at her reluctantly. The short shorts hug her hips in all the right ways, and her tank top perfectly shapes her breasts. “You look… hot,” you admit quietly.  

She smirks, clearly satisfied. “Good, because I picked them out just to tease you. But I think you’ve humiliated yourself enough for one night.” She stands, finally freeing you from her hold, and stretches languidly. “Go get on your bed. It’s going to be the best night of your life.”

Without much choice, you agree. Yujin goes to the door and locks it, then joins you. Now the bed feels smaller now with her on it, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight as Yujin stretches out, making herself comfortable like she owns the place. The Lion King is still paused on your laptop, Simba frozen trying to wake up his already lifeless father, a stark reminder of how normal your night had been before this. Your stomach flips as she looks at you with that amused smirk, her eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and authority.  

“So,” she says, her voice soft but teasing, “if you want me to fuck you, you’ve got to prove it.”  

“Prove it?” you echo nervously, fiddling with the edge of your blanket.  

“Yeah,” she says, sitting cross-legged now, her bare thighs on full display. “Show me you love me. Show me you’re capable of doing anything for me.”  

Your throat feels tight as you stammer, “But… isn’t this… wrong? I mean, because of our parents?”  

Yujin’s smirk deepens, and she leans forward, her face close enough that you can feel the warmth of her breath. “Who says they have to know? This can be our little secret,” she purrs, her tone dripping with mockery.  

You hesitate, your thoughts racing. She notices, of course. Yujin notices everything. “Look,” she says, her voice firm now, “I don’t fuck guys who don’t value me. If you’re not willing to worship me, I'm getting the hell out of your little room so you can jerk off to some disgusting hentai alone.

Her words sting, and before you can even formulate a response, she stretches out one long, toned leg, her foot pointed like a ballerina’s. “Here’s how this works,” she says, wiggling her toes. “If you want to cum tonight, you’re going to worship me. Like a goddess.”  

Your face burns as you stare at her foot, delicate and perfectly pedicured, her nails painted a glossy red. “I don’t… I don’t have a foot fetish,” you stammer weakly.  

Yujin rolls her eyes, laughing softly. “I don’t give a fuck if you do or not. I told you to suck my toes. So, do it.”  

You hesitate, but her expression shifts, her gaze narrowing. “Are you really going to make me repeat myself? Suck. My. Toes.”  

There’s something commanding in her tone that makes your heart race. You swallow hard, your gaze flickering to her foot. It’s undeniably… beautiful. Soft skin, high arch, perfectly shaped. Before you can overthink it, you lean forward, pressing a hesitant kiss to the top of her foot.  

She laughs, low and pleased. “Good boy. But I said suck, not kiss. Start with my toes.”  

Your hands tremble slightly as you lift her foot, her skin warm against your palms. You bring it closer, your lips brushing against her big toe. “Take it slow,” she says, leaning back on her elbows, her voice a purr. “I want to enjoy this.”  

You start tentatively, pressing kisses along her toes, your lips lingering longer each time. The scent of her lotion is faint but sweet, and you find yourself losing the initial awkwardness. Her skin is soft, smoother than you expected, and the warmth of her body feels oddly intimate.  

“Now lick,” she commands, her tone playful but firm.  

Your tongue darts out, tracing the curve of her big toe. The taste is neutral, nothing unpleasant, and as you swirl your tongue around the pad of her toe, you catch a glimpse of her face. She’s watching you intently, her lips curved into a satisfied smile.  

“See?” she says, her voice a little breathier now. “Not so bad, is it?”  

You don’t respond, too focused on the task. Your lips wrap around her toe, sucking gently, and she lets out a soft hum of approval. “That’s it,” she murmurs. “Use your tongue more. I want to feel it everywhere.”  

You move to her other toes, sucking and licking each one, the wet sounds almost obscene in the quiet room. Her foot flexes slightly in your grip, and you realize you’re gripping her ankle like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.  

“Good boy,” she says again, her tone dripping with condescension. “I think you’re actually starting to enjoy this.”  

You hate how right she is. 

There’s something strangely intimate about the act, the way her soft skin feels against your lips, the way her low murmurs of approval send a thrill through you. You glance up at her, your cheeks burning, and she smirks.  

“Don’t stop now,” she teases. “You’re just getting started. Show me how much you appreciate me.”  

Your tongue trails along the arch of her foot, your kisses growing bolder. Her laughter fills the room, light and mocking, but there’s a genuine note of pleasure there too.  

“Damn,” she says, wiggling her toes against your lips. “You’re a natural. Maybe you do have a foot fetish after all.”  

You shake your head, her toes still in your mouth, and she laughs harder. “Whatever you say, loser,” she purrs. “Just keep going. You’re doing great.”

Your lips drag slowly along the arch of her foot, tongue gliding up the curve, and every second feels surreal. You’re too deep into it now to stop. Yujin lounges back, one hand resting lazily on her stomach while the other dips beneath the waistband of her tiny shorts.  

Her movement catches your attention, and you pause for a fraction of a second before her voice cuts through the air. “Did I say you could stop?”  

“N-no,” you stammer, your breath warm against her skin.  

“Then don’t,” she snaps, but her tone is lighter now, almost teasing. Her fingers shift under her shorts, her hips shifting slightly. Her smirk widens when she sees your gaze flicker to the way her hand moves. “Eyes on my foot,” she orders. “You’re not done worshipping me.”  

You swallow hard and lean back in, your tongue running along the side of her foot now, your lips brushing her toes again, sucking gently. You hear her soft, satisfied sigh, and the sound sends heat pooling in your gut.  

“God, you’re really into this, huh?” she purrs, her fingers clearly working beneath the fabric of her shorts. “Look at you, completely devoted. It’s actually kind of cute… in a pathetic, loser-way.”  

Her words should sting, but instead, they just make you want to keep going, to prove yourself. You press firmer kisses along her foot, your tongue tracing every curve and ridge. Your hands tremble as they grip her ankle, and your own arousal throbs insistently, impossible to ignore.  

“You’re so fucking hot,” you blurt out suddenly, the words tumbling from your mouth before you can stop them.  

Yujin giggles, a sound that’s both mocking and genuinely pleased. “I know,” she says smugly, her hips rolling subtly as her fingers continue their work. “But it’s cute of you to say it out loud. Keep going, loser. You’re doing great.”  

Your mouth moves faster now, kissing and licking with more fervor, as if her approval is the only thing that matters. Your hand drifts down to your own pants, palming yourself through the fabric as you watch her.  

She notices, of course. “Oh, look at you,” she teases, her voice low and syrupy. “Touching yourself already? You’re so fucking easy. What are you even thinking about right now?”  

“You,” you admit breathlessly, the words spilling out in a rush. “You’re so hot, Yujin. You’re making me—”  

“Making you what?” she interrupts, her smirk growing.  

“Making me so fucking hard,” you say, your voice cracking slightly.  

Her laughter is soft, sultry, and her hand moves faster under her shorts. “Yeah? And you’re making my pussy so wet,” she says, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Look at you, on your knees, sucking my toes like a good little boy. How could I not get turned on?”  

Your breath hitches at her words, and you press your palm harder against yourself, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through your body. “You look so fucking good,” you mutter.  

She grins lazily, her fingers disappearing deeper beneath her shorts. “Keep going,” she says, her tone commanding. “Make me even wetter. Prove you’re worth fucking.”  

You obey, diving back into your task with renewed determination. Her soft moans fill the room now, and every sound she makes sends shivers down your spine. You can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe how easily she has you wrapped around her finger.  

“God, you’re pathetic,” she murmurs, but there’s a heat in her voice that makes it sound like a compliment. “And you fucking love it, don’t you?”  

You nod against her foot, her skin warm and soft against your lips. “I do,” you admit, your voice cracking slightly. “I love it. I love… you.”  

She freezes for a moment, her fingers pausing their movements. 

Then her smirk returns, sharper than ever. “Of course you do,” she says simply, her voice like velvet. “Now keep going, bitch.”

Your tongue glides across her toes, your saliva leaving them shiny and glistening. Yujin watches with a smirk that grows wider each time she flexes her foot and you eagerly follow, sucking and licking every inch. Her toes are damp, her skin slick and wet, and by now the faint taste of her lotion feels familiar on your tongue.  

“Wow,” she says mockingly, her voice dripping with amusement. “You’re really committed to this, aren’t you? My foot’s fucking drooling, and you look like you’re ready to propose to it.”  

You look up, her smug expression only making your cock twitch harder against the confines of your pants. Your lips hover over her big toe for a moment as you catch your breath, her words hitting something deep inside you.  

“You want to keep going?” she asks, tilting her head as her fingers lazily tap against her thigh. “Or are you finally gonna admit how much you’re loving this?”  

You don’t answer, at least not verbally. Instead, you lean down again, kissing the top of her foot, sucking on her toes, letting your lips linger longer this time. It’s humiliating, sure, but there’s something addictive about the way she looks at you, the way she controls every second of this.  

After a while, she pulls her foot away suddenly, smirking when she sees the disappointment flash across your face. “Alright, enough foreplay,” she says, her voice playful but firm. “Take off your pants.”  

You blink, caught off guard. “Wait, what?”  

“You heard me,” she says, sitting up straighter. “Pants. Underwear. Off. Now.”  

Your hands hesitate at the waistband of your pants, but her sharp gaze cuts through any lingering doubts. You nod, fumbling as you undo the button and slide them down, your boxers following soon after.  

The moment your cock springs free, Yujin’s eyebrows shoot up, and for the first time, her cocky smirk falters. “Holy shit,” she says, her tone caught somewhere between surprise and appreciation. “For a loser virgin nerd, you’ve got a pretty big, thick cock. What a waste.”  

You don’t know whether to feel proud or embarrassed, so you just stand there awkwardly, your hands twitching at your sides as she leans forward slightly, inspecting you like she’s trying to decide what to do next.  

“Alright,” she says, waving you back toward the bed. “Lie down. I wanna play with you a little first.”  

You obey, climbing onto the bed, your heart racing as she stretches out on the opposite side of the bed. Her foot, still slick with your saliva, presses gently against the base of your cock. The sudden contact makes you gasp, and she giggles, clearly enjoying your reaction.  

“Damn,” she teases, slowly sliding her foot up along your length. “Look at you. You’re already leaking, and I’ve barely touched you.”  

You bite your lip, your breath hitching as she presses her other foot against you, sandwiching your cock between both of them. The wetness from your earlier efforts makes every movement smooth and almost unbearably good.  

“How’s that feel?” she asks, her tone mockingly sweet as her feet start to move, stroking you with slow, deliberate motions.  

“F-fucking amazing,” you admit, your voice shaking.  

She laughs, her toes curling slightly as she drags them up the shaft. “Of course it does. I mean, look at you—getting jerked off by my feet. Bet you never imagined this happening in your wildest nerdy dreams.”  

You groan, your hips bucking slightly as her pace picks up. The wet glide of her skin against yours is intoxicating, every stroke sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body.  

“Stay still,” she orders, pressing her heel against your tip just enough to make you gasp. “You move, and I stop. Got it?”  

You nod frantically, your hands gripping the sheets as you fight to keep yourself in place. “Y-yeah, I got it,” you stammer.  

“Good boy,” she purrs, her voice dripping with condescension as her feet resume their slow, teasing movements.  

The room fills with the obscene sound of her slick feet stroking you, the wetness amplifying every glide. She watches you intently, her lips curling into a smirk every time you let out a ragged moan or bite your lip to hold back a louder one.  

“Look at you,” she murmurs, her feet pressing tighter around your cock as she moves faster. “All that attitude earlier, and now you’re just a whimpering little mess. Bet you’d do anything I told you to right now, huh?”  

“Y-yes,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.  

She grins triumphantly, her toes brushing against your tip in a way that makes your entire body shudder. “That’s what I thought,” she says, her voice low and teasing. “You’re such a good little loser when you’re like this. Makes me almost want to keep you around.”  

You groan, your hips jerking slightly despite her earlier warning. Her smirk widens as she presses her feet down harder, the added pressure making you gasp.  

“Getting close already?” she asks, her tone dripping with amusement. “Wow, you really are pathetic. Guess I’d better slow down, huh?”  

“Please don’t,” you beg, your voice breaking.  

Her laugh is low and wicked as she leans back slightly, her feet never stopping their relentless motion. “I dunno,” she says playfully. “Maybe I’ll let you cum… if you beg me properly.”  

Her words send a fresh wave of heat through you, and you can’t help but moan. “Please, Yujin. Please let me cum. I’ll do anything you want.”  

Her smirk softens into something almost approving. “That’s better,” she says, her feet stroking you faster now. “Now, let’s see just how much of a mess you can make for me.” 

Yujin’s feet slide up and down your cock with maddening precision, the slick warmth of your spit coating every inch of her smooth skin. Each movement sends sparks of pleasure coursing through your body, and her smug smirk only makes it worse. She knows exactly what she’s doing—driving you insane with a combination of physical control and that sharp tongue of hers.  

“Look at you,” she says, her voice low and dripping with mockery. “I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already falling apart. You’re such a fucking mess.”  

Your hands grip the sheets tightly, your breath coming in short gasps. “Y-Yujin…” you stammer, but she doesn’t let you finish.  

“Don’t talk,” she snaps, pressing her toes against the sensitive tip of your cock. The pressure makes you moan loudly, your hips jerking against her feet. “Just moan for me like the desperate little virgin you are.”  

The words even hit you with a certain impact, but the pleasure is too overwhelming for you to even protest. “I’m not—”  

“Shut up,” she interrupts, her feet sliding faster now, the wet sounds filling the room. “Do you really think I believe that? You’re pathetic. A loser. But you’re my loser tonight, aren’t you?”  

“Yes,” you gasp, your voice barely audible.  

She smirks, clearly pleased with your response. Her hand disappears under her shorts again, and this time, she doesn’t bother to hide what she’s doing. Her fingers move rhythmically, and she lets out a soft moan, her hips rocking slightly.  

“You like this, don’t you?” she says, her voice breathy but still full of authority. “Being under me. Being humiliated by me. You missed it, didn’t you?”  

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you can’t speak. She doesn’t let up, her feet sliding faster, her toes curling around you just right. “Answer me,” she demands.  

“Yes,” you finally admit, your voice cracking as the confession spills out. “Yes, I missed it.”  

Her grin widens, her movements growing more deliberate. “Missed what, exactly? Be specific.”  

You groan, your head pressing back against the pillow. “I missed… I missed you,” you manage between ragged breaths.  

“Missed me?” she repeats, her laughter soft and condescending. “That’s cute. But what about me, huh? Did you miss being humiliated? Miss the attention I gave you? Did you miss the way I used to push you around?”  

Your chest tightens, and the words tumble out before you can stop them. “Yes! Fuck, yes, I missed it. I missed you. I missed… how aggressive you were.”  

She lets out a low, triumphant hum, her hand moving faster under her shorts as she leans forward slightly. “You missed me putting you in your place, didn’t you?”  

“Yes,” you moan, your voice desperate now.  

“And now you’re here,” she purrs, her toes pressing down against the head of your cock, drawing a strangled gasp from you. “Completely under my control. Look at you, squirming under my feet like a little bitch. I bet you’re loving every second of it.”  

“I am,” you admit.

“God, you’re such a loser,” she says, her feet sliding faster, the wet sounds growing louder. “But at least you’re my loser. Tell me how much you love this. Tell me how much you love me.”  

“I love it,” you gasp, your body trembling as you edge closer and closer to release. “I love you, Yujin. Fuck, I love you.”  

Her smirk softens slightly, just enough to make you wonder if she’s taking this all in stride or actually enjoying it as much as you are. Her toes curl around you again, and the friction pushes you right to the edge.  

“Go on, then,” she says, her voice low and sultry. “Paint my feet with your virgin load. Show me what a good little foot bitch you can be."

She speeds up her movements again, her feet working your shaft with practiced skill. The pressure builds and builds until you can't take it anymore. With a strangled cry, your orgasm explodes making you roll your eyes. 

Your cock pulses violently as thick ropes of cum shoot out, coating her soles and toes in your hot seed. She doesn't stop moving her feet, milking every last drop from your twitching member as you shake and moan helplessly.

"Holy fuck, look how much you came," Yujin laughs, spreading her toes to watch the cum drip between them. "Guess you really did need this release badly. Been saving up all this spunk just for my feet, haven't you?"  

You nod weakly, your body still trembling as the last waves of pleasure roll through you. She pulls her feet away, inspecting them with an amused grin before wiping them on the sheets.  

“Hope you’re ready,” she says, her voice light but wicked. “We’re just getting started.”  

The room feels heavy with the aftermath, the air thick with the scent of cum and sweat. You’re sprawled out on the bed, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Before you can fully recover, she leans in.  

Her face is so close that you can feel her breath on your lips, warm and teasing. Her eyes lock onto yours, a spark of mischief and something darker flickering there. Her lips brush against yours, just barely, a ghost of a touch that sends shivers down your spine.  

“Do you want me to kiss you?” she whispers, her voice low and sultry, dripping with temptation.  

“Yes,” you breathe, barely able to get the word out.  

She smirks, leaning back just a fraction. “Say it,” she demands, her tone sharp. “Say you belong to me.”  

Your heart pounds in your chest as her eyes bore into yours. “I… I belong to you,” you stammer, the words feeling both foreign and natural in your mouth.  

“Good boy,” she purrs, and then her lips crash against yours.  

It’s electrifying. Her mouth moves against yours with a mix of dominance and hunger, her lips soft but demanding. The taste of her consumes you, your head spinning as her hand cups your jaw, holding you exactly where she wants you.  

When she finally pulls back, your lips are tingling, your breath coming in shallow gasps. She studies your face with a satisfied smirk. “Was that your first kiss?”  

Your face burns, and you nod, too embarrassed to speak.  

“Holy shit,” she murmurs, her voice filled with disbelief and delight. “Your first fucking kiss. God, you’re such a loser.” Her smirk deepens, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. “But you’re my loser...”  

Her words make you shiver, and she leans in again, her lips hovering over yours. “Open your mouth,” she orders softly.  

You obey, your lips parting instinctively, and she spits directly into your mouth. The warm, salty taste coats your tongue, and before you can even process it, her mouth is on yours again.  

This time, the kiss is messier, wetter. Her tongue invades your mouth, exploring and claiming, and you can’t help but respond, your own tongue meeting hers in a clumsy but eager dance. Spit mixes and drips down your chin, but you don’t care. All that matters is her, the way she tastes, the way she’s completely consuming you.  

When she finally pulls back, a string of saliva connects your lips, and she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, looking down at you with that same infuriatingly smug grin.  

“Are you going to take everything I give you?” she asks, her voice low and demanding.  

“Yes,” you reply immediately, your voice shaky but certain.  

“Promise me,” she says, her tone softer but no less commanding.  

“I promise,” you say, your eyes locking onto hers.  

She sighs dramatically, shaking her head with a playful smirk. “God, it’s so fucking annoying how wet you make me. You’re such a pathetic little virgin, but you’re driving me insane.”  

Her words send a fresh wave of heat through your body, and she sits up, her fingers hooking into the waistband of her shorts. She slides them down slowly, revealing her soaked panties, the fabric clinging to her skin.  

“Your turn to please me now,” she says, pushing her panties to the side to reveal her glistening folds. The sight is mesmerizing, and your throat tightens as you take her in.  

“If you eat my pussy well,” she continues, climbing onto the bed and positioning herself over you, “I might just reward you. But if you suck at it…” She smirks, her thighs flexing slightly. “Let’s just say I’ll be very disappointed.”  

She shifts closer, her knees on either side of your head, her thighs framing your face. Her scent is intoxicating, heady and warm, and you can feel the heat radiating from her core.  

“Are you ready to be squeezed by my thighs again?” she asks, her voice teasing but firm.  

“Yes,” you reply, your voice trembling with anticipation.  

“Good,” she says. “Now don’t disappoint me, loser.”

Yujin lowers herself onto your face slowly, deliberately, the wet heat of her pussy pressing against your lips for the first time. You’re instantly overwhelmed—her scent, her warmth, the slickness of her folds—it’s all so new, so intense.  

You freeze, unsure of what to do. Your tongue flicks out hesitantly, just barely brushing her, and you hear her scoff from above.  

“Don’t just sit there, nerd,” she says, her voice sharp but tinged with amusement. “Start licking. God, do I have to teach you everything?”  

You nod against her, your hands awkwardly resting on her thighs as you try to figure it out. “Yes,” you mumble, your voice muffled by her.  

She lets out a frustrated sigh, reaching down to grab your hair and yank your head back slightly. “Fine. Listen up,” she commands. “Start with my clit. It’s the little nub at the top. Just lick it softly—don’t get all sloppy yet. Got it?”  

“Got it,” you mutter, and tentatively, your tongue moves to where she’s directed. You find the sensitive bundle of nerves and give it a slow, deliberate lick.  

“Yeah, like that,” she murmurs, her voice softening slightly. “But don’t be afraid to use your whole tongue. Make it feel good for me.”  

You nod again, more confident now, and start swirling your tongue around her clit, alternating between soft licks and gentle flicks. The reaction is immediate—her thighs twitch slightly against your head, and she lets out a low, pleased hum.  

“Not bad,” she says, her voice teasing. “For a first-timer, anyway. Keep going. Use your lips too—suck on it a little.”  

You obey without hesitation, wrapping your lips around her clit and sucking gently. Her soft moan above you sends a rush of adrenaline through your system, and you grip her thighs tighter, wanting to hear more.  

“Fuck,” she mutters, her hand still tangled in your hair as she starts to grind against your face. “You’re learning fast, aren’t you? Maybe you’re not as useless as I thought.”  

Her words spur you on, and you press your tongue flat against her, licking her in long, slow strokes before returning to her clit. Her wetness coats your lips and chin, and you find yourself savoring the taste—warm, slightly salty, and completely intoxicating.  

Her moans grow louder, but her tone remains dominant, even now. “Don’t get cocky,” she warns, her hips rolling against your mouth. “You’re doing okay, but I want more. Stick your tongue inside me.”  

Your heart pounds as you comply, your tongue darting into her entrance. Her slick walls clench around you, and the sensation is overwhelming. You push deeper, your nose brushing against her clit as you try to keep up with her grinding.  

“Fuck, that’s it,” she breathes, her dominant tone cracking just slightly as her pleasure builds. “You’re finally starting to get it. Keep going, don’t you dare stop.”  

Her taste is addictive, her heat pulling you in, and you lose yourself in the act. Your hands slide up her thighs, holding her hips steady as you thrust your tongue in and out of her, your lips dragging against her folds with every movement.  

“God, you’re such a little slut for me,” she says, her voice trembling with pleasure. “Getting addicted to my pussy, huh? I can feel it—you don’t want to stop, do you?”  

You shake your head against her, your tongue never faltering.  

Her laughter is breathy, almost ragged now. “Of course you don’t. You’re fucking addicted already. Good. That’s exactly where I want you.”  

Her thighs tighten around your head, squeezing just enough to make you feel completely trapped beneath her. Her grinding grows more frantic, her slickness dripping down your chin, and you can feel her body trembling as she approaches her climax.  

“Don’t stop,” she commands, her voice breaking into a moan. “Fuck, don’t you fucking stop.”

Yujin’s moans fill the room, soft and breathy at first but quickly growing louder, more desperate. Each sound she makes sends a surge of adrenaline through you, pushing you to work harder, your tongue flicking and swirling against her clit, dipping into her soaked folds. Her taste is addictive, her slickness coating your lips and chin, and you’re completely lost in the moment.  

“Fuck,” she hisses, her hand gripping your hair tighter, her hips rolling against your face. “You’re actually good at this. Keep going, loser. Don’t stop.”  

Her praise—if you can even call it that—makes your heart pound harder. You grip her thighs, your hands trembling slightly as you pull her closer, burying your face even deeper between her legs. Your tongue moves faster now, swirling around her clit before sliding down to tease her entrance.  

“Goddamn,” she moans, her voice muffled as she bites her lip, clearly struggling to keep quiet. Her head tilts back, and her free hand flies up to cover her mouth. “Shit… I can’t—my mom—fuck, don’t stop, loser, just… don't go all out like that.”  

You’re too focused to respond, your tongue pressing firmly against her clit as you suck gently, your lips dragging against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Her thighs clamp tighter around your head, and you can feel her whole body trembling, her hips grinding harder against your face.  

“Shit, shit, shit,” she mutters under her breath, her hand still covering her mouth as her muffled moans escape. “If they hear—fuck, it’s so good—I swear I’ll kill you if you stop now.”  

You have no intention of stopping. 

Her moans are your fuel, and you redouble your efforts, your tongue working furiously to push her closer to the edge. You flick your tongue rapidly against her clit, sucking softly between strokes, and her reaction is immediate.  

“Fuck!” she whispers harshly, her hips bucking against your face. “Right there—yeah, your tongue is perfect!"

Yujin’s thighs tighten around your head, the wet heat of her pussy pressing harder against your lips as her moans grow louder, more urgent. Every breathy whimper, every shaky sigh she lets out fuels you, pushing you to work harder, your tongue flicking and swirling with renewed determination.  

“Shit,” she gasps, her voice cracking. Her hand flies to her mouth again, muffling her next moan. “God, you’re gonna get us caught, you idiot—” Her words cut off into a muffled moan as her hips grind harder against your face.  

You don’t stop. If anything, her desperation spurs you on. You flick your tongue rapidly against her clit, sucking gently before dipping down to explore her folds, her slick juices coating your lips and chin. The taste of her is intoxicating, and you can’t get enough.  

“Fuck, fuck,” she mutters behind her hand, her thighs trembling against your head. “You’re actually—oh my god—you’re actually good at this.”  

Her hips start moving erratically, grinding against your face with an urgency that makes your heart race. She’s close, you can feel it in the way her body tenses, in the way her moans pitch higher despite her efforts to muffle them.  

“Don’t stop,” she whispers harshly, her voice barely audible over the wet sounds of your tongue against her. “Fuck, don’t you dare stop—”  

You tighten your grip on her thighs, holding her steady as you give it your all, your tongue focusing on her clit, flicking and circling as her grinding grows frantic. Her juices drip down your chin, warm and slick, and you don’t care about the mess—you’re too consumed by the need to push her over the edge.  

“Oh my god,” she gasps, her voice muffled but trembling. “I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”  

Her body stiffens suddenly, her thighs clamping tightly around your head as a muffled cry escapes her lips. Her hips jerk against your face, and you feel a rush of warmth as she cums, her juices flooding your mouth and dripping down your chin.  

You keep going, your tongue moving gently now, lapping up every drop as she rides out her orgasm. Her hand falls from her mouth, and she lets out a shaky sigh, her body trembling above you.  

“Holy shit,” she mutters, her voice raw and breathless. She shifts slightly, her thighs relaxing their grip on your head, and you pull back just enough to meet her gaze. Her face is flushed, her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath.  

“You actually… you actually made me cum,” she says, her tone laced with disbelief and a hint of amusement. “I didn’t think you had it in you, loser.”  

You manage a weak smile, your lips and chin still glistening with her juices.  

She smirks, leaning down to wipe your chin with her thumb before sucking it clean with a satisfied hum. “Guess you’re good for something after all,” she says, her voice soft but teasing. “Now, lick me clean. Every last drop.”  

Yujin slides off your face, leaving you breathless, her thighs glistening with her slick juices. She collapses onto the bed, spreading her legs lazily, her pussy still flushed and dripping. “Come on, you’ve got work to do,” she says, tilting her head toward her wet thighs. “Clean me up.”  

You nod wordlessly, leaning in and pressing your tongue to the inside of her thigh. Her skin is soft and warm, her taste still fresh on your lips. You drag your tongue up slowly, savoring every drop, alternating between long licks and soft kisses.  

Her fingers thread through your hair as she watches you work. “What do you think of my taste?” she asks, her voice low and teasing.  

You glance up at her, your lips brushing against the curve of her thigh. “It’s perfect,” you say, your voice full of reverence.  

A satisfied smile spreads across her face, and she props herself up on one elbow. “Good boy,” she purrs. “You’ve earned a reward.”  

Before you can ask what she means, she pulls her tank top over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. Her bare breasts are revealed—average-sized, perky, with small, pink nipples that practically beg for attention. She lies on her side next to you, her body relaxed but her eyes sharp as she studies your reaction.  

“First time seeing tits in real life?” she asks, her tone a mix of curiosity and mockery.  

You nod, your face flushing. “Y-yeah.”  

She smirks, leaning closer. “You wanna touch them?”  

Your throat feels dry as you nod again, unable to tear your eyes away from her chest.  

“Ask nicely,” she demands, her voice taking on that commanding edge again.  

You swallow hard, your voice trembling as you say, “Yujin, can I… can I touch them, please?”  

She grins, clearly enjoying your nervousness. “Go ahead,” she says, arching her back slightly to push her chest closer to you.  

Your hands tremble as you reach out, your fingers brushing against her soft skin for the first time. The sensation is incredible—warm, supple, and completely new. You cup her breasts gently, your thumbs brushing over her nipples, and she lets out a soft hum of approval.  

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” she asks, her voice softer now, almost tender.  

“Yeah,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.  

“Don’t be shy,” she says, her smirk returning. “You can squeeze them. Play with them.”  

You obey, your hands moving more confidently now. You massage her breasts, your fingers exploring every curve and dip, your thumbs circling her nipples until they harden under your touch. She arches her back slightly, pressing into your hands, her breath hitching.  

“Good,” she murmurs. “Now suck them.”  

You don’t hesitate. You lean down, your lips wrapping around one of her nipples as your tongue flicks against it. She lets out a soft sigh, her hand resting on the back of your head to keep you in place.  

“Fuck,” she breathes, her voice thick with pleasure. “You’re eager, huh? Like a starving puppy.”  

Her words make your cock twitch, already rock-hard again. You switch to her other breast, sucking and licking with the same enthusiasm, your hands kneading her soft flesh.  

She notices your arousal, of course, her hand trailing down your body until it wraps around your shaft. “You’re so fucking hard again,” she murmurs, stroking you slowly. “It’s almost pathetic how much you want this.”  

You let out a muffled groan against her breast, your hips jerking into her hand as she strokes you with practiced ease. Her thumb glides over your tip, spreading the pre-cum leaking from you.  

“God, you’re such a mess,” she teases, her voice full of mockery and heat. “But you’re my mess.”  

Yujin’s fingers work your cock with a steady, teasing rhythm, her hand warm and slick from your pre-cum. Meanwhile, your mouth is still on her breasts, sucking and licking her hardened nipples with devotion. You feel intoxicated—her scent, her taste, the way she completely controls every second of this—it’s all too much, yet not enough.  

You get carried away, your teeth grazing her nipple just a bit too hard. She gasps, her back arching, and suddenly her hand tightens around your cock, squeezing just enough to make you freeze.  

“Hey!” she snaps, her tone sharp as her eyes narrow. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You can’t just bite a woman’s nipples like that.”  

You pull back immediately, your face heating up. “I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, looking up at her.  

She huffs, her fingers loosening but still holding you firmly. “God, you’ve got so much to learn,” she mutters, shaking her head. “What are you, a fucking caveman? Be gentle.”  

“Yes, I’m sorry,” you say again, swallowing hard.  

She lets out a dramatic sigh. “At least you’re eager. I’ll give you that. But don’t fuck up again, or I might just leave you here with blue balls.”  

You nod quickly, your lips returning to her breast, this time much more careful. She relaxes again, her smirk returning as her hand resumes stroking you. “That’s better,” she murmurs, her voice softening. “Good boy. Keep sucking.”  

You lose yourself in the moment, your lips wrapping around her nipple, your tongue flicking and swirling while her hand works you faster. The combination of sensations is almost too much to handle, and you let out a muffled moan against her skin.  

“God, you’re so fucking loud,” she mutters, her fingers sliding up to rub your sensitive tip. “If you keep making noises like that, they’re gonna hear us.”  

She pulls back suddenly, her breasts leaving your mouth as she sits up, looking down at you with a wicked grin. “I think it’s time, don’t you?”  

“Time for what?” you ask, breathless and dazed.  

“For me to fuck you,” she says simply.

Your heart skips a beat, and you nod quickly. “Yes. Please.”  

She chuckles, leaning in close. “You sure?” she asks, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “I’m not stopping until I cum, so you’d better keep up.”  

“I’m sure,” you say, your voice trembling.  

Her grin widens as she pulls away, finally standing up beside the bed. “Maybe it won’t be too hard,” she says, eyeing your cock. “With a dick that big, you might actually make me feel something.”  

She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, sliding them down slowly, teasingly, until they fall to the floor. Her pussy is glistening, flushed and ready, and you can’t take your eyes off her.  

“Open your mouth,” she commands suddenly.  

You blink, confused. “What?”  

She picks up her soaked panties and dangles them in front of your face. “You heard me. Open your mouth.”  

“Shouldn’t you be the one gagged with them?” you blurt out, unable to stop yourself.  

She lets out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “Oh my god, you’re adorable,” she says mockingly. “But no, loser. You don’t get to make the rules here. Now open up, or I’ll reconsider this whole thing.”  

You hesitate for only a second before obeying, parting your lips.  

“Good boy,” she says, smirking as she presses the damp fabric into your mouth. The taste of her is overwhelming—warm, musky, and undeniably intoxicating. “See? You love the way I taste anyway, don’t you?”  

You nod, your cheeks burning as she climbs back onto the bed, positioning herself above you.  

“Keep those in,” she orders, her hands planting on your chest as she straddles your hips. “I don’t want to hear a fucking peep out of you.”  

Her wet folds brush against the tip of your cock, and the sensation is electric, making your whole body tense. She grins down at you, her eyes locking onto yours as she teases you, grinding against you without letting you inside.  

“Ready, loser?” she asks, her voice dripping with mockery and heat.  

You nod frantically, muffled sounds escaping around the panties in your mouth.  

“Good,” she murmurs, positioning herself before sinking down onto you in one slow, deliberate motion.  

The heat and tightness of her envelop you completely, and the sensation is almost too much to handle. Your head falls back against the pillow, muffled groans spilling out as she bottoms out, her hips resting flush against yours.  

“Fuck,” she mutters, biting her lip as she adjusts to your size. “Maybe you’re not completely useless after all.”  

She starts to move, her hips rolling slowly at first, her wetness making every movement smooth and maddening. Her hands slide up your chest, her nails digging in slightly as she picks up the pace, riding you with a confidence that leaves you breathless.  

“God, you feel so fucking good,” she moans.

Yujin's hips roll against you with an almost punishing rhythm, her wetness making every thrust slick and smooth. Her moans escape her lips in breathy, desperate bursts, and she bites her lip, trying and failing to keep them low. The whole scene feels unreal—Yujin, the girl who made your life hell in high school, is now on top of you, her pussy gripping you so tight it feels like she was made for this.  

“Fuck,” she whispers, her voice trembling as she rides you harder. “You’re actually doing it for me. Who knew this pathetic little loser would have such a good cock?”  

You can’t reply, not with her soaked panties stuffed in your mouth, so you nod instead, your muffled groans mixing with the obscene sounds of her riding you.  

Her hands slide up to her breasts, squeezing and kneading them as her pace quickens. Her nipples, hard and pink, peek between her fingers as she teases herself, and the sight makes your cock twitch inside her.  

“You like watching me, don’t you?” she asks, her voice sultry but still laced with that teasing edge. “Bet you’ve been dreaming about this, huh? Your big bad bully fucking the shit out of you.”  

You nod frantically, your eyes glued to her chest as her hands work her breasts.  

“Thought so,” she purrs, smirking down at you. “Am I hot? Tell me I’m fucking hot.”  

You nod again, your muffled voice straining around the fabric in your mouth.  

She laughs breathlessly, her hips slamming down harder now. “God, you’re so easy. Just a big, dumb dick for me to use. And fuck, you feel so fucking good.”  

Her moans grow louder, and she presses one hand against her mouth, her other hand still massaging her breast. “Shit, I can’t be too loud,” she mutters, grinding harder. “Your dad and my mom would fucking kill us if they knew what we were doing.”  

The thought of being caught only seems to turn her on more, her movements becoming more frantic as she chases her own pleasure. You’re completely at her mercy, her pussy clenching around you in perfect rhythm, her thighs flexing as she rides you like she owns you.  

But then she slows, her hands sliding down to your chest as she leans over you, her breath hot against your ear. “Let’s change it up,” she whispers, her voice dripping with authority.  

She pulls off you with a slick, wet sound, leaving you throbbing and desperate. Grabbing your wrists, she maneuvers you onto your back, your legs spreading awkwardly as she positions herself between them.  

“This is called the Amazon position,” she says, her tone mocking as she smirks down at you. “You’re about to get fucked properly.”  

She straddles your waist, your cock pressing against her soaked folds again as she grips your thighs for leverage. With one hand, she lines you up, her other hand pressing against your chest to keep you in place.  

“Ready?” she asks, her smirk widening as she looks down at you.  

You nod, your muffled groan turning into a desperate whimper as she sinks down onto you again, her pussy taking you in inch by inch.  

“Fuck,” she breathes, her head tilting back as she adjusts to the new angle. “You’re so fucking deep like this. God, I might actually let you cum if you keep feeling this good.”  

Her hands grip your thighs tighter as she starts moving, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles. The position gives her complete control, and she takes full advantage, slamming down onto you with a force that makes the bed creak beneath you.  

“Look at you,” she taunts, her voice trembling with pleasure. “Lying there like a good little toy, letting me use you. Bet you’ve never had a girl take charge like this, huh?”  

You shake your head, your hands gripping the sheets as she rides you relentlessly, her moans filling the room despite her earlier efforts to keep quiet.  

“God, you’re so fucking easy,” she pants, her movements becoming faster, more erratic. “I could do this all night. Fuck, I might have to—I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this dick.”  

Yujin’s hips roll and slam against you with abandon now, the room filled with the wet, obscene sounds of her pussy taking you over and over. Her breathing is heavy, her moans louder, no longer restrained. It’s as if she’s forgotten where you are—or maybe she just doesn’t care anymore. The way her nails dig into your chest, her thighs flexing with each thrust, tells you she’s chasing her high, and nothing else matters.  

Your body arches beneath her, the sensation overwhelming, her wet heat gripping you so tightly it feels like she’s molding herself to your cock. You can’t help it anymore—the panties in your mouth feel suffocating. With trembling hands, you yank them out and gasp, your voice cracking as you moan, “Fuck, Yujin… this feels so good. I’m—I’m loving this.”  

Her head snaps down, her eyes locking onto yours, a mix of dominance and amusement lighting up her face. “Oh yeah?” she pants, her pace not faltering for a second. “You love being fucked by me? You love being under me like this?”  

“Yes,” you moan, your voice shaky but full of conviction. “I fucking love it.”  

She laughs, low and breathless, her lips curling into that wicked smirk that’s burned into your mind. “Of course you do,” she says, leaning forward slightly, her hips still slamming into you with precision. “You’re my little whore, aren’t you?”  

“Yes,” you gasp, your hands clutching the sheets as her words send another wave of heat through you.  

“Say it,” she commands, her voice sharp despite the tremor of pleasure in it. “Say you’re my little whore.”  

“I’m your little whore,” you cry out, your voice cracking as her movements grow more frantic.  

She bites her lip, her head falling back for a moment before she looks down at you again, her eyes burning with intensity. “Do I own you?” she asks, her voice softer now, almost intimate, but the demand in her tone is unmistakable.  

“Yes,” you say, your voice trembling. “You own me. I belong to you, Yujin.”  

Yujin’s movements become erratic, her hips grinding down onto you with a desperate rhythm, her thighs trembling as she takes you deeper with every thrust. The Amazon position lets her dominate you completely, her hands pressing firmly against your chest for leverage.

The wet, obscene sounds of her pussy swallowing your cock echo in the room, mingling with her moans, which are growing louder and less controlled. She’s past caring about being overheard, her voice shaky and raw as her pleasure builds to a fever pitch.  

“Fuck,” she gasps, her head tilting back, her hair cascading over her shoulders as she loses herself in the sensation. “You feel so fucking good… I’m so close.”  

Her thighs flex around your waist, her entire body trembling with the effort to ride you faster, harder. She leans forward, her face hovering inches above yours, her breath hot and ragged as she looks into your eyes. “You’re such a fucking loser,” she pants, her lips curling into a smirk even as her voice shakes. “But this cock… god, this cock is fucking perfect.”  

You groan beneath her, your hands gripping the sheets as her pussy clenches tighter around you. The heat, the pressure, the way she moves—it’s all too much, and you can barely hold on as she takes you closer to the edge.  

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” she cries out, her voice cracking as her pace grows frantic. Her hands slide up to her breasts, squeezing and teasing her own nipples as she rides you like her life depends on it. “Don’t you fucking dare come now,” she orders, her tone desperate now. “Just… fuck, just stay right there.”  

Her hips slam down onto you one last time, her body stiffening as she throws her head back with a loud, guttural moan. Her pussy clamps down around your cock, squeezing and pulsing as her orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave. Her thighs tremble violently, and her nails dig into your chest hard enough to leave marks as she grinds down onto you, riding out every last wave of pleasure.  

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chants, her voice raw and breathless as her body jerks against yours. Her slickness floods around you, the heat of her orgasm soaking your thighs and dripping down onto the bed.  

When she finally collapses forward, her chest pressing against yours, her breath comes in ragged gasps, her hair sticking to her damp skin. She’s still trembling slightly, her pussy fluttering around your cock as the last aftershocks of her climax ripple through her.  

“Holy shit,” she mutters against your neck, her voice low and hoarse. “That was fucking insane.”  

You stay still beneath her, your cock still hard inside her as her slick heat surrounds you. She lifts her head after a moment, her smirk returning as she looks down at you, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your chest.  

“You didn’t cum yet, did you?” she asks, her tone smug.  

You shake your head, your breath still uneven.  

“Good,” she says, biting her lip as her hips shift slightly, her pussy still gripping you tightly. “Because I’m not done with you yet. Your cock is amazing.”

You smile weakly, your hands resting on her back as you catch your breath. “You’re… pretty amazing yourself,” you manage, your voice still shaky.  

She chuckles softly, her breath warm against your skin. “Damn right I am.”  

For a while, you just lie there together, your bodies tangled, the post-orgasm haze making everything feel surreal. Especially Yujin, who is kissing you with a tenderness you would never expect from her.  

Then, a sharp knock on the door shatters the quiet.  

“Everything okay in there?” your dad’s voice calls out, muffled through the wood.  

Your heart stops, and Yujin’s eyes snap open, wide with panic. She looks at you, mouthing, do something!

“Y-yeah!” you call back, trying to sound casual.  

Your dad pauses for a moment. “I thought I heard a scream,” he says.  

“Oh, uh, I'm watching a movie!” you blurt out, your voice cracking slightly. “That must’ve been it.”  

“A movie?” he repeats, sounding skeptical.  

“Yeah,” you say quickly. “I’ll, uh, turn it down. Sorry about that.”  

There’s another pause before your dad finally says, “Alright. Just keep it down, okay? Yujin must be asleep already.”  

“Okay, no problem!” you reply, relief washing over you as you hear his footsteps retreating.  

You and Yujin stay frozen for a moment, then look at each other, wide-eyed. Slowly, a grin spreads across her face, and she starts laughing softly. You can’t help but join her, the tension melting away as you both dissolve into quiet, breathless giggles.  

“You’re fucking insane,” you whisper, shaking your head.  

She smirks, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “There’s nothing wrong with a little fun,” she says smugly.  

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “What does it feel like?” she asks suddenly, her voice softer now.  

“What?”  

“Being fucked by a woman,” she says, her smirk returning. “What’s it like?”  

You pause, your face flushing as you search for the right words. “It’s… the best feeling ever,” you admit. “Your pussy is so tight, it feels so fucking good.”  

Her smirk widens, and she sits up slightly, her hands resting on your chest. “Yeah?” she says, her voice teasing. “Wanna see how my pussy grips your cock?”  

Your breath catches, and you nod quickly. “Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling.  

She grins wickedly, sliding off you and turning around. “Alright then,” she says, positioning herself on your thighs in a perfect reverse cowgirl. She glances over her shoulder, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Let’s see how much you can handle.”  

With that, she lowers herself onto you again, her wet heat enveloping you completely. The sight of her ass bouncing as she starts to ride you is almost too much to handle, and you grip her hips, your fingers sinking into her soft skin as she takes control once more.

Yujin’s hips move in slow, deliberate circles, her wet heat gripping your cock like a vice. From your vantage point, you have a perfect view of her pussy taking you in with every motion, clinging to you tightly as she lifts herself up and sinks back down. It’s mesmerizing—the way she moves is hypnotic, every roll of her hips precise and calculated.  

Her head tilts back slightly, her hands braced on your thighs for balance, her breathing steady but filled with quiet moans. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and it’s driving you crazy.  

“Fuck,” you mutter, your hands sliding up to her waist and then lower to her ass. You can’t help yourself—you squeeze her buttocks, soft and fleshy, feeling the way they move under your hands as she rides you.  

She chuckles breathlessly, glancing over her shoulder at you. “Like what you see?”  

“Yeah,” you gasp, your fingers digging into her skin as her pace remains maddeningly slow. “You’re fucking perfect.”  

“I know,” she purrs, arching her back slightly to give you an even better view. “Keep talking, loser. I like hearing how much you love this.”  

“You’re amazing,” you admit, your voice trembling. “The way you move, the way you feel… it’s fucking incredible.”  

Her smirk widens as she lets out a low moan, her pussy clenching around you in perfect rhythm. “Of course it is,” she teases. “I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you, and now you finally know it.”  

Your fingers tighten on her ass, your hips twitching involuntarily as she grinds down harder. The pleasure is almost unbearable, and then she slows again, her movements languid and torturous.  

“Yujin,” you groan, your voice strained.  

She glances back at you, her smirk turning wicked. “What?”  

“Don’t stop,” you plead, your hands gripping her tighter.  

“Oh, I’m not stopping,” she says, her voice dripping with amusement. “I’m just enjoying myself.”  

Her pace remains steady for a moment before she shifts her weight slightly, taking you deeper. Her wetness makes every movement smooth and slick, and the sound of it fills the room, mixing with your ragged breathing.  

Then, out of nowhere, she asks, “Do you want to cum inside me?”  

The question jolts you, and your heart skips a beat. “W-what?” you stammer, staring at her in shock.  

She giggles, rolling her hips in a way that makes your whole body shudder. “You heard me,” she says, her tone playful but teasing. “Do you want to cum inside me?”  

“I… I can’t,” you say quickly, panic creeping into your voice. “You could get pregnant.”  

Her laughter is wicked, and she glances back at you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Oh, so you’re saying you’d like to get me pregnant, huh?”  

“What? No!” you protest, your face burning.  

“Think about it,” she continues, clearly enjoying your reaction. “The big, bad bully who made your life hell, walking around with your baby. Everyone would know it was you. Hell, I’d make sure they knew.”  

“Yujin!” you groan, equal parts embarrassed and aroused.  

“You’d love it, wouldn’t you?” she teases, her pussy tightening around you as she moves. “The thought of me, pregnant because of you. God, you’re such a perv.”  

“It’s exciting, yeah,” you admit reluctantly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But… no. I don’t want that.”  

She laughs again, the sound rich and sultry. “Relax,” she says, her tone softening slightly. “I’m on the pill, dumbass. I’ve been on it for a while.”  

You blink, her words catching you off guard. “Why?”  

“Maybe,” she says, leaning forward slightly, her hips still moving, “I was waiting for this moment.”  

The idea sends a jolt of arousal through you, and your cock twitches inside her. “Fuck,” you mutter, your voice shaky. “If that’s true… then yes. I want to cum inside you. I really fucking want to.”  

Her grin widens, and she lets out a low chuckle. “Of course you do,” she says smugly, her hands gripping your thighs as she picks up the pace.  

Her hips slam down harder now, the rhythm more erratic as she chases both of your highs. The sight of her pussy taking you in, the sound of her moans mixing with the wet slap of skin against skin—it’s almost too much, but you manage to hold on, even as the pressure builds inside you.  

“Don’t you fucking dare cum yet,” she warns, her voice breathy but firm. “Not until I say so.”  

Yujin’s movements grow frantic, her hips slamming down on your cock with an obscene rhythm. The sound of her ass smacking against your pelvis fills the room, wet and loud, accompanied by her uncontrollable moans. Her head tilts back, her hair cascading over her shoulders, and you’re completely transfixed by the sight of her ass bouncing on your cock, jiggling with every violent thrust.  

“Fuck, Yujin,” you gasp, your voice strained. “If you keep this up, I won’t be able to hold out.”  

She glances back at you, her face flushed and glistening with sweat, her lips curling into a devilish grin. “Don’t you dare,” she snaps, her breath coming in sharp gasps. “You hold on. I need to cum again!”  

You grip the sheets beneath you, your knuckles white as the pleasure builds to unbearable levels. She’s going wild now, her pace relentless, her moans louder and more desperate. Every thrust sends waves of heat coursing through your body, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge.  

“Yujin,” you groan, your voice barely audible. “I’m gonna cum. I can’t hold it.”  

She lets out a sharp cry, her nails digging into your thighs as she rides you harder. “No,” she barks, her tone commanding even as her moans turn ragged. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? You’ll wait. You’ll cum when I say you can.”  

Her words send a shiver down your spine, and you struggle to nod, your breath hitching as she continues to take you to your limits.  

“That’s it,” she pants, her voice softening slightly. “You’re my good boy. You’ll wait for me. Just a little longer, okay? We’re gonna cum together.”  

Her encouragement is intoxicating, and you fight to hold back, even as her pace grows more erratic. The wet sound of her pussy taking your cock mixes with the obscene slap of her ass against you, and you can feel her walls tightening around you, clenching rhythmically.  

“I’m so close,” she moans, her voice trembling. “Hold on for me. Just a little more.”  

Your body trembles beneath her, your cock throbbing inside her as she leans forward slightly, her nails dragging down your thighs. Her dirty talk spills from her lips in breathless gasps, driving you both closer to the edge.  

“God, you’re so deep,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “I can feel every inch of you, stretching me so good. You’re gonna cum inside me, aren’t you?”  

“Yes,” you manage to choke out, your voice desperate.  

Her smirk returns, her hips slamming down harder. “You’re gonna fill me up,” she murmurs, her tone filthy. “Mix your cum with my juices. God, I want it so bad. I want your thick, hot cum in my pussy. Are you gonna give it to me?”  

“Yes,” you moan, your voice breaking as your grip on the sheets tightens.  

She lets out a loud, shaky cry, her movements growing wild and uncontrolled. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” she gasps, her head tilting back. “I’m cumming! Cum with me, baby, cum inside me!”  

Her words are your undoing. Your body jerks beneath her as your orgasm crashes over you, and you let out a loud, guttural moan as you release deep inside her. Her pussy clamps down on you, pulsing and milking you for everything you have as she cries out, her body trembling with the force of her climax.  

The two of you ride out the waves together, your bodies locked in rhythm as her walls squeeze you tightly, your cum flooding her. Her hips slow, her movements becoming more erratic as the last tremors of her orgasm roll through her. Finally, she collapses forward, her chest heaving as she rests against your thighs, her body still twitching from the intensity.  

“Fuck,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. “That was… holy shit.”  

You’re too spent to reply, your chest rising and falling as you struggle to catch your breath. She stays there for a moment before slowly sitting up, a satisfied smirk spreading across her face.  

“Let’s see the damage,” she says, her tone playful but tired.  

She lifts herself off you slowly, and you watch as your cock slips out of her with a wet, lewd sound. Thick streams of cum drip from her swollen pussy, trailing down her thighs and pooling on the sheets beneath her.  

“Damn,” she murmurs, reaching down to swipe her fingers through the mess before holding them up to show you. “You really filled me up, huh?”  

You nod weakly, unable to tear your eyes away from the sight of her pussy still leaking your cum.  

She grins, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Not bad for a loser,” she teases softly. “Not bad at all.”  

The room is still, the air thick with the lingering heat of your bodies and the unmistakable scent of sex. Yujin sits beside you, her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. You watch her, unable to tear your gaze away from the way her flushed skin glows under the soft light, her hair messy, her lips slightly swollen. Before you can stop yourself, you lean in and kiss her.  

It’s not a tentative kiss this time. It’s intense, filled with every ounce of passion you didn’t know you had left in you. Yujin freezes for a second, clearly taken aback by your sudden boldness, but she recovers quickly. Her lips move against yours, just as hungry as before, her hands cupping your face as if she’s trying to figure out what just got into you.  

When you finally pull back, her eyes are wide, searching yours. “Wow,” she says, letting out a small laugh. “Where the hell did that come from?”  

“I couldn’t help it,” you admit. “That was… the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”  

Yujin chuckles, a low, lazy sound that warms the environment. “Not gonna lie,” she says, brushing a strand of hair out of her face, “I think I might agree with you on that.”  

Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t stop the words that come tumbling out next. “You look really beautiful right now,” you say, your voice trembling slightly.  

Her smirk returns, but there’s something softer behind it this time. “Careful,” she teases, tilting her head. “Are you falling in love with me or something?”  

Your face burns instantly, and you fumble for a response. “No! I mean… I—uh, that’s not what I meant—”  

She cuts you off with a laugh, waving her hand dismissively. “Relax, loser. I’m just messing with you.” Her voice drops slightly, and she looks at you, almost shy. “But… maybe I like you too. Just a little.”  

“Do you mean you like me now,” you ask after a moment, your voice hesitant, “or… did you like me in high school?”  

She hesitates, chewing her lip as if deciding whether to answer honestly. “Yeah, since high school,” she admits finally, avoiding your gaze.  

“But… then why were you so mean to me?”  

She rolls her eyes, but her smirk doesn’t quite reach her eyes this time. “You only ever see the bad side of things,” she says, her tone playful but tinged with something serious. “Do you not remember how many times I kept other people from fucking with you?”  

You blink, the memory surfacing almost instantly. A group of older guys had cornered you once by the lockers, shoving you around, but before things got worse, Yujin had shown up like a goddamn storm cloud. She’d sent them scattering with nothing more than a sharp glare and a few choice words.  

“That was you,” you mutter, the realization sinking in.  

She shrugs, her expression carefully neutral. “Yeah, that was me. Look, I’m not good at showing feelings, alright? My love language is… teasing. Irritating people. Making their lives hell. It's my defense mechanism. It's complicated to explain."

“So, what you’re saying is… the more you teased me, the more you liked me?”  

Her face flushes, and she scowls, swatting your arm. “Don't feel special just because I told you this, dumbass.” She pauses, then mutters, “But… maybe.”  

You grin, the bittersweet humor of it all settling over you. “That means you must have liked me a lot, then.”  

“Shut up,” she grumbles, but her lips twitch into a reluctant smile as she leans in and kisses you again, softer this time.  

When she pulls back, she stretches out on the bed, looking far too comfortable. “Let’s watch your stupid Lion King movie,” she says.

You blink at her. “Didn’t you just make fun of it earlier?”  

She rolls her eyes. “I was teasing you, silly. Everyone loves Disney movies.”  

You laugh, shaking your head as you reach for your laptop on the desk, but something nags at you. “Shouldn’t you go back to your room?” you ask, glancing toward the door. “What if your mom or my dad heard us?”  

She smirks, unfazed. “First of all, your room is the last one in the hall, if they barely heard my screams before, they won't hear us now. Second, they both sleep like rocks. We’re fine.”  

Her confidence is oddly reassuring, and you relax a little as she scoots closer, resting her head on your shoulder.  

“What if they wake up early?” you ask, still not entirely convinced.  

She snorts. “I’ll sneak back before they do. Relax, loser. I’m not leaving yet.”  

The idea of her staying here, curled up next to you, makes your chest tighten in a way you don’t entirely understand. You glance down at her, and she catches your gaze, raising an eyebrow.  

“What?” she asks, her voice softer now.  

“Nothing,” you say quickly, but the small smile that tugs at your lips says otherwise.  

“Okay, let's change these sheets before we watch the movie,” says Yujin clapping her hands and getting up from the bed. “You need to wash them in secret tomorrow, don't forget.”

— 

After changing the sheets and Yujin brushing her teeth (and yes, she used your toothbrush), the two of you are in bed again, still naked, at Yujin's insistence. According to her, she loves the feeling of the soft blanket fabric against her bare skin.

You adjust the laptop on the bed, propping it up on a pillow so you both can see. "Alright, but if you start singing 'Hakuna Matata,' I swear..." you tease, giving her a playful nudge.

Yujin grins, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh, I'll sing it alright. You'll be joining in by the end, just watch."

As the movie starts, you can't shake the surreal feeling of the whole situation. Here you are, watching The Lion King with Yujin, your new stepsister, both of you naked and sticky from what just went down. 

It's fucking weird, but also... kind of nice.

You glance down at her, her head resting on your shoulder. Her eyes are glued to the screen, a soft smile playing on her lips. She looks so different like this—relaxed, almost innocent. It's a far cry from the smirking, foul-mouthed girl who was jerking you off with her foot just minutes ago.

About halfway through the movie, you feel her hand creep onto your thigh, her fingers tracing small patterns on your skin. It's distracting, but you don't want her to stop. You cover her hand with yours, giving it a squeeze. She looks up at you, her smile softening even more.

"This is nice," she murmurs.

You nod, a lump forming in your throat. "Yeah, it is."

As the movie continues, you can't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. This is fucked up, no doubt about it. But it also feels... right. Like this is exactly where you're both meant to be, at least for tonight.

You push aside the nagging thoughts about what this means, about what happens next. For now, you just want to enjoy this moment, this strange, perfect little bubble you've found yourselves in.

As the credits roll, Yujin looks up at you, her eyes searching. "So, what the hell are we going to do with this?" she asks, her voice soft.

You shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I don't know. But I'm glad you're here."

She smiles back, her hand squeezing yours. "Me too, loser. Me too.”

[grimdarling69]

Another deaged Ellie and Dan, but Danny was reincarnated as Damian Wayne

Danny Damian because he was Damian now, wasn't he? He remembers now the Fentons, the GIW, Sam and Tucker, jazz. He wonders if they could have also followed him here. A part of him longs to see his fraid again, but are they his fraid still? He was a new person. Son of The Bat and Heir to the Demon Head. Something Dami he remembers reminding people of. If only Sam could see him now, he knows she'd love that. "Who's edgy now?" He can picture her saying. He can almost see Tucker laughing so hard he'd fall out of his seat.

Crack

The sharp sound of the thunder brings him to the present. He looked over at his clock, 3:00 A.M. The witching hour he can hear Ellie tell him with a mischievous smile on one of their flights around Amity Park. She loved to drag him and Dan sometimes Vlad if he was feeling friendly. Dan, his future evil self tormented by the deaths of all his family and friends, so hurt he got Vlad to rip his human half out so he didn't have to feel the pain. Ellie, his clone, created by Vlad to be the perfect son, too bad she was a daughter. Looking down at his stomach where their cores are now incubating, he couldn't help but wonder if Vlad had anything to do with this.

He shook his head as if that would rid himself of that thought. Vlad was a real fruitloop,but he would never purposefully endanger Dan or Ellie. Vlad, in his twisted and weird ways, did love them in his own ways like kidnapping and keeping him hostage to save Ellie. He had forgiven vlad for the desperate attempt to save his daughter, but incubating Ellie and Dan's cores would make him their father now, too. Ew, coparenting with Vlad does not sound like a fun time. He glanced down and lifted his shirt hesitantly. If he focused on his stomach, he could see a faint blue and red glow emanating from his stomach. Red, Vlads' color, he thought distantly. Hopefully, it didn't mean much. As if signaling him, the envelope they had carried with them to him fell off the bed carried to the floor by the slight breeze.

Lighting lumineating the bedroom, making the crisp white color shine for just a second. He tentatively reached down to grab it. He was being a baby. He was a trained assassin from birth, and his fear trained beaten out of him a long time ago. Some part of him whispered his father and Richard's teachings of being brave but not without fear.

He paused. Father would want to know everything. His past life, Ellie and Dan, the ghosts, being a halfa. He wouldn't understand, Richard would try to, but not even he could never really understand. He couldn't subject his babies to that. He couldn't live with the threat to being ripped apart molecule by molecule. His father's lack of emotional intelligence certainly would not help young halfas. He was fourteen again the age he was killed in his first life. The age he started facing ghosts from another dimension.

He started younger in this life. Killing younger, he learned to fight his whole life. Jazz would hate that. Jazz... he wondered if she was alright if she survived the attack... no, there's no time to think of that right now. He ripped open the envelope( like a band-aid, Richard would remind him), and he noticed Vlad's familiar fancy fruitloop writing immediately(he had fancy fruitloop writing now, instead of the chicken scratch Jazz chided him over). So he was right about one thing this had vlad all over it.

Dear Daniel,

Though I understand you might not be Daniel when this letter finds you. I have been reincarnated into another life as I believe you have as well. My new name is Alexander Luther. I own a corporation called Lexcorp. I unfortunately can not change the name according to my board. The idiot lot of them.

He snickered at that. His smile dropped immediately. Vlad was Lex Luthor, the archnemesis of Superman. Jon would most certainly not like this. He forced himself to read on before he spiraled further.

I regained my memories after an experiment went wrong. I know how original. My new incarnation was able to open a small portal that grew in size, and eventually, somehow Danielle and Dan fell through. The portal then exploded, and I regained my memories. Unfortunately, it destabilized their clone bodies. I couldn't grow working bodies in time, and eventually, I had to hope they could find you. I hoped somehow that the yeti doctor would have imparted some of his strange knowledge onto you that might save them.

Vlad, no Lex still wrong. Vlad was somewhat right about that. During one of his all things ghostly lessons from Frostbite, he told him of how in the old ages ghosts often incubated their ghostlings. A protective measure back when magic and spirits were more prevalent. He didn't really understand it back then, and he doesn't understand it much now, either. Apart from the fact he was doing it, he supposed. What if he did something wrong and he lost them? He doesn't think he could live out his half-life if he lost them again. He needed to get to Vlad, and quickly too so they could start building a new portal to the infinite realms.

If this letter finds you. Come find me immediately at these coordinates. I've gone deep underground to escape my new archnimesis's suoer senses. I've m started research on a new portal, but I'll need your endeneering skills. This world is severely lacking in ectoplasmic science and engineering. I am once again forced to start from scratch on my own. Once we get the portal open, you'll need to go straight to The Far Frozen.

It's as if he's reading my mind, I think jokingly.

P.s. One of my experiments may or not have regiven then my new DNA in an attempt to restabilize them.

Only Vlad.

Well, it looks like they actually were going to be coparenting after all. This was going to go great.

I sigh and lean my head back down on my pillow. He committed the cords to memory before lighting the letter on fire with the lighter he kept in his bedside drawer. Point to assassin training. Jason would be proud. He supposed he could stay for a month or so before leaving, which would give him enough time to get away or think of some kind of mission to give himself. He shoots up. Todd had died and came back. He was a revenant. He couldn't stick around if he were to visit he'd know something was wrong immediately even if he didn't understand it.

He sprung out of bed quickly, but quietly, his foot steps perfectly silent despite his rushed mood of packing a bag. He packed a few pairs of clothes and lots of hidden weapons, some snacks he kept hidden for that should keep him fed on his journey but leaving any sentimental things behind. He glanced longingly at his sketch pad, but Vlad was most likely under the water judging by the coordinates he was given. Who knows if it would survive.

He checked the pack, making sure he got all he needed. He promptly checked it again. Twice. After deeming it sufficient, he willed himself to open the door. He mentally cataloged everyone in the manor. Pennyworth was most likely still in Father's room, making sure he actually listened to his insructions. Richard and Todd in Bludhaven and Crime Alley, respectfully. Cain and Brown in Hong Kong. Thomas was sleeping after his dayshift.

Everyone accounted for except Drake. He was most likely using Pennyworth's attention on Father to work cases. He just had to take the risk. For his ghostlings, for himself, Vlad. He crept down the hallways. He was opening the grandfather clock in record time. He went slower this time. He would use his powers, but his father had supernatural wards of all kinds in the cave. Who knows what they did. He was also admittedly trying to save his little energy for his voyage on the open sea. Light snoring hit his ears as he peered around the corner.

Thank ancients.

Drake was sleeping at the batcomputer, still in his Red Robin suit sans mask surrounded by his poor choices. Empty coffee cups and files spread around. He would still need to be quiet, Drake was a light sleeper, as was everyone else in his family. He grabbed the keys to his bike quickly, sneaking by. If he wasn't ditching his bike at Gotham Bridge, he would have disabled his trackers. He checked the gas and made sure he could make it. That's when he made his first mistake.

Putting the gas jug back down, he accidently hit another of one of his siblings' tools to the floor. He tried catching it without success, but it fell anyway, the loud clang echoing. Mistake number two.

Shit.

"Huh? What's happening?" Drake arose sleepily rubbing his eyes.

He froze. Mistake number three.

"Damian? What are you doing down here?" His eyes landed on him, and he spoke confusedly with his voice heavy with sleep or lack thereof.

He panics. He's blaming the pregnancy hormones on this.

He runs.

"Damian!" Drake responded to his dead sprint with his own. "Stop!"

He reaches his bike, and he turns the keys and prays. Luckily, it comes to life. He fumbles with his helmet it would hide his tears he needed it. who knows if he'll ever get to see them again. He shoots off down the tunnel. Flicking the cave door open remotely.

Another bike rears to life behind him. "Damian wants going on?" Drakes voice echoes in his ears. He can almost taste the concern in it amplified by the helmet. He ignores it and accelerates. He ignores the returned acceleration behind him.

----------------

Tim has no clue what made Damian panic enough to run away. He quickly ran to his own bike while swearing. Damian is already gaining distance on him. After another attempt at getting Damian to calm down and talk, he calls the only person Damian would actually listen to.

He hopes Dick will forgive him for waking him at five o'clock in the morning on his day off.

[moonriizing]

Goodbye Summer | l.anton (18+)

Crazy what two years can do to a person. What do you mean the cutie pie, adorable ball of sunshine Chanyoung Lee, has turned into this tall, grumpy, and unfairly hot specimen who calls himself Anton?

Genre: childhood friends to lovers Pairing: Lee Chanyoung|Anton x afab!Reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) Notes: 19k words. Listening to Goodbye Summer by F(X) ft. D.O. Posted a little late because I got carried away, lol. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know them personally, nor do I claim they would ever behave in real life like they were portrayed in this story. ALSO, if you see a similar story from a different blog for a different idol, that is me. xoxo, cal.

You rolled the car windows down, letting the salty air fill the car as you hummed along to the music playing through the speakers. It had been two years since you last made this drive, but every curve of the road was ingrained in your memory. You remembered how you used to count the palm trees as a kid, making up silly games to pass the time while your mom laughed at your endless energy. Back then, the beach house felt like the one constant in your summers, a place where time moved slower and the world outside didn’t matter.

Two years away felt like an eternity, but now, as the Lee family’s beach house came into view, it was like no time had passed at all.

Your mom stirred in the passenger seat, stretching as the car slowed down. “Did you sleep well?” you asked.

“I would’ve, if you hadn’t been singing off-key the entire time,” she replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

You gasped in mock offense. “Off-key? Excuse me, but that was a performance, mom. You’re just not cultured enough to appreciate my artistry.”

“Artistry, huh?” She laughed, shaking her head. “Is that what we're calling it now?”

You parked the car in front of the house, taking a moment to soak it in. The Lee family’s beach house looked exactly as it always had—whitewashed walls with a wide porch and tall windows that reflected the warm glow of the setting sun. For a second, it felt like you were stepping back in time, like the past two years hadn’t happened at all.

Aunt Hyejin was the first to greet you at the door, her arms wrapping tightly around you as she exclaimed, “Look at you! You’ve grown so much! You’ve gotten prettier too.”

You laughed, leaning into her embrace. “I could say the same about you, Auntie. You are glowing! What’s your secret?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she teased, brushing your hair back to study your face. She squeezed your cheeks lightly before kissing your forehead. “Come in, come in! Junyoung is dying to show off how tall he’s gotten.”

Junyoung was quick to make good on his mom’s words, bounding down the stairs with a grin. He too greeted you with a hug, crouching down to your smaller frame.

“Told you I’d be taller than you one day!” he declared, puffing out his chest.

“And I told you I’d deny it when it happened,” you shot back, ruffling his hair and gasping because you had to tiptoe to reach the top of his head. “Wow. You really did grow up.”

The house itself was almost exactly as you remembered it. The same yellow curtains fluttered in the breeze, and the faint smell of ocean air and Aunt Hyejin’s cooking permeated the halls. It was comforting, familiar.

But there was one thing—or rather, one person—who didn’t match your memories.

He was sitting on the sofa when you walked into the living room, one leg crossed over the other, a phone in hand, and not the slightest hint of acknowledgement on his face. His hair was darker, longer, falling into his eyes in a way that seemed deliberate. His clothes—a loose linen shirt and tailored shorts—looked like they belonged to someone who spent their summers at yacht clubs, not building sandcastles on the beach.

“Chanyoung, greet them properly!” Aunt Hyejin chided with both affection and exasperation in her tone.

The man on the sofa finally looked up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, you froze, searching for something familiar in the sharp line of his jaw and the effortless confidence in his posture.

“Welcome back,” he said, his voice lower than you remembered, more measured.

You blinked, trying to reconcile the image in front of you with the boy you used to know. Before you could say anything, your mom appeared beside you, greeting Chanyoung with a hug. He rose to his feet, smiling genuinely as he let your mom embrace him.

“You’ve grown so much!”

While they were catching up, Junyoung approached you quietly, whispering in your ear. “I know what you’re thinking.”

You glanced sideways at him. “I’m sure you do,” you scoffed. “When did this happen?”

Junyoung shrugged. “Dunno. He went to college and came back like this. He’s called Anton now by the way.”

“Anton? He hates that name.”

“Right?” he agreed, chuckling. “Dude gained some muscles and turned into this emo cool kid.”

The rest of the day passed without a single meaningful interaction with Anton. Not for lack of trying on your part—you simply didn’t get the chance.

It was subtle, his avoidance. The kind of thing no one else would pick up on. Your mom, Aunt Hyejin, and Junyoung didn’t seem to notice anything, too caught up in catching up. But you? You noticed. Every time you entered a room, Anton was suddenly walking out. If you so much as glanced his way, he was already looking elsewhere, pretending to be engrossed in his phone or staring at some invisible point in the distance.

And then at lunch, he didn’t even sit down to eat with everyone. “I’m going out. Back before dinner.” he said nonchalantly, already halfway out the door.

“Probably off to the clubhouse to meet his friends,” Aunt Hyejin explained with a shrug, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You nodded along politely, but inside, you were itching with curiosity. What friends? Since when did Chanyoung—no, Anton—have a social life so demanding that he couldn’t sit down for a meal?

Eventually, the guessing—and the long drive—caught up with you. You slumped into your room, the familiar comfort of the bed almost tricking you into thinking nothing had changed in this place. But the moment your head hit the pillow, your eyes grew heavy, and the next thing you knew was waking up to the faint glow of moonlight and a dim bedroom.

You groaned, blinking at your phone. Dinnertime.

Throwing on a sweatshirt, you stepped into the hallway, still half-asleep and thinking only of food. You turned the corner—and walked straight into a wall.

Or, well, what felt like a wall.

“Ow,” you muttered, stumbling back and clutching your nose. You looked up to find Anton standing there, looking as unfazed as he had been since you got here.

“Oh, it’s you,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say a word. Without thinking, you blurted, “What did you do to your hair?”

Anton didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head, like he was deciding whether to entertain your question. Then, he reached out and rested his hand on top of your head.

“What are you—”

Before you could finish, he brought his hand down to his chest, his eyes flicking between the two points as if measuring your height.

You scowled. “Hah! Wow. I see you got a few inches taller. Congratulations,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Anton’s lips twitched, just barely, but he didn’t say anything.

“Ugh, whatever,” you huffed, spinning on your heel and stomping down the hallway toward the dining room.

Behind you, you didn’t see the way his lips curved into a small, teasing smile.

By the time you reached the dining room, the table was already set, laden with dishes that made your stomach growl on the spot. 

The dining table was a sight to behold, as always. Aunt Hyejin had gone all out—steamed crab, grilled shrimp, roasted vegetables, and enough side dishes to feed a small army. The familiar spread made you smile; some things never changed.

The family had already gathered when you arrived, and everyone greeted you with warm smiles. “Sweetie, can you go get Anton?” Aunt Hyejin asked, beaming at you as she placed bowls of rice on the table.

You turned your head just in time to see him walk in, his hair still damp from what must’ve been a shower. He wore a plain white t-shirt, its loose fit and sleeves doing nothing to hide his defined shoulders. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’d walked out of a magazine ad.

Anton glanced around the table before taking the empty seat next to his mom. “Where’s Dad?” he asked simply, reaching for the pitcher of water.

“His trip is getting extended for a few more days,” Aunt Hyejin explained, placing a rice bowl in front of Anton. “He’ll be back next Saturday.”

You made a point of sitting as far from Anton as possible. Not that you were being petty or anything. Okay, maybe you were a little petty.

“Dig in, everyone!” Aunt Hyejin said cheerfully as she sat down.

You didn’t need to be told twice. The meal was as delicious as you remembered, and for a while, the conversation was light—updates on Junyoung’s basketball team, your mom recounting a funny story from work, Aunt Hyejin asking about your classes.

Then, inevitably, the focus shifted to Anton.

“So, Anton,” your mom began, her tone warm and curious. “What have you been up to lately? Your mom tells me you’ve been very busy.”

Anton looked up from his plate, his expression polite but detached. “Just the usual,” he said. “School, work, hanging out with friends.”

“Oh, right! You’re working at that startup now, aren’t you?” Aunt Hyejin chimed in proudly. “He’s been so dedicated, working part-time while keeping his grades up.”

You tried to hide your surprise. The Chanyoung you remembered hated being busy. He used to complain about school work piling up, always looking for an excuse to go to the beach instead.

“Wow,” you said, before you could stop yourself. “Who knew Chanyoung Lee would turn into such a responsible adult?”

Anton’s eyes flicked to you, and for a moment, you thought he might actually smile. Instead, he just shrugged. “People change.”

The casual way he said it annoyed you more than it should have. “Clearly,” you muttered, stabbing a piece of shrimp with your fork.

If anyone noticed the tension, they didn’t comment on it. The conversation moved on, but you couldn’t help sneaking glances at Anton throughout the meal. He barely spoke, answering questions with short, polite responses and deflecting anything too personal. It was so unlike the boy who used to dominate every dinner table conversation with ridiculous stories and bad jokes.

At one point, Junyoung leaned over to whisper, “You’re staring.”

“I am not,” you whispered back, cheeks heating.

“You are,” he insisted with a grin. “What’s your deal?”

You glared at him. “What’s his deal? He’s acting so weird.”

“If you ask me, I think you’re the one acting weird,” he whispered back.

You were about to retort when Aunt Hyejin’s voice prompted the attention of the table. “So, Anton, are you spending time at the clubhouse tomorrow too?” she asked.

“Yeah. A few friends are back in town, so I’ll be there a lot,” he replied, his tone casual.

“Oh, the clubhouse,” you deadpanned, unable to resist. “Sounds very exclusive.”

Anton’s eyes flicked to yours, something unreadable passing through his gaze. “It’s just a place to hang out,” he said evenly.

“Hm. Fancy.” You stabbed at your food with a bit more force than necessary.

Junyoung snickered beside you, “She’s jealous.”

You elbowed him hard, making him yelp. Across the table, Anton’s lips twitched, but he didn’t say anything.

When dinner was over and the plates were being cleared, Anton finally turned to you, his tone deceptively casual. “You’ve got some rice on your face.”

“What?” You froze, quickly swiping at your cheek.

“No, other side.”

You wiped again, glaring at him when his expression didn’t change. “Is it gone?”

He shrugged, standing up and grabbing his plate. “Sure,” he said, walking off, and you could’ve sworn you heard him chuckle under his breath.

Beside you, Junyoung was laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

The morning light filtered through the open window, and the cool breeze made the thin curtains sway gently. You stretched lazily, the familiar sound of waves crashing against the shore reminding you that you were in the Lee family’s beach house, finally back after two years. 

You got up and brushed your teeth, observing your face in the mirror for any changes. As you stepped out of your room, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and waffles made your tummy growl. You could hear your mom and Aunt Hyejin talking.

And by the time you made it to the kitchen, they were already preparing to leave. “Morning. You guys heading out?” you asked, helping yourself to the coffee machine.

“Good morning, honey!” Your mom turned to you with a smile. “We’ll be downtown all day to see the market and buy some things for the house.”

“What are your plans for today, sweetie?” Aunt Hyejin asked.

“I think I’ll go for a swim,” you replied, setting your mug down the table.

“That’s nice,” Aunt Hyejin beamed, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I was thinking of asking Anton to show you around or take you to the clubhouse, but he went out for a jog early this morning.”

“Thanks, Auntie, but it’s okay,” you replied quickly, almost too quickly. “I don’t really feel like going anyway.”

Your mom raised an eyebrow at your tone, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she kissed your forehead before grabbing her purse. “Alright, have breakfast before you go out, and don’t forget your sunscreen!”

“Also, sweetheart,” Aunt Hyejin prompted, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Could you tell Anton when he gets back that I left a note for him? It’s on the fridge and tell him he needs to do it as soon as he’s back from his run.”

“Okay, Auntie. I’ll let him know.”

You walked them to the door, waving them off as they left, then headed upstairs to change. A swim sounded like the perfect way to spend your first real morning back—just you, the ocean, and some much-needed time to clear your head. Usually, Anton would wake you up early on your first day back and drag you to the beach for a swim, but you weren’t counting on it today.

When you made your way down to the beach, you weren’t expecting to find Junyoung and his friends there.

“Oh, it’s the old lady!” Junyoung called out to you as soon as he saw you, a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

“I’m not old, you brat,” you shot back, squinting at him. He’d gathered quite the group, and a few familiar faces smiled at you from where they sat on beach towels.

“Wow, you’re really here,” one of the girls, Hana, said with a laugh as she stood up to hug you. “It’s been ages!”

“It’s only been two years,” you chuckled, hugging her back. “But I can see that you’ve all grown up so much,” you added, marveling at how much they’d changed in two years. The boys were taller, the girls more polished, and there was an air of confidence about them that made you miss being a teenager a little.

“You sound like my grandma,” Hana teased, shaking her head.

“Don’t encourage her,” Junyoung interjected, smirking. “She’s ancient.”

You rolled your eyes, flicking sand at him playfully. “Whatever, I’m going for a swim. Enjoy roasting me while I’m gone.”

Junyoung laughed, holding up a hand as if in surrender. “Don’t drown, grandma!”

You flipped him off as you walked toward the water, grinning.

The water was cool and refreshing, lapping against your skin as you waded in deeper. From the corner of your eye, you noticed the beach slowly coming to life. Families were setting up umbrellas, kids were building sandcastles, and a couple was walking hand in hand along the shore. It was a scene you’d witnessed countless times over the years, but it never failed to make you smile.

Your thoughts drifted to the summers you’d spent here as a kid. Each year brought new faces—tourists you’d befriended for a few fleeting weeks, locals who became your seasonal playmates. You’d always been quick to mke friends and form bonds, though many of them faded as quickly as they’d formed.

And, of course, there were the crushes. The endless parade of cute boys who caught your eye. Some of them, you tried to shoot your shot. Most of them, you’d never had the courage to talk to. As usual, those feeling faded when the summer was over.

Well, except for one. Sungchan.

He’d been your longest-running crush, a boy from the neighborhood who was a few years older. Every summer, you’d spot him on the beach or at the local shops, always surrounded by friends, always smiling. You never got beyond the occasional shy wave or stolen glance, but that didn’t stop you from swooning over him every chance you got.

You smiled to yourself, wondering what he was up to these days. Was he still living here? Still as effortlessly cool as you remembered?

Your gaze drifted toward the lifeguard tower, the only unfamiliar fixture along the beachline. It wasn’t there last time you were here, but that wasn’t the reason you couldn’t keep your gaze away. Sitting there, casually surveying the beach, was none other than Sungchan. And he looked even better than you remembered.

His features had sharpened with age, his shoulders broader, his smile just as dazzling. He wore a red lifeguard tank top and sunglasses, looking relaxed and confident as he chatted with another lifeguard.

“Of course,” you muttered under your breath, treading water as you stared. “He’s still ridiculously handsome. Great.”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to look away. You weren’t that starstruck kid anymore, and you weren’t about to start crushing on him all over again.

Soon, the water started to lose its allure when the morning sun climbed higher and the heat started to prick your shoulder. With a content sigh, you decided to head back toward the shore. You ran your fingers through your wet hair, mentally noting how good the ocean always felt no matter how many summers you spent here.

But just as your feet hit the shallows, a sudden shout caught your attention.

“HEADS UP!”

Before you could react, something smacked into your forehead with a dull thunk. The world turned slightly as you stumbled backward, landing awkwardly in the sand.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” A boy hurried over, looking horrified as he grabbed the Frisbee floating on the water.

“It’s alright,” you muttered, waving him off as you pushed yourself up.

“Hey, are you okay?” another voice called out—calm, authoritative. You turned your head, and there he was, Sungchan, jogging toward you.

The boy with the Frisbee immediately began apologizing again, but Sungchan dismissed him with a quick, “It’s alright, just be more careful next time.” His focus shifted to you. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, trying to brush sand off your legs. “No. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Sungchan cut you off, gesturing at your forehead. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?” You blinked, reaching up to touch your temple. Sure enough, there was a faint smear of blood when you looked at your fingers.

“Just a small cut,” he said, helping you up. “Come on, let’s clean that up.”

You barely had time to protest before Sungchan was already leading you toward the lifeguard tower. You waited by the steps as he grabbed a first aid kit with urgency.

“Sit,” he said as he stepped down. You sat and watched Sungchan do his thing. “This’ll sting a little,” he warned, dabbing at your cut with an antiseptic wipe.

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck. The proximity was overwhelming—he smelled like sunscreen and saltwater, his face far too close for comfort.

As he finished cleaning the cut, Sungchan grabbed a band-aid and carefully placed it over the small wound. His hand lingered for a second longer than necessary, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” he asked suddenly.

Of course, he didn’t remember you. “I guess,” you said, offering a small, nervous smile as you told him your name. “From a couple summers ago.”

Sungchan’s hands paused for a second, recognition lighting up his face. “Ah! Yes. I remember you now.” He let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Wow. You’ve… changed.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you quipped, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “You’ve changed quite a bit too.”

He smiled and pointed at yout cut. “You’re lucky it was just a small scratch,” he said, eyes lingering on you. “Or else I might have had to go full lifeguard mode and perform some CPR.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back on the lifeguard tower. “I’m pretty sure I’d survive without the dramatic rescue.”

Sungchan chuckled, his voice dropping just low enough for you to hear. “You sure? Because I don’t mind saving you each time you need me to.”

A small laugh escaped you, feeling more at ease now. “Why, thank you. But I think I can handle myself.”

“Oh I don’t doubt it,” he said, his tone shifting to something a little more teasing. “But I really wouldn’t mind seeing more of you.”

You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth twitching into a smirk. “Is that so? Are you flirting with me, Sungchan?”

He shrugged, pretending to look innocent. “Would it be so bad if I was?” he asked back, gaze flicking at your lips for a split-second.

Before you could respond, you caught movement from the corner of your eye. When you glanced sideways, it was Anton. He stood just a few feet away, his expression dark and unreadable. His eyes moved from you to Sungchan, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

You waved at him. “Hey! You’re back!” you called out, remembering Aunt Hyejin’s instruction to remind him of a chore.

Anton didn’t respond, his eyes flicking over you briefly before he turned and jogged toward the house, his pace quick as if he had somewhere to be.

You frowned slightly, unable to dismiss the attitude. “I’ve gotta go,” you said, standing up quickly. “Thanks for this. And see you around, Sungchan.”

“Oh, you’re leaving?” Sungchan asked, his tone still light, but there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes. He stood up too. “Will I see you at the party tonight? 8pm at the clubhouse?”

You didn’t give it much thought as you glanced at Anton’s retreating figure. “Yeah! See you there!” You flashed a smile, already jogging after Anton.

“Anton, wait up!” you called, sprinting after him on the sand. Your feet sank with every step, making it harder to keep up. He didn’t even glance back, his strides deliberate and fast, like he was on a mission to get as far away from you as possible.

“Seriously? Are you even listening?” you shouted, frustration lacing your voice.

Still nothing. By the time you made it to the house, your chest was heaving, partly from running and partly from annoyance. Anton was already in the kitchen, chugging down a glass of water.

“Your mom left a note for you on the fridge,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended.

He didn’t say a word, just set the glass down, turned the fridge door, yanked the note and held it up for you to see without a word.

“What? It’s for you, not me,” you blurted, crossing your arms.

Anton simply folded the note in half, shoved it into his pocket, and walked away. You stood there, fuming, watching his retreating figure disappear around the corner. What was his problem?

Something was definitely wrong. Leaning against the counter, you tried to make sense of what just happened. Was it something you said? Something you did? You wracked your brain, sifting through every interaction you’d had with him, wondering if you somehow did something to offend or anger him in any way.

The last time you’d seen him was at your high school graduation two years ago. He’d been his usual self then—kind, supportive, making jokes to ease your nerves before the ceremony. If something had happened between then and now, it would have to be major for him to act like this after two whole years. But try as you might, you couldn’t think of anything.

And maybe that was true, this wasn’t about what you did. Maybe nothing had happened at all. Maybe this was just him now—more distant, more mature. The kind of guy who had outgrown childhood friendships.

Your chest tightened as the realization slowly crept in. Anton has changed. He doesn’t even look like the Anton you knew anymore. The messy bangs that used to fall into his eyes were gone, replaced by a clean, swept-back look that showed off his sharp jawline and cheekbones. Back then, he had that cute, boy-next-door thing going on, but now? Now he looked like he’d stepped out of some posh fashion campaign.

Even his eyes were different. They were the same shade, sure, but the warmth was missing. Instead, they felt sharper, like he wasn’t just looking at you but sizing you up, as if he didn’t quite know what to make of you anymore.

It was weird. And upsetting. Because no matter how much you tried to shake it off, it felt like the guy you used to know was gone. And you weren’t sure if you should feel proud of the man he’d become or mourn the boy you’d lost.

The tinkling sound of the door chime signaled someone’s arrival, jolting you out of your thoughts. Your mom popped her head in from the main door, flashing you a quick smile. “Hi, hun. Can you come down and help with the groceries? We’ve got bags of stuff to unload.”

“Yeah, sure,” you said, grateful for the excuse to stop spiraling. “I’ll go change first.” You pushed off the counter and headed for the stairs, trying to leave thoughts of Anton behind.

Chatter filled the kitchen as you unpacked groceries with your mom and Aunt Hyejin. They worked efficiently and synchronously, the kind of rhythm that only came from years of friendship.

“I’m telling you, we did not run into a celebrity at the market,” Aunt Hyejin said, waving a carton of eggs for emphasis.

“Then why did he look exactly like Gong Yoo?” your mom shot back, her tone smug.

“Because you see Gong Yoo in every man with nice hair and a sharp jawline,” Aunt Hyejin retorted, placing the eggs on the counter.

“What about that one time at the airport…”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as they continued their playful bickering. And just as your mood started to lighten, Anton walked into the kitchen. Without a word, he handed an envelope to Aunt Hyejin. His mom looked at it briefly and set it aside, mid-sentence with your mom.

Anton turned to leave, but then paused. “I’m heading to the clubhouse,” he said, his tone flat.

Aunt Hyejin looked up with a casual smile on her face. “Why don’t you take her with you?” she asked, nodding toward you. “I’m sure she’s bored hanging out with us.”

Anton’s eyes flicked to yours, holding your gaze for a moment longer than necessary. His expression was unreadable, but something in his stare made you shift uncomfortably.

You waved it off quickly. “It’s fine, Auntie. I’ll go next time.”

Anton tilted his head, lips curving into a faint smirk. “She doesn’t need me to take her there anyway,” he said, his voice laced with a condescension that set your teeth on edge. “She’s already got someone’s invitation to tonight’s party.”

The insinuation hit its mark, and for a second, you stared at him, trying to process the shade he’d just thrown. He didn’t wait for a response, though. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you simmering in annoyance.

Your mom and Aunt Hyejin exchanged a look. “Did you two fight?” your mom asked, eyebrows raised in concern.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, slamming a box of cereal onto the counter. “He’s been grumpy since this morning. I don’t wanna deal with it. And seriously, what’s up with his hair?”

“I think it looks great on him,” your mom said, glancing at Aunt Hyejin. “He’s grown so much in just two years. I almost didn’t recognize him at first.”

Aunt Hyejin nodded, a fond smile softening her features. “Yeah. Junyoung kept saying he’s got a glow up. We’re a family of late bloomers, you see.”

Their conversation continued, shifting to reminiscing about childhood antics and growth spurts, but you weren’t paying attention anymore. Your hands moved automatically, storing away groceries, while your mind replayed Anton’s jab over and over. Annoyance bubbled to the surface, threatening to spill over.

By the time the last bag was unpacked, you were practically seething. If this was the new Anton, you weren’t sure how much of him you could take.

The clubhouse was already crowded when you arrived. It was the same lively scene you remembered from previous summers: groups of people chatting at small tables, others lounging by the bar, drinks and snacks being passed around, strobe lights, and noisy music.

“Hey, you made it!” Sungchan’s familiar voice rang out above the noise. He was by the pool table, his grin as easy as ever, as he waved you over.

You smiled and headed his way. “Barely,” you teased. “This place is packed.”

“Summer crowd,” he said with a shrug. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Sungchan was effortlessly charming, bringing you into conversations with people you’d only vaguely remembered from previous summers—or didn’t know at all. He had a way of making things feel casual, light, and fun, and it wasn’t long before you were laughing with his friends.

Somewhere in between introductions, Sungchan leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially.  “Did you come here with Anton?”

Your smile faltered. “No. Why?”

He tilted his head toward the bar. “Because he’s been looking this way every five seconds since you walked in.”

You followed his gaze, and there he was—Anton, leaning casually against the bar, a drink in hand. His relaxed posture contradicted the sharpness in his eyes as they flicked in your direction. He was talking to a group of people you recognized as the self-proclaimed elites of the clubhouse—the rich kids, the ones he’d always found insufferable.

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. Since when had Anton started hanging out with them? He used to avoid this place altogether, grumbling about the kids who were too rich, too smug, and too full of themselves. And yet, there he was, laughing along with them, fitting in like he’d belonged there all along. 

Before you could dwell on it, a voice called out your name. You spun around to see Yejin, one of the friends you’d spent countless summer days with.

“There you are!” she called, waving from a nearby table. “Took you long enough!”

Grateful for the distraction, you turned away from Anton and made your way to Yejin, Hana, and Sohee, who greeted you with the kind of warmth and comfort that came from being with people you’d known for years. You got swept up in a hearty conversation—reminiscing, teasing, catching up on the details of two summers you’d missed. They bombarded you with questions, half-complaints about your absence, and enough inside jokes to make you laugh until your cheeks hurt.

“But seriously,” Sohee said, narrowing her eyes at you. “Where were you?”

“Life just got crazy, okay?” you explained, putting your hands up in mock surrender.

“Crazy? You ditched us for two whole years!” Hana chimed in, raising an eyebrow. “That’s two summers.”

“I know. So instead of holding me hostage for being gone, how about filling me in on what I missed?” you shot back, laughing.

Yejin leaned closer, her voice dripping with mischief. “We’ll fill you in, all right. But first—what’s going on with you and Sungchan?”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but before you could, Sungchan appeared beside you, an innocent smile plastered across his face.

“Am I the topic of conversation?” he asked, his elbow nudging yours as he stood beside you. “I see, you’re catching up with your friends.”

Yejin narrowed her eyes at Sungchan, feigning suspicion. “Mr. Jung Sungchan, what’s the meaning of this?”

Sungchan glanced briefly at you. “Nothing. Your cute friend just happened to be generous enough to spare some of her precious time for me.”

Your friends exchanged glances and burst out laughing. Sohee was uncannily loud. “Generous enough? Surely you knew she was head over—”

You lunged at him, covering his mouth before he could finish talking. “This party is amazing, isn’t it?”

Sungchan just chuckled. “It is. Like I said, summer crowd.”

The chat continued, most of the attention directed at you because obviously, they wanted to catch up with you.

“So, are you two like a thing now?” Yejin asked, her tone playful as she raised an eyebrow at you and Sungchan.

“Definitely not,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

Sungchan clutched his chest, feigning hurt. “Wow, didn’t even hesitate. And here I  was, thinking we had something special.”

“Dude, we only started talking like five hours ago,” you retorted. “You’ll live.”

The group erupted in laughter, and Sohee grinned. “I don’t know, man. You seem to have some competition.”

“Competition?” Sungchan repeated.

Before Sohee could elaborate, Anton appeared beside him, clapping a hand on his back. “Don’t mind him,” he said, his voice smooth but pointed. “Sohee thinks everything’s a competition. Remember last summer’s beach volleyball? He still claims he didn’t cheat.”

Sohee gasped, his hand to his chest. “I didn’t!”

“Sure,” Anton drawled, his gaze flicking briefly to you before shifting back to Sohee. “Just like you didn’t accidentally trip over Hana to block that shot.”

“Speaking of beach volleyball,” Sungchan slid back into the group seamlessly, his charm lighting up the conversation. He nudged your arm playfully. “Weren’t you a former MVP?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “I used to be. That was three years ago, though. I think I’ve gotten rusty.”

“Don’t be modest,” Yejin teased, grinning at Sungchan. “She was a menace on the court. You’ve seen her, right? Our team was unbeatable because of her.”

Hana pointed at Sungchan. “Remember when we massacred Bay Area-3 four years ago? Must’ve sucked,” she added, shaking her head in exaggerated pity.

You hummed contentedly, leaning into the lightheartedness. “Too bad the season’s over. I would’ve loved to do it again.”

“Hey, I was on that team too,” Sohee interjected, pouting as if his contributions had been forgotten.

Sungchan’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I think we need a rematch. Let me know when you’re ready to lose.”

Yejin scoffed. “You’re on.”

“I’ll referee,” Anton offered unexpectedly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Someone’s gotta keep things fair, after all.”

“Oh, because you’re so unbiased?” you quipped before you could stop yourself.

Anton glanced at you, his gaze steady but unreadable. “I’m just saying, someone needs to make sure Sungchan doesn’t get away with calling fouls on every play.”

“Hey, I don’t do that!” Sungchan protested, laughing.

“You totally do,” Yejin chimed in, pointing a finger at him. “Remember last time? Every time you missed, suddenly it was, ‘The sun was in my eyes,’ or, ‘That wasn’t regulation height.’”

The group dissolved into laughter, and after some playful banter, a spontaneous agreement was made to hold a beach volleyball rematch in a few days. Sungchan excused himself first, saying he needed to spread the word to his Bay Area-3 team.

To you, he added, “You can find me back at the pool table later. Have fun catching up.”

As Sungchan walked away, you felt a prickle of awareness. Anton’s gaze was on you again. You met his eyes and raised an eyebrow. What? you mouthed, a silent challenge.

Predictably, he didn’t respond. His expression didn’t change, but he looked away, taking a slow sip from his drink. The moment passed as one of his new, polished friends called him over. He offered your group a brisk goodbye before heading back to their circle.

You exhaled, but your chest felt tight. It was weird seeing Anton blend so naturally with people he’d once disliked. You hadn’t realized how much it bothered you until now.

“Since when has he been hanging out with those people?” you asked, unable to keep the curiosity—and maybe the faintest trace of disbelief—out of your voice.

Hana leaned closer, lowering her tone conspiratorially. “He went to the same college as some of them. It’s actually kind of impressive, in a way. I didn’t think any of them were smart enough to get into a good university.”

You nodded absently, your thoughts tangled. “It’s just... weird seeing him with them when he used to complain about them all the time.”

“Well, people change,” Yejin said with a shrug, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Maybe he likes them now.”

You didn’t respond. There was no point in sharing the discomfort curling in your stomach when no one else seemed fazed. Instead, you busied yourself with your drink as conversation shifted to lighter topics—new schools, old gossip, and what everyone had been up to since high school.

You smiled and laughed along, but your thoughts kept drifting. No matter how much you tried, they always found their way back to Anton.

The night was in full swing by the time you found yourself sitting at a round table with Yejin, Hana, and a few other familiar faces. Sungchan leaned back in his chair beside you, his easy grin practically lighting up the conversation.

“So,” one acquaintance said, raising an eyebrow as she swirled her drink, “how does it feel to be back after two years? Like nothing’s changed?”

You smiled, though the question struck a little too close to home. “It feels great, honestly. I didn’t realize how much I missed everyone until now.”

“You’re lucky we even let you back in,” another one teased, leaning forward with a mock stern look. “Two summers is basically an eternity.”

Yejin chimed in, pointing her straw at you. “I told you she’d just waltz back in like nothing happened.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but a new voice cut through the chatter. “That’s kind of her thing, isn’t it?”

Your head whipped toward Anton, who had been leaning casually against the wall nearby. His voice was calm, almost disinterested, but there was a sharpness to it that pricked at your skin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, forcing a laugh that felt a little too light.

Anton glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable, before looking back at the group. “She’s good at jumping back into things like nothing ever happened.” Then to you, he said slowly and clearly, “That’s just how you’ve always been.”

The table went quiet for a few seconds too long. Sungchan shot you a look—half amused, half wary—while Yejin frowned, the corners of her mouth twitching as if unsure whether to laugh or intervene.

You felt your cheeks burn, but you refused to let it show. “Well, some of us don’t go through drastic changes in just two years,” you shot back, forcing a smile.

Anton’s gaze flicked to you for a moment, his lips curling in a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. “Guess not.”

The conversation resumed, though the tension lingered in the background. Yejin quickly steered the group onto lighter topics, and soon enough, the table was filled with laughter again.

But you couldn’t shake away Anton’s words. They sat in the back of your mind, nagging at you even as you tried to ignore them.

Sungchan leaned closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “You okay?” he asked softly.

“Fine.” You smiled at him, grateful, but the knot in your chest didn’t loosen. Instead, your eyes found Anton again, now standing by the bar with a drink in hand. He didn’t look your way, but you were swearing at him in your head, determined to get to the bottom of whatever his problem was as soon as you were alone.

The wait didn’t take long. While you were squeezed beside Sungchan on a plush couch, his arm draped over your shoulder, feeling more carefree after several drinks, Anton appeared before you with his brows furrowed.

“I’m going home,” he said flatly, his eyes flicking between you and Sungchan.

You scowled. “And? What does that have to do with me?”

He sighed, taking your drink away and placing it on the table with a pointed glance. “Your mom would kill me if I left without you. Come on.”

You rolled your eyes and stood up, bidding Sungchan a quick goodbye. He let you go with a soft kiss on your cheek, his voice warm as he said, “Text me when you’re home, okay?”

You nodded, though you knew you’d probably forget. Your focus was already on Anton, who was heading out the door without waiting for you.

You struggled to catch up with his long strides, but you didn’t complain, knowing he’d just ignore you if you did. The alcohol made your annoyance simmer louder, and in your head, you practiced the scathing words you’d unleash as soon as you were alone with him.

But Anton had other plans. The car stereo blasted as soon as the engine started, drowning out any attempt you made to speak. You knew he was doing it on purpose, and it made you angrier.

The ride felt like an eternity, tension crackling in the silence between the loud beats of the music. When the car finally pulled up in the garage, Anton got out without a word, leaving you to stumble after him. He was already halfway inside the house when you kicked off your heels and stormed in.

“You’re back early,” Aunt Hyejin greeted from the living room, where she and your mom sat in their pajamas watching a movie. “Oh, what’s wrong?”

“Hi, Auntie. Hi, Mom,” you said briskly, barely glancing their way as you followed Anton up the stairs.

“What happened?” your mom called after you, but you didn’t stop to answer.

The alcohol made it easier to ignore the logic telling you to let it go. You caught the door just as Anton was about to close it, your hand slamming against the wood.

“What’s your problem?” you snapped as you pushed your way into his bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

Anton didn’t even flinch. He casually walked over to his closet, rummaging through it for a fresh shirt. “What is it this time?” His tone was too monotonous, almost mocking.

“‘That’s just how you’ve always been.’” You gestured wildly, your voice rising with frustration as you mimicked his indifferent tone. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Anton?”

His brow twitched, and for a split second, you thought he might actually look sorry. But no. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms like he had all the time in the world to deal with your meltdown.

“It’s not that deep,” he said, his tone infuriatingly calm. “You’re overreacting.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Overreacting? You’ve barely said two words to me since I got here, and when you finally do, it’s to throw some passive-aggressive jab about how I’ve ‘always been’ like that? What is it exactly? Too loud? Too much? Too—”

“Annoying,” he cut in, his voice low but sharp enough to slice through your tirade.

The word struck a nerve, silencing you. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him.

“Annoying?” you echoed, your voice shaking. “Wow. So that’s what you think of me now? Or have you always thought I was annoying?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if this conversation was physically exhausting him. “Why are you so hung up on this?”

“Am I?” You took a step closer, your pulse quickening as anger spiked through you. “Alright then, sue me for always being like this. I didn’t change like you did. I’m still annoying, and I’ve—” You made air quotes, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “—‘always been like this.’”

“Enough,” Anton sighed, exasperated.

“What other grievances do you have against me, Anton?” you shot back, your patience worn thin. “Come on. Let’s hear it.”

“That’s enough,” he said firmly, uttering your name warningly in a way that made your stomach flip—not with fear, but with something far more complicated.

But you weren’t about to back down. “No, I’m not done. You don’t get to act like you’re some untouchable, brooding—”

Before you could finish, he grabbed your wrist—not hard, but enough to make you freeze. His other hand settled on your waist, and in one swift motion, he pulled you closer. You opened your mouth to protest, but his lips crashed into yours before you could even make a sound.

Anton kissed you.

It wasn’t soft or tentative. It was messy and careless, born of frustration and something you couldn’t put a finger on. Your hands pressed against his chest instinctively, not enough to push him away but not quite pulling him closer either.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was warm against your cheek. His grip on your waist loosened, but he didn’t let go completely.

“See?” he muttered, smirking as he took a small step back. “Still annoying.”

You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind a storm of confusion and something else you couldn’t quite name. Anton seemed completely unfazed, tugging his shirt off and changing right there in front of you. You were still frozen in place when he glanced back at you, flicking your forehead with an almost playful arrogance.

“Ow!” you groaned, snapped back to reality.

“It's just a kiss. Don’t obsess over it,” he teased, his eyes flicking to your lips for a moment before he turned, striding toward the door.

You stood there, the words echoing in your head—‘Just a kiss.’ He didn’t even look back as he walked out, leaving you standing in the middle of his room, heart still racing, mind still reeling.

You first met Anton when you were seven. It was the first of your many summers in their little hometown by the sea. Your mom had just finished unpacking your bags when Anton’s mother brought him over to say hello.

He didn’t say much, hiding behind her skirt and eyeing you like you were some strange creature he wasn’t sure he liked yet. But that didn’t last long. Later that afternoon, when the adults were chatting over iced tea on the porch, he shyly tugged at your sleeve and said, “Do you wanna see my pet turtle?”

You had gasped at the time, pleasantly surprised. “You have a turtle?”

“Yeah! It looks like a dinosaur!” he had responded with gleaming eyes.

That was all it took. One look at the tiny turtle swimming in a glass tank on his bedroom windowsill, and suddenly you weren’t just visiting strangers—you had a friend.

Summer after summer, the two of you grew closer. You didn’t get to spend Christmases together or birthdays, but summer break was sacred. Your families would get together at their beach house like a tradition, and that house quickly became a second home to you. Its wooden floors creaked under your bare feet, and the salty breeze always carried the sound of seagulls and laughter.

Anton was funny in a way that always caught you off guard, soft-spoken but bursting with energy when the mood struck. He had a wild streak too, like the time he dared you to jump off the pier into the ocean—even though you’d both been warned a hundred times not to. You ended up doing it, and you both got grounded for the rest of the week.

When you were eleven, he taught you how to ride a bike—well, tried to. He kept insisting he wasn’t laughing at you every time you tipped over, but you could see the way he bit his lip to hold back a grin. And when you finally managed to ride down the dirt path without falling, he cheered so loudly the neighbors peeked out their windows to see what all the fuss was about.

He wasn’t always the wild one, though. There were quieter moments too—like when the two of you built sandcastles on the beach and argued about whether a moat was necessary, or when you’d sit under the teepee in his room, eating popsicles and reading comic books.

For years, he was a head shorter than you, something you loved to tease him about relentlessly. “When are you gonna catch up, Anton?” you’d giggle, ruffling his hair.

“You’ll see,” he’d retort with a determined pout. “I’m gonna grow taller than you someday. Dad said it’s gonna happen soon.”

It became an annual joke, one he stubbornly refused to give up on even as the years passed and your height difference barely changed. Then, when you were sixteen, it finally happened. You came back that summer and found Anton waiting at the door, looking taller than he’d ever been. At first, you didn’t believe it, but the smug grin on his face told you he waited for you at the front door on purpose.

“You’re standing on something,” you accused, squinting at him.

“Nope,” he said, grinning wide as he tapped his bare feet against the porch. “I told you, didn’t I?”

By then, he wasn’t just taller; he was different in ways you couldn’t quite put into words. It was sometime after that same summer that you realized your feelings for Anton weren’t as simple as you thought.

You were teenagers, going through all the awkward, messy stages of puberty. He was becoming more handsome by the day, his boyish features sharpening in ways that made you notice things you hadn’t before. His smile seemed more charming, his laughter endearing, and you were left grappling with a new, inconvenient truth—you had a crush on your best friend.

It wasn’t like it was hard to fall for him. You’d never given it much thought before, but Anton had always been attentive to you. Having a crush on him made you see him in a different light, and his kind nature soon made your heart flutter. He teased you mercilessly, sure, but he always knew when to stop. If you were upset or sulking, he had this uncanny ability to bring you out of it without even trying.

He’d wait for you at the end of the dock whenever you hesitated to jump, his hand outstretched with a soft smile on his lips. If you got hurt—whether it was a scraped knee or a bruised ego—he was always the first to check on you. He never let you carry heavy things, always taking your bag without a word even when you protested. Sometimes you’d be shivering after a late swim, he would throw his towel over your shoulders and grin, saying you looked like a wet puppy.

He had this way of making you feel like you were the most important person in the world, even when he was teasing you. Like the summer he spent two hours untangling the kite you’d accidentally gotten stuck in a tree, refusing to let you help because “you’ll just make it worse.” Or the time he taught you how to skip stones on the water. He’d stood behind you, guiding your arm with his, his chest brushing your back as he whispered instructions, so close you could barely focus. 

For a while, you were convinced you were in love with him. But even then, you knew better than to say anything. What if it ruined everything? What if your confession turned your friendship into something awkward and strained? What would his parents—your second family—think if you jeopardized the bond your two families shared?

So, you buried it. Tucked away that silly, puppy love into the deepest corners of your mind, letting it stay there as a bittersweet secret. You told yourself it was fine. You didn’t need him to love you back. It was enough just to be around him, to laugh with him, to call him your best friend.

And it worked. For years, it worked.

He went back to being your platonic soulmate, the person who knew you better than anyone else. The crush faded into the background, becoming a harmless relic of your teenage years—something you could look back on with fondness but without longing. Anton was family. Almost like a brother, considering the way you’d grown up together.

Or so you thought..

Now, you lay in your dimly lit bedroom, staring at the ceiling with your hand pressed to your chest. You could still feel the sensation of his lips on yours, and the memory played on a loop in your mind. 

Anton had kissed you. On the lips. And you didn’t know how to feel about it.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. You did know.

The affection you’d convinced yourself was long gone—that you’d painstakingly buried under layers of denial—wasn’t gone at all. It had been lying dormant, quietly waiting for something to wake it up. And now, with one impulsive kiss, Anton had yanked it out of its slumber.

What made it worse was Anton himself. He didn’t seem the least bit affected. He’d walked out of the room as if the kiss meant nothing, leaving you to deal with the fallout alone. Did he even care? Did he even think about what it would do to you, kissing you like that and walking away?

You let out a frustrated sigh, pressing your palms to your eyes as if you could physically stop your thoughts from spiraling.

It was too much. Anton had been too much these days. And now, he’d managed to unravel years of carefully built denial with one impulsive, reckless kiss.

What are you supposed to do now?

The next few days were unbearable. You tried your best to pretend nothing had happened between you and Anton, but that had never been your strong suit. Pretending didn’t come naturally to you, and something as major as that kiss was impossible to ignore. And Anton? Oh, he must have been having the time of his life watching you squirm.

He didn’t ignore you anymore—not like before—but a big part of you wished he just stayed indifferent and mean. He’d sit beside you at breakfast, close enough for his knee to bump against yours under the table. He’d call your name just to ask something unimportant, so casually too like the kiss didn’t even happen. Then, every once in a while, he’d throw in a remark that made your stomach flip.

“Still thinking about it?” he asked once, leaning against the dock railing as you peered down at the clear water.

You’d nearly dropped your phone in the water. “About what?”

He raised an eyebrow, a sly smile pulling at his lips. “You know what.”

You wanted to strangle him.

And the worst part? He didn’t care if anyone else was around when he did it. Around family, he kept his teasing just vague enough that no one else would catch on, subtle enough not to raise suspicions. But his remarks were bold enough to set your heart racing and leave you panicking that someone might pick up on your little secret.

By the time a week had passed, you were on the brink of losing it.

Anton’s dad had arrived back from work, and to celebrate, the family decided on a big barbecue dinner. Naturally, you and Anton were tasked with picking up groceries. It was something you often did together, but that was before. Now you just wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

Still, you didn’t argue. Obviously you couldn’t risk drawing attention to yourself and raising questions. Since the kiss, you hadn’t yet been alone with him, and the thought of sitting in a car with just him was making your stomach churn.

When Anton leaned over to buckle your seatbelt—his hand brushing your arm in a way that felt entirely too intentional—you swatted him away.

“I can do it myself,” you snapped.

He smirked, leaning back into his seat as if you hadn’t just scolded him. “You’re welcome.”

At the grocery store, things were mercifully normal. The conversation stayed focused on the errand. You stuck to the list, pointing out items while Anton grabbed them, and for a moment, it felt like those times in the past when you did the same errand. But then, as you were scanning a shelf for the right brand of barbecue sauce, you saw a familiar face along the aisle.

“Sungchan!” you called out, waving a hand in the air and failing to notice Anton scowling behind you.

The sight of him brought a welcome distraction, and you walked over with a smile creeping onto your face. You exchanged pleasantries, and he introduced you to his mom, who seemed just as charming as he was. Over the past week, you’d been texting with him and had even gone on a few strolls along the beach. He was funny and easygoing, and things seemed to be going well—if only you could focus on this rather than having Anton occupy space in your head.

“Didn’t expect to run into you here,” he said, his gaze flickering briefly to Anton, who stood a few steps behind you, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Small town,” you replied with a laugh.

You chatted for a few minutes before his mom gently reminded him about their errands. Before leaving, he leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek. It was quick and casual, but it made your cheeks burn nonetheless.

“See you soon,” Sungchan said, stepping back. “Volleyball match is on Tuesday. Don’t forget,” he added, glancing between you and Anton before walking away.

You turned back to Anton, hoping he hadn’t noticed your flushed cheeks, but of course, he had.

“You’re blushing,” he said, his voice teasing but sharper at the edges than usual.

“It’s hot,” you muttered, grabbing a random bottle of barbecue sauce and tossing it into the cart without even looking at the label.

Anton reached over, grabbed the bottle, and placed it back on the shelf. “This one’s for pasta. You’re a mess today.”

You glared at him. “Maybe I wouldn’t be if someone wasn’t constantly trying to mess with me.”

“Who, me?” Anton’s expression was pure mock innocence.

“Yes, you!” You snatched another bottle off the shelf, shoving it into the cart with unnecessary force before walking ahead.

He trailed behind, his voice light but carrying a certain edge. “So... you and Sungchan, huh?”

“What about us?” you said flatly, not bothering to look back.

“Oh, nothing,” Anton replied, leaning casually against the cart handle. “It’s just cute, that’s all. The way he looks at you like you’re a goddess or something. And that kiss on the cheek?” He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Real smooth.”

Your brows furrowed, genuinely wondering if he was being sarcastic. He looked at you and added, “Bet he writes poems about you in his free time.”

You scoffed. “Do you really think he’s that kind of guy? Have you seen him?”

Anton shrugged. “How would I know? I’m just making a guess since you’ve had the biggest crush on him for a long time and you once told me he looked like the kind of guy who writes poems for their girlfriend.”

You grimaced. “Ew. When did I say that?”

“When we were twelve,” he answered with a nonchalant shrug.

Your eyes widened slightly before you huffed. “Well, I was twelve. And I didn’t know what I was talking about.”

Anton scoffed mockingly. “No. He is that kind of guy. Romantic, spontaneous, and totally not like other guys who party till sunrise, chase after pretty girls and hookup for funsies,” he said sarcastically, smirking.

You turned to face him, your annoyance now outweighing your embarrassment. “What’s your problem?”

“No problem,” he said with a too-innocent shrug. “Just thought it was cute, that’s all. You’ve got a little admirer.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a pack of skewers and tossing it into the cart. “Whatever. It’s none of your business, anyway.”

“Nice, sure,” Anton drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I do hope you don’t end up as another notch on his bedpost by the time summer ends.”

“Are you seriously doing this right now?” you shot back in frustration.

He straightened up, his smirk softening into something you couldn’t quite read. “What? I’m just looking out for you. Making sure you know what you’re getting into.”

“By mocking me?”

“By being honest,” he corrected, leaning slightly closer, his voice dropping low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You huffed, staring right back at him with no intention to back down. “Whatever I do this summer, whoever I do it with, is none of your business, Anton. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing since I got here. Keep ignoring me and continue acting like a total prick, because I’m done trying to figure out what I did so wrong to deserve this treatment from you.”

Anton’s smirk faltered, replaced by something harder to read. His jaw tightened, but instead of snapping back, he turned away. Without another word, he pushed the cart down the aisle, leaving you standing there, fuming and wondering if it was possible to strangle someone with barbecue tongs. 

The silence that followed felt heavy, pressing against your chest, but you refused to dwell on it. Let him walk away if he wanted. Let him stew in whatever self-righteous attitude he’d decided to adopt this summer. You’re done walking on eggshells around him.

In the evening, you gathered in the backyard with your mom and the Lee family, everyone moving around busily to prepare dinner—setting up the table, checking the grill, and bringing out the salads and sides.

The sound of sizzling meat, the laughter and chatter, along with the faint echo of the waves lapping at the beach made you feel nostalgic. Barbecue nights like this had been a staple of your summers here. You hadn’t thought about them much in the two years you were away, but now that you were experiencing it again, you realized how much you’d missed it.

You focused on your tasks, determined to push away the tension from earlier at the store. The last thing you wanted was to let Anton get under your skin.

But Anton had other ideas. He was stuck to you like glue. Every time you moved to do something, he was right there, offering to help.

While you were helping Aunt Hyejin arrange side dishes, you were also trying to brush off the occasional bump of Anton’s shoulder as he reached for something nearby. It was hard to ignore the way he hovered close—not enough to draw attention, but enough to keep your nerves on edge.

“Need anything?” he asked as you washed the lettuce.

You glanced at him, your expression flat. “No, I’m good,” you said, shaking the excess water off the leaves.

He didn’t seem to take the hint. “You sure? I can—”

“No,” you cut him off, tugging the lettuce away when he reached for it. “I can do it myself.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, but instead of arguing, he grabbed a tray of meat and started skewering it—purposefully working a little too close to where you were standing.

The family, oblivious to your silent war, carried on. Junyoung teased you about your time abroad, nudging you playfully. “Bet you missed this, huh?”

“Missed what?” you asked, playing along.

“This. You can’t get this kind of barbecue anywhere else.”

You laughed but didn’t answer because Anton spoke first. “Junyoung, didn’t Dad ask you to get the charcoal?”

“Oh, crap. Right.” Junyoung hurried off, leaving you and Anton alone at the counter.

Your eyes flicked toward Anton who seemed too immersed in his task. “Move. I need space for this,” you demanded, motioning to the tray in your hand.

His gaze shifted to you for a moment, before he returned to the meat and vegetables. “If you’re done with that, come help me with these,” he said flatly.

Scoffing, you picked up the tray of washed greens and headed outside.

Once everything was set up, you took a seat at the long table, intentionally placing yourself as far from Anton as possible. Plates were filled, glasses poured, and lively chatter filled the air. But just as you lifted your fork, Anton’s voice caught your attention.

“Junyoung, move over. I’m sitting there.”

Your eyes widened as Anton casually nudged his brother out of the way, sliding into the seat beside you without hesitation. Junyoung gave you a confused look, and you could only shrug.

Anton glanced at you as he settled in. “You don’t mind, right?” he asked, his tone almost too sweet, like he wasn’t giving you a choice.

You grimaced. “Do whatever you want. It’s your house.”

To your surprise, Anton became uncharacteristically attentive. He refilled your plate with meat, made wraps for you, and handed over dishes you couldn’t reach. You tried to focus on the conversation around you, but it was impossible to ignore the sincerity in his actions—or the way his gaze lingered a little too long.

It wasn’t long before Anton’s father spoke up, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. “Well, it’s nice to see you two getting along again,” he said, his gentle gaze flicking between you and Anton.

Anton raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “What do you mean?”

“The two of you,” his father replied, pointing at you and Anton. “I heard whispers about how you two weren’t speaking while I was gone. Did something happen?”

“You noticed that?” Anton asked.

Your mom chimed. “Oh, we all did. You’ve been inseparable since you were kids. Of course we’d notice if you suddenly act like strangers.”

“It’s good that you’ve made up. I thought we’d have to mediate some big falling out,” Aunt Hyejin added with a laugh, glancing between you and Anton.

Anton’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t say anything, focusing instead on the wrap he was making.

“It was weird,” your mom continued, clearly enjoying the opportunity to tease. “These two were like peas in a pod growing up. They’d even sneak out at night to stargaze on the beach together. Remember that?”

You groaned inwardly. “Mom, please.”

“Oh, don’t act embarrassed,” your aunt said, waving a hand. “It’s cute! We all thought it was adorable.”

Anton’s father narrowed his eyes playfully. “So, what happened? Did you fight?”

Before you could stammer out a reply, Anton finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. “Nothing happened. We’re fine.”

“That’s it?” his father pressed, clearly unsatisfied.

Anton glanced at you, his gaze lingering for a moment too long. “That’s it.”

The table erupted into laughter, with your mom and Aunt Hyejin exchanging knowing looks.

“Well, I guess all’s well that ends well,” your mom said, smiling. “You two were always quick to make up anyway.”

You tried to laugh it off, focusing on your plate and ignoring the way Anton’s arm brushed against yours under the table.

As the meal wrapped up and people began clearing plates, Anton stood abruptly. He didn’t announce anything to the table, just leaned down slightly toward you, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Air?” he asked simply, gesturing toward the beach.

For a moment, you hesitated. Then, realizing the family’s focus was elsewhere, you pushed your chair back and followed him.

Anton led the way down the path toward the beach, hands in his pockets. You followed, keeping your eyes on the back of his head as your feet sank slightly into the cool sand. The sound of waves crashing on the shore stirred something in you—restlessness, maybe. Or nostalgia.

Then he stopped by the shoreline, where the water lapped softly, and sat down.

“Are you planning to stand there all night?” he asked, glancing up at you and tapping the space next to him.

You rolled your eyes and plopped down a few feet away, deliberately creating distance. The breeze tugged at your hair, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, letting the sound of the waves fill the silence.

“They think we’ve made up,” you said finally, breaking the stillness.

Anton huffed a quiet laugh. “They’ve got no idea, huh?”

“Not a clue,” you replied, smirking faintly. “I don’t even know why we were fighting. Or if it was even a fight in the first place. This is your fault.”

His brow quirked at that, but instead of biting back, he chuckled softly. “Maybe it was me. I’ll take the blame.”

“You’ve been sticking to me all night,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Acting all nice, making wraps for me at dinner… What’s that about?”

Anton tilted his head toward you, his expression unreadable. “Why? You don’t like it?”

You shot him a look. “No, it’s just weird. You’ve been a prick all week, and now suddenly you’re trying to play nice. What’s your deal?”

He leaned back on his hands, eyes drifting to the horizon. “Maybe I just felt bad,” he said finally. “For these past few days, I mean.”

You snorted, trying to hide the way his sincerity caught you off guard. “So, what? It took you this long to feel bad?”

His gaze slid back to yours, and this time, it lingered. The playful edge in his expression softened, replaced by something quieter, something heavier.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

The words hung between you, stirring up emotions you weren’t prepared to unpack. You wanted to brush it off, to throw a snarky remark his way and shift the mood back to something you could handle, but the look in his eyes kept you rooted in place.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but he beat you to it.

“I didn’t mean to treat you like that,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I didn’t mean to change… us.”

Your heart twisted, but you forced a scoff. “You didn’t mean it? Could’ve fooled me.”

Anton didn’t respond right away. He simply stared at you, his eyes tracing your features like he was seeing them for the first time. The ocean breeze carried the faint scent of the summer evening, and the sound of waves crashing filled the spaces his words left behind.

And for a moment, you thought he might close the distance. His shoulders shifted, his posture leaning ever so slightly toward you, his gaze dropping to your lips—so brief you almost thought you imagined it.

But just as quickly, he pulled back. His expression returned to the smirk you were all too familiar with.

“Welp, let’s not get too sentimental,” he said lightly, brushing sand off his hands as he stood up. “You might actually start thinking I’ve changed for the better.”

You blinked, caught somewhere between frustration and something softer, as he offered you a hand to help you up.

“I still haven’t decided if I like this version of you,” you muttered, brushing past him as you started back toward the house.

He chuckled, walking ahead of you and gently bumping your shoulder as he passed you. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

A part of you wondered if the conversation was done for the night. But as you glanced at the back of his head, you couldn’t resist one last question.

“Why did you do it?” you called out.

Anton slowed but didn’t stop, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Do what?”

You caught up, falling into step beside him. “Why’d you kiss me?”

He didn’t react right away, his gaze shifting back to the path ahead. “You’re asking me that now? Have you been thinking about it all week?” he asked with a teasing lilt in his voice.

“I’m serious. Come on,” you said, keeping your tone light but steady. “It’s not because you wanted to, right? I was just getting on your nerves, and there was no other way to shut me up. Right, Anton? Right?”

Your heart thudded in your chest as the silence stretched. Anton finally came to a stop, his hands slipping into his pockets as he turned to face you. The moonlight caught the faint curve of his smirk, but his eyes were unreadable.

“Wrong,” he said simply.

“What?” you blurted, waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

Anton turned and kept walking, leaving you standing there, staring after him as the word echoed in your mind.

The weekend at the beach house passed in a blur. After your conversation with Anton, things between you weren’t awkward anymore, but they weren’t exactly normal either. You talked like usual, bantered like usual, interacted like usual—everything was as usual. Except for when his eyes would focus on you every now and then—the kind of look that seemed to communicate something your mind couldn’t comprehend, but you knew they meant something.

Sometimes, when it was just the two of you—bringing drinks outside or crossing paths in the hallway—you found yourself running through a dozen different scenarios in your head. Ones where the air grew heavy, his hand brushed yours, and somehow, the silence ended in a feverish kiss. You weren’t sure where these thoughts were coming from, but they made you giddy and nervous at the same time, unsure how to handle the growing interest that crept quietly under your skin.

Soon, the day of the volleyball game rolled around, and you headed to the beach with your friends. Sungchan was easy to spot near the net, casually chatting with a group while fiddling with the ropes. When he caught sight of you, his smile stretched wide as he jogged toward you.

“You finally showed up,” he teased, hands on his hips.

You rolled your eyes at his dramatic tone. “I’m literally on time.”

“Late, early—it’s all relative.” He grinned, taking a step back and gesturing to the setup. “So, wanna be on my team? I’m giving you a chance to switch sides before we kick your team’s ass.”

You scoffed. “How generous. But I’ve already pictured your defeat in my head, so, no thank you.”

His laugh was easy, but you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze softened as it lingered on you. That familiar charm of his—it was almost effortless, but you knew what you had to say.

“By the way, I have something to tell you,” you said, glancing past the others before looking back at him.

“Sure,” he nodded, his smile dimming just slightly. “That look is making me nervous, but let’s hear it.”

You took a breath. “You’re a fun guy, you really are. You’re nice too. And to be honest, I had a crush on you since I was like—” you shrugged—“twelve? I think?”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, and I really enjoyed hanging out with you, but  I don’t think I want to be anything other than friends with you.”

For a second, you worried how he’d take it. But Sungchan just stared at you, then let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “I knew you’d break my heart eventually.”

“Sungchan—”

“I’m kidding,” he cut you off, flashing his usual grin. “It’s cool, really. You didn’t drag it out, so thanks for that.”

Relief washed over you. “I just didn’t want to keep you hanging.”

“I know. I really appreciate that,” he replied, his grin turning teasing again. “Gives me more time to get to know other people. Lots of pretty girls in town this summer, you know? They’d be thrilled to know I’m still available.”

You couldn’t help chuckling. “Did you really just say that out loud?”

“Why not?” he said, smirking. “We’re friends. There’s no need to filter my words around friends.”

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, but the laughter that followed between you both was easy and genuine.

The volleyball setup was simple but lively—teams were already strategizing, with Sungchan’s voice ringing out as he rallied his group together. You lingered near the sidelines, soaking in the warm sun and salty breeze, until a familiar figure stepped into your peripheral vision.

Anton.

His hair was a little tousled from the wind, and he had that usual air of nonchalance as he approached. You noticed the faint furrow in his brow as his gaze shifted from Sungchan back to you.

“Are you ready for this?” you asked, keeping your tone casual.

Anton ignored the question entirely. “What were you two talking about?”

“Sungchan?” you asked innocently, tilting your head. “Nothing much. Just clearing the air.”

Anton narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything, his jaw tightening slightly before he turned his attention to the players warming up.

“Didn’t think you’d actually referee,” you teased, eyeing his rashguard and short outfit.

“Someone has to keep things fair,” he replied, his tone dry as his eyes flicked to Sungchan, who was busy high-fiving his teammates.

You raised an eyebrow, catching his not-so-subtle focus. “What’s that look for?”

He shrugged, but his casual tone didn’t match the sharpness in his gaze. “Just wondering why you were all chummy with him.”

“What?” you said, rolling your eyes. “I told you. We were just talking. We’re friends. He’s nice.”

“Too nice, if you ask me,” Anton muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening. “You do remember that he’s older than us, right?”

You tilted your head, amusement tugging at your lips. “Is that jealousy I hear, Anton Lee?”

“Not jealousy,” he shot back quickly. “Concern. You shouldn’t be fraternizing with the enemy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Enemy? Aren’t referees supposed to be neutral and not pick sides.”

Anton’s lips twitched, but his expression remained guarded. “Not when it comes to him.”

“Sounds personal,” you teased.

Before he could reply, Sungchan’s voice called from across the net. “Hey, MVP! You ready to show us what you’ve got?”

A confident grin spread across your face as you turned to him. “Hope you’re ready to lose,” you shot back, adjusting your stance.

Anton muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “cocky,” but you ignored him, stepping onto the sand with the kind of ease that came from years of practice.

The game started fast, with energy running high as the teams gave their all to the game. You were quick on your feet, diving for saves and landing precise spikes that sent the ball flying past the other team’s defenses more than once.

“Still got it,” you muttered to yourself after a particularly clean shot, wiping sand off your knees.

“Nice!” Hana cheered, and you all huddled for a high-five.

Sungchan whistled, shaking his head as he retrieved the ball. “Alright, I’ll give you that one. But don’t think you’re getting another easy point.”

“Easy?” Hana echoed, smirking playfully. “Your team’s been missing half your serves. Why don’t you concede?”

“Less talking, more playing,” Yejin retorted, clapping her hands loudly.

The banter drew a laugh from the sidelines, where Anton stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Still, you caught the slight twitch of his lips whenever you scored, even if he didn’t say a word.

During a quick break, Sungchan jogged over, tossing you a water bottle. “You’re making me work harder than I thought,” he said, flashing his signature grin.

“Good,” you replied, taking a sip and wiping your brow. “I’m just getting started.”

Sungchan stood there for a few seconds, watching you. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “So, how are things with Anton?”

The water caught in your throat mid-sip, and you barely managed not to spit it out. Coughing, you waved him off as he laughed and patted your back. “What? Why would you even ask me that?”

“Has he told you about it yet?”

“About what?”

Sungchan raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Don’t make me spell it out. The guy’s practically wearing a neon sign over his head that says, ‘I’m in love with her.’”

You rolled your eyes, brushing off the warmth creeping up your neck. “You’re so dramatic. He doesn’t—”

“Sure, sure.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But you’ve noticed, haven’t you? The way he gets all broody whenever we talk?”

“Broody?”

“You know, sulky. Jealous,” he grinned, casually draping an arm on your shoulder. “I didn’t think it would be so fun to tease him.”

Without thinking, you glanced over. Anton stood with his arms crossed, stealing glances at you and Sungchan. His face was unreadable, but the tight set of his jaw and the sharpness in his gaze gave him away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, turning back to Sungchan, though your pulse quickened under Anton’s gaze.

Before he could respond, a sharp whistle broke through the conversation.

“Break’s over,” Anton called, his voice firm as he motioned for everyone to get back into position.

Sungchan glanced at him, then back at you, grinning like he’d just cracked a code. “See? Broody.” He threw you a wink before jogging back to his side of the net.

As the game resumed, you couldn’t help but notice Anton’s slightly biased officiating—whistling a little too loud when Sungchan’s team scored, or muttering under his breath whenever their team celebrated.

By the time the final point was scored—your team taking the win with a flawless spike—you caught Anton watching you again, his expression softening just slightly. But as quickly as it came, it was gone, replaced with his usual cool detachment as he blew the whistle to signal the end of the game.

The sound of cheers and laughter filled the air as your team huddled together, celebrating the win. Sohee slung an arm over your shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

“Still the MVP, huh?” he teased, ruffling your hair playfully. “I don’t know why I thought this would go any other way.”

“Because you’re overconfident,” Hana chimed in, nudging Yejin with her elbow. “And we’re, you know, actually good at this.”

You smirked. “Don’t beat yourself up, though. You guys put up a good fight.”

“Good fight, my ass,” Sohee grumbled, flopping onto the sand dramatically. “We got obliterated. I’m never playing against you guys again.”

“Come on, Sohee,” you replied, tossing him a grin as you helped him up. “It’s just for fun. You didn’t do that bad.”

“He missed three serves in a row,” Hana deadpanned, earning a loud groan from Sohee.

“Okay, no need to rub it in!” Sohee huffed, dusting the sand off his hands.

Anton approached the group, his whistle still dangling from around his neck. “You all done patting yourselves on the back?” he asked, his tone neutral but his eyes briefly meeting yours.

“What exactly are we winning? Do we get a prize?” Yejin asked, looking around.

Sungchan shrugged. “Bragging rights?” he said with evident uncertainty in his tone and expression.

Your team groaned, unsatisfied. Sungchan stammered. “Hey, we didn’t decide on a prize when we talked about this game.”

Sohee raised a hand. “Okay, guys, since I’m basically responsible for our loss, ice cream’s on me for the winners. Losers can fend for themselves.”

“Wow, so generous,” Sungchan deadpanned, but he followed anyway, dragging his team along.

“It’s okay, dude,” Yejin said, clapping him on the back. “You’re rewarded enough. It’s not every day you get to play with an MVP.”

“You mean lose to an MVP,” Sungchan corrected, nodding toward you. “You’re a beast out there, seriously. Respect.”

“Respectfully defeated, you mean?” Hana teased, crossing her arms.

Sungchan shrugged, unfazed. “I’m not bitter. I’d rather lose to a skilled player than Sohee.”

“Okay, man. Low blow,” Sohee sighed, shoulders sagging in defeat.

Sungchan flashed you a knowing grin before his gaze flickered toward Anton. “Guess you’re proud of her too, huh, ref?”

Anton’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, but he only shrugged. “She’s decent.”

“Decent?” you echoed, narrowing your eyes at him. “Pretty sure I just carried my team to victory.”

“I’d rather not inflate your ego,” he retorted, smirking.

As the group headed toward the snack stand, you lingered for a moment, brushing sand off your legs. Anton hung back too, his gaze lingering on the horizon before he glanced at you.

“Decent, huh?” you said, crossing your arms as you turned to him.

His lips twitched. “You heard me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You could just admit you’re impressed.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he replied, turning toward the snack stand without waiting for a response.

Shaking your head, you followed, the playful energy from the game lingering in the air.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the group gathered around a bonfire on the beach. Drinks were passed around, the conversation flowing easily. More people arrived as the evening deepened, including some of Anton’s posh friends. They blended effortlessly into the group, their polished smiles and designer outfits standing out against the casual beachwear.

At some point, Sohee handed Anton a guitar with a knowing smirk. “Would you play something for us?”

Anton chuckled, adjusting the strap before strumming a few chords. The group around the fire cheered, and soon everyone was singing along, their voices blending beautifully with the melody Anton was playing.

You leaned back against the driftwood bench, watching him as his fingers glided over the strings with ease. There was something captivating about how relaxed he seemed—more confident, more self-assured. The shy boy you’d grown up with had always seemed happiest when he was off to the side, letting others take the spotlight. Now, he was in the center of it, getting attention without even trying.

In hindsight, this should’ve made you happy. Seeing him like this—more mature, more comfortable in his own skin—should’ve felt like a victory for the both of you. But you didn’t have time to process this because the joy of his transformation had been buried under your indignation, your frustration at being treated like a stranger.

You sighed and turned your gaze to the fire, trying to push the thoughts away.

Later, as the party stretched into the night, Sungchan plopped down beside you with a drink in hand.

“Long face at a party?” he teased, nudging your arm lightly.

You smiled faintly. “Just thinking about stuff.”

“Stuff like Anton?” he asked, raising a brow.

You gave him a side-eye, but his grin was disarming enough that you found yourself nodding. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” he echoed, leaning closer like he was fishing for details. “Come on, you can tell me. I’m great at giving unsolicited advice.”

That earned a laugh out of you. “Why are you nosy?”

He shrugged. “This is the most interesting thing that happened here since summer break started. I’m a little too invested.”

“Fine,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “Get ready.”

And so, you told him everything—how you and Anton had grown up together, spending every summer side by side, how he used to be this sweet, shy boy you adored. You told him about your silly teenage crush on him, how you’d skipped the last two summers, and how things were so different now that you were back. Sungchan listened intently, nodding along as you spoke.

“And then he kissed me,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “And now I’m… I don’t know. I can’t tell if I’m falling for him again or if I’m just confusing old feelings for something they’re not.”

Sungchan leaned back, letting out a low whistle. “That’s a lot to unpack,” he said, then smirked. “But hey, you’ve got options. If it’s real, great. If it’s not, at least you’ll know. Either way, you win.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not exactly helpful.”

“Look, all I’m saying is, maybe stop overthinking it. You’ll figure it out,” he replied. “But if you’re asking me? I think you’re not confusing old feelings. It’s just that the old feelings are stronger now that you’re older and wiser. Well, not so wise, but still wiser than when you were sixteen.”

Your laugh came out startled. “What makes you think so?”

“Just a hunch,” he said, winking.

Before you could respond, a shadow fell over the both of you. You looked up to see Anton standing there, his expression unreadable as he glanced between you and Sungchan.

“Time to go,” Anton said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You frowned, leaning back against the bench. “It’s still early.”

Anton huffed, unfazed. “I’d hate to ruin your night, but I’m tired, so let’s just go.”

You groaned, glancing at Sungchan, who gave you an exaggerated pout. “Guess this is goodbye,” he said dramatically.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you retorted, but you smiled as you stood. “Thanks for listening.”

He gave you a two-fingered salute as you turned to follow Anton.

As you walked up the beach, the sounds of the party fading behind you, you glanced at Anton. “Can’t you go home by yourself?”

“You think I’m dragging you along because I want to?” he asked back, glancing sideways at you. “Take it up to your two moms if you have a problem with it.”

You huffed. “I probably should. One can’t go home without the other? What are we, fifteen?”

Anton didn’t respond, but you caught the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he walked ahead.

The car ride was too quiet for your liking. Anton kept his grip tight on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched, and you couldn’t ignore the hint of annoyance on his expression. 

You’d been stealing glances over at him, but he didn’t meet your eyes. The way he was acting—the sudden coldness after the bonfire, the way he pulled away emotionally—it was all too confusing and infuriating. 

“Anton, you’re angry,” you said, your voice low but steady. “What’s going on? Another mood swing?”

He finally looked at you, his eyes dark, the frustration in them almost raw. “Can you mind your own business?”

“I can if you stop making me feel like this was my business too.”

Anton let out a sharp exhale, and with a swift turn of the steering wheel, he pulled over to the side of the road, stepping on the brakes so abruptly, you were jolted forward, the seatbelt digging into your chest.

“What the hell—”

“What do you want me to say?” he cut you off, his voice rough.

“What do I want you to say?” you echoed, heart pounding as anger rose in your chest. “Are you serious? You’ve been treating me like a stranger since I got here. You’ve barely talked to me, and when you do, it’s like I’m the last person you want to be around. What do I want you to say?”

You scoffed incredulously. “I want you to tell me what I did so wrong to deserve this.”

Anton’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw clenching so hard it was a wonder it didn’t crack. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, quieter, but no less intense. “I missed you. So fucking much.”

For a second, his words knocked the wind out of you. But the anger came rushing back. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense. You missed me, so you’re treating me like crap? What the hell, Anton?”

“I don’t know!” he snapped, his voice breaking slightly. He groaned, leaning back in his seat and pressing his hands to his face. “I don’t know, alright? I just—I couldn’t reach you. I couldn’t talk to you. You were supposed to be here, and you weren’t. And now you’re back, and I’m—” He broke off, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration.

You blinked, caught off-guard by the vulnerability in his voice. You opened your mouth to speak, but you didn’t know what to say so you closed it again. At that moment, it was as if the only thing you could do was reach out your hand and place it on his arm, squeezing gently in hopes that it would somehow comfort him, that it would be enough to express what your words cannot.

His head turned toward you, and the look in his eyes made your breath hitch. His gaze flicked to your lips, and before you could process what was happening, his hand was on your arm, pulling you toward him. Then his lips crashed against yours, desperate and unrestrained, like he couldn’t stop himself anymore. 

And you couldn’t pull away—not that you wanted to. Everything you had been holding back, everything you’d been pretending not to feel, was suddenly pouring out in that kiss.

He tugged you closer, his other hand sliding to your waist as the kiss deepened, raw and messy, with a kind of desperation that matched your own. You could feel his heavy breathing against your lips as his body tensed beneath you, and it only made you want to close the distance even more.  You wrapped your arms around his neck, clutching a handful of his hair because you needed to hold on to something—anything—that was real.

Anton’s hands moved to your neck, his touch possessive, as if he was trying to assure himself that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere. You pulled away for a breath, your chest rising and falling quickly as you stared at each other, both of you trying to catch your breath.

“Anton…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He pressed his forehead to yours, his voice hoarse. “Don’t say it. Just—don’t say anything right now.” He kissed you again, one hand slipping under your shirt but you stopped him.

“No.” You pushed him away gently, your lips curving into a small smile. “Not here. Come on, dude. Not in the car. Let’s at least make this special.”

He leaned back, a short, dark laugh escaping him. “I just kissed you till you’re breathless, and you call me dude after?”

You laughed lightly, still breathless yourself. “Are you seriously gonna hold that against me instead of focusing on more pressing matters?” You glanced at the unmistakable bulge in his jeans.

Anton grunted, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he shifted the gear stick, suddenly looking more determined than ever as he stepped on the gas.

You couldn’t help grinning at the look on his face. You reached for his chin, pulling him close just enough to press a soft kiss on his cheek. As you sat back, Anton’s fingers brushed against yours, holding your hand with a light squeeze as the car sped down the highway.

The house was quiet when you and Anton arrived. It was past 1am, and the soft hum of the house was the only sound that filled the air as you both tiptoed down the dimly lit hallway. Your footsteps were almost inaudible on the hardwood floor, but your heart raced in your chest. When you passed by his parents’ room, you both paused for a moment, checking for any signs of movement, worried that someone might wake up and catch you sneaking.

When you reached the upper floor landing, Anton grabbed your hand, pulling you closer to him. His lips brushed the side of your neck as you walked down the hall. The thrill of the risk only heightened your need for each other, and you couldn’t keep the smile from tugging at your lips as his hand slid to the small of your back, pressing you against him for a second.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” you whispered, though the mischief in your voice gave  away the fact that you were enjoying this too.

He groaned impatiently. “Why is your bedroom so far away?”

“It’s not, you’re just dramatic,” you chided softly, pressing a soft kiss on his lips and slipping away when he moved to cage you in his arms.

The need for each other was overwhelming, but you couldn’t risk waking anyone up, couldn’t let anyone see this side of you two yet.

When you finally reached your bedroom door, you turned to face Anton, curling your fingers in his shirt. “Don’t you dare go in there without me,” you said, pulling him toward you for another kiss, the same fervent kiss he’d been giving you all night.

As you both stumbled into the room, the door clicking shut behind you, everything else disappeared—the house, the people, the secrets. The room was quiet except for the sound of your uneven breaths. He was so close, his familiar face somehow different now, his eyes tracing yours like he was seeing you for the first time.

“This is insane,” you whispered, a shaky laugh slipping out as you broke eye contact. “Are we really gonna do this?”

“Oh, it’s totally up to you,” he said softly, his voice dipping lower as he tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear. “But right now, I can’t stop thinking about you… like this,” he added, his fingers brushing on the sleeves of your shirt, tugging it off slowly.

You let him undress you as your stomach fluttered at his confession. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned forward, your lips meeting his. It started soft, tentative, like you were afraid to push too far. But then his hand found the back of your neck, pulling you in, and suddenly it wasn’t soft anymore.

The kiss deepened, years of restraint unraveling all at once. He laid you back against the bed, his weight hovering over you. As his lips trailed down your neck with slow and careful kisses, your mind began to spiral with a sensation that was both new and unfamiliar.

When he got rid of your bra and revealed your bosoms before his eyes, he had to take a moment and look at you—really look at you, with a face of disbelief and amazement. That gaze made you shy, but you tried not to show it, hoping he liked what he was seeing. 

“This feels… a bit different,” he murmured, meeting your gaze. His voice trembled slightly, and it struck you that he was just as nervous as you were.

“Because it is,” you whispered back, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “But it’s still us.”

That seemed to settle something in him. He leaned down to kiss you again, only for a short while before abandoning your lips and moving to your neck. He licked and nipped at your skin, leaving a slight sting that sent shivers down your spine—a delightful balance of pain and pleasure. His lips trailed down to your collarbone, the center of your chest, and the soft hollow beneath your breast before moving to suck on your nipple.

The sudden jolt of pleasure made you arch your back, stifling a gasp that almost tore out of your lungs. Anton continued, eyes locked with yours, studying every expression you were making.

His hands grew bolder, fingertips traveling to your belly, down to your sex with curiosity and reverence. His motions were gentle at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But with each soft gasp or subtle shift of your body, his confidence grew. When his thumb brushed a spot that made you shiver, he paused, repeating the motion with a soft hum, like he’d just unlocked a secret meant only for him.

He already knew you so well—the way your eyes lit up when you were excited, the way your laugh sounded when you tried to muffle it, and the things that made you fold into yourself when you were upset. But this—this part of you—was new, uncharted territory neither of you had thought you’d ever explore.

“Didn’t know you could make that face,” he teased, tickling your ear.

A quiet laugh slipped out of you when his hand fumbled at an awkward angle. “You lost it,” you giggled and he let out a soft chuckle in return.

“Sorry. Where did it go?” he asked, grinning toothily. “Guess I’m not as smooth as I thought.”

You shook your head, still grinning, and cupped his jaw in your hand. “You’re doing fine.”

The laughter didn’t last long. It faded into urgency when you reached between his legs where his manhood was trapped in his tight jeans. Anton let out a pained grunt when your hand brushed it, murmuring “Fuck,” before backing away from you and stripping out of his clothes in a matter of seconds.

He dived back to your lips, crashing with intense fervor while his hand spread your legs wider. He held you tight as he positioned himself, shushing you gently as he slowly fitted himself inside. Every fiber in your body stood in attention, anticipating the delightful pain to shoot through you. And when it came, it was infinitely better than what you imagined.

Instinct took over as you clung to him, your pulse racing as he began to move at a languid pace, familiarizing before going at a steadier pace. The sheets twisted under your fingers, the soft rasp of his name escaping your lips as he pressed harder.

Every thrust ignited something inside you, every whispered murmur of your name leaving you more breathless than the last. You could no longer keep track of what was happening, too far gone to think clearly, but conscious enough to know you wanted more—more of him, more of this pleasure that was driving you insane in the best way possible.

After who knows how long, a throaty moan ripped out of you, your back arching as you let the high engulf you in waves. Anton kept his thrusts steady, riding through your high until your knees shook with too much stimulation. Then you fell back on the bed, limbs weak and your energy depleted.

When it was over, you lay tangled together, your pulse still racing as he held you in his arms. In the atmosphere was a quiet kind of understanding that didn’t need words. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, slowly pulling you out of the haze of desire.

You shifted slightly, looking up to find him already watching you. He was smiling, a little shy but undeniably happy. His hand slid up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face before letting his fingers linger on your jaw. 

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you smiled. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

The next morning, you woke up with Anton’s arm still wrapped around you, his warmth enveloping you nicely. The sunlight poured into the room and for a moment, it felt like nothing else in the world mattered. Your body was still tingling from the night before, but you were content and happy.

Anton stirred beside you, his arm tightening instinctively around your waist. He buried his face in your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“You awake?” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly along your jaw.

You smiled faintly, glancing up at him. “Yeah. We need to talk.”

He nodded, exhaling deeply as he stretched, the movement shifting you slightly before he pulled you close again. “Figured you’d say that,” he said, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. But then his expression softened. “I know I’ve got a lot to answer for.”

The night had brought you closer, but it had also left things unanswered, things that neither of you could avoid any longer.

You stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“I was an idiot,” he began, his tone quieter now. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away when you came back. I just... I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You blinked at him, watching his face and saw the faint flicker of guilt and uncertainty in his eyes. This was a side of Anton you hadn’t seen in a while—the one who let his guard down, even if only for a moment.

“I thought I’d lost you for good,” he continued, his voice steady but low. “You didn’t come for two summers. No calls, no texts—it felt like you disappeared, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

You frowned. “No one told you I was away for uni?” you asked sarcastically.

He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I knew. But…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. We didn’t talk much in the last two years. Different time zones, schedules, and all. You were out there, living your life. I see your posts online. You were killing it in school, making new friends, living your life. Hell, you even had a boyfriend at one point.” He chuckled bitterly, the sound more self-deprecating than amused. Then he continued. “I guess I got insecure and thought you were content living a life without me in it.”

“Come on. That’s not true,” you defended, scowling.

“I know,” he said quickly, cutting you off. “I know that now. But back then, it just... I don’t know how else to say it—it messed me up. Like I said, I was insecure.”

“So I decided to live my life too, and it was good. I learned lots of new things, met lots of people, and discovered interests in fields I didn’t know I had interest in. It was great.” He paused, swallowing hard, then muttered, “Then mom said you were coming for summer this year and suddenly, I was thinking about you again. I realized that I wasn’t mad because I felt abandoned and forgotten. I was just… in love with you.”

You gasped softly, pulse racing at his confession. Anton smiled at you as he continued. “I didn’t know how to deal with that and I knew you’d leave eventually, so I thought if I acted like you were a stranger, it’d hurt less when you’re gone. Obviously it didn’t. It just made everything worse.”

You could feel the sincerity of his words, the honesty finally breaking through the wall he’d built.

“You didn’t have to go through all that,” you said gently, your hand cupping his cheek. “I never forgot about you, Anton. I could never, even if I try. You and me, we’re like, stuck with each other.”

A faint smile broke through his solemn expression. “You make it sound like a punishment.”

You chuckled softly, your fingers brushing through his hair. “I mean, for me, it kind of is.”

His eyes widened slightly, surprised. “For real?”

“No,” you replied quickly, grinning and wrapping your arm tighter around him.

Anton chuckled. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re one to talk,” you retorted, your voice gentle and light.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet between you filled with the soft hum of the morning. Then Anton sighed. “I don’t want to screw this up,” he said. “Not with you. Not again.”

“You won’t,” you promised, your head resting against his chest as his arms wrapped around you. “I’ll kill you if you do.”

Anton’s expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I’ll do my best. I love living my life, you see.”

You nodded, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. There was no need for more words right now. You were finally on the same page, and for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

No one knew, and that was the beauty of it.

To the outside world, nothing had changed. You and Anton had always been close, always spent summers attached at the hip, so when you were together—laughing over shared inside jokes or disappearing for hours at a time—it wasn’t out of the ordinary. No one thought to question it. But for the two of you, everything was different.

You snuck out late at night, barefoot and giddy, to watch the stars from the beach. Anton would bring a blanket and a bottle of his dad’s wine he swiped from the kitchen, and the two of you would lie there for hours, trading stories and stolen kisses. Sometimes, you’d just sit in comfortable silence, your fingers intertwined, his lips occasionally pressing against your temple.

In the mornings, you’d meet for coffee at the little café down the street, pretending it was a casual thing when your families asked. But as soon as you were alone, Anton would squeeze himself beside you, smiling as he held your hand in his. 

“Think they’re catching on?” he’d tease, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“No idea,” you’d reply, grinning. “We’d probably get married and they’d think it’s just us being silly.”

Anton gasped, covering his mouth. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

You rolled your eyes, feigning exasperation. “Oh my god. Can you go back to being nonchalant? I don’t miss your old dramatic self.”

“Aw,” he said cutely, leaning his head on your shoulder. “Come on, baby. You don’t mean that.”

You revisited the places you’d loved as kids, seeing them through new eyes. The old treehouse near the playground became your hideout, where you’d sit together, legs tangled as you reminisced about summers past. 

“You used to boss me around so much here,” Anton would say, laughing when you nudged him. “Still do, actually.”

“You love it,” you’d shoot back, and he’d smirk before kissing you, his hand slipping beneath your shirt in a way that made you forget whatever you were about to say next.

There were days when you explored each other in ways that left you breathless—your skin tingling, your heart racing. Anton was patient and attentive, his touch both gentle and electrifying. He’d study you like he was learning a language, his lips tracing paths across your body as if trying to commit every inch of you to memory. You discovered parts of him, too—little things he liked, the way he shivered when you kissed just below his jaw, the way he whispered your name like a prayer whenever you gave him the ride of his life.

You got to know him in ways you never had before, and it made you fall harder. Behind his teasing and occasional grumpiness, there was a gentle boy, a vulnerability that he only ever let you see. And you held it close, cherishing every piece of him.

Together, you built a world of your own—one filled with secret smiles, lingering touches, and endless laughter. No one else was privy to it, and you liked it that way. The privacy made it feel more sacred, more yours.

You were looking for some cards in the drawers in Anton’s room when you spotted something familiar. Pulling it out, you found an old photo tucked between the pages of a dusty book. It was from one of those endless summers, taken when you and Anton were maybe sixteen. The two of you were sitting side by side on the wooden dock, feet dipped into the water. His grin was wide, his arm slung lazily over your shoulders, and your expression was somewhere between laughing and rolling your eyes.

“Hey, Anton,” you called out, walking into the living room where he was sprawled out on the couch. He glanced up lazily, but his eyes immediately sharpened when he saw what you were holding.

“Where’d you find that?” he asked, reaching for it.

“In your room. You didn’t think I’d find it tucked safely in your old guitar book?” you teased, holding the photo out of his reach.

He shook his head, smiling faintly. “Man, I looked so good back then.”

You snorted, flopping down beside him. “You’re ridiculous. You look the same, just taller and with more expensive haircuts.”

He raised a brow at you. “And you?”

You grinned. “I peaked at sixteen. Obviously.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You were annoying at sixteen.”

“Funny you say that,” you said, leaning back into the couch, the photo still clutched in your hand. “Because I had a crush on you back then.”

The confession rolled off your tongue casually, but the way Anton’s head snapped toward you was anything but casual.

“You what?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “No big deal. It didn’t even last long.”

Anton stared at you for a second, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, he crossed his arms and pouted, sulking like a child.

“That’s unfair,” he muttered.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What’s unfair?”

“That you stopped liking me,” he said, scowling. “Because I was in love with you around that time.”

Your mouth fell open. “No, you’re not.”

He grumbled something under his breath and refused to meet your eyes, but the tips of his ears were red.

“No, you’re not,” you repeated, half-laughing, half-shocked. You grabbed his arm and shook him playfully. “Come on, be serious. You’re lying, aren’t you?”

Anton just tutted and gave you a side-eye. Her mom walked in at that moment, struggling to hook her necklace.

“Sweetheart, come help me with this,” she asked, handing the jewelry to you. You quickly rose to help her. As you did, she narrowed her eyes at Anton and said, “Now, what’s going on? Are you guys fighting again?”

“Anton’s a liar,” you teased, glancing briefly at him. “He said he had a crush on me when we were sixteen.”

“Really?” Aunt Hyejin asked, tilting her head a little. She looked at you just as you finished locking her necklace. “You’re only finding out about it now?”

“Mom!” Anton interjected, standing up and dragging Aunt Hyejin away.

“What? I thought she knew the whole time,” Aunt Hyejin said, laughing as they disappeared into a corner.

You stood there dumbfounded and confused, though your heart was fluttering so much it made your cheeks burn.

Later that evening, you found yourself standing in front of a mirror. “Can you believe it?” you scoffed, turning toward Anton, who was buttoning up his shirt. “Me, going to Belle’s cocktail party?”

Anton, leaning against the doorframe as he adjusted his cufflinks. “If you hate it that much, we can just ditch.”

You rolled your eyes, smoothing out your skirt. “No. I’d love to see how you ended up being friends with those stuck-ups.” You paused, catching Anton’s gaze in the mirror. “Sorry, I forgot they’re your friends now.”

He smirked, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Well, they’re still stuck-ups. But they’re chill when you get to know them.”

You snorted. “We’ll see about that.”

Surprisingly, you did see. The cocktail party was better than you’d expected. The rich kids, despite their reputation, were easygoing and friendly once you got past their posh exteriors. Anton, fit right in as a rich kid himself, but his attention was never far from you.

At some point, someone mentioned Anton’s ‘first love’, and your ears perked up.

“He told us about her once, when he was drunk,” Belle said with a grin, sipping her drink. “ We’ve never seen Anton act and speak so cutely.”

You raised a brow, curious but playing it cool. “Really?”

Belle nodded, leaning in conspiratorially. “Yeah. Apparently, she used to tease him so much he wanted to strangle her half the time, but he also couldn’t imagine life without her.”

One guy added, “He even said she had this little laugh, you know, like a giggle that always got him. Man was a goner.”

“Yeah. He said she was his everything, but he was too scared to tell her. Isn’t that cute?”

Your heart skipped a beat as Anton avoided your gaze, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

Later, as you walked down the beach with Anton, your high heels dangling from one hand and your other hand holding onto his arm, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. The waves lapped at your feet, cool and soothing, as you glanced up at him.

“So,” you began, grinning, “I’m your everything, huh?”

Anton groaned, closing his eyes. “Don’t start.”

You laughed, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his jaw. “You’re so cute.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, but his hand tightened around yours.

You leaned against his chest, enjoying his warmth in the cool summer night.

“You were right,” you admitted, glancing up at him. “Your new friends aren’t so bad.”

“Told you,” he said smugly.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get cocky. I still think it’s hilarious you used to hate them and now you’re all buddy-buddy.”

Anton gave you a dry look. “Of course you do. I sometimes can’t believe it myself.”

You grinned mischievously. “Anton Lee, a social butterfly. Who would’ve thought?”

He chuckled softly. “Not me.”

The moonlight reflected off the water as you walked in comfortable silence, stealing kisses here and there. Your fingers were laced together, his thumb occasionally brushing against yours.

You glanced at him, the soft glow of the moonlight highlighting his features. It was hard to believe that this was the same boy you’d grown up with, the one who used to argue with you over who got the last piece of pizza or who could jump farther off the dock.

Being with him now, like this, felt surreal. But it also felt right.

“I still think you’re a loser, though,” you teased. Anton narrowed his eyes, and you saw the flicker of mischief in them a second too late.

“Take it back,” he said, his tone warning.

“Or what?” you taunted, stepping backward, a playful grin on your face.

He didn’t reply, already kicking off his shoes and rolling up his pants.

You shrieked, spinning around to run, the cool sand shifting under your bare feet. Anton’s laugh echoed behind you as he chased you down, his longer strides closing the distance easily.

“No!” you squealed, laughing so hard you could barely keep running.

It wasn’t long before he caught you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he lifted you off the ground. He spun you around, your laughter and shrieks echoing in the air.

Romantic relationships between childhood friends weren’t without their risks. You knew that. There was always the fear of ruining what had been there for so long, of losing not just a lover but a best friend. But as you glanced down at your intertwined hands, you realized you weren’t afraid.

Because no matter where life took you, as long as you were with Anton, you’d figure it out together.

[fin]

[fellominaarcher]

you're my favorite kind of night - karina x fem!reader

⤷ stripper!karina x g!p femreader

⤷ prev | next

⤷ content warning: sex sex sex (minors dni), smut with plot, penis & vagina, oral sex (Karina receiving), 18+ story, seduction and maybe a little toxic (?)

⤷ I'm kinda bad at describing sex scenes wtf and this is a long ass chapter!!

Seated in the quieter part of the strip club, Karina perched on a high stool, leaning lazily against the bar. Her cocktail sat half-finished in front of her, the ice melting into the amber liquid. The red and purple hues from the club’s dim lights painted her skin in soft, shifting colors as she stared at the neatly arranged bottles of whiskey and wine on the glass shelves.

The faint thrum of heavy bass pulsed through the walls, vibrating beneath her feet, settling into her bones. It was a constant reminder that this club, this life, was hers. Co-owning a strip club was insane, exhausting, unpredictable. But she had to admit, she found joy in it.

It was still early, just past 5 PM. The club wasn’t alive yet, only a few patrons scattered around, nursing drinks before the real crowd poured in. Outside, people were still stuck in traffic, wrapping up their 9-to-5 lives, while inside, the DJ played soft, ambient beats to warm up the place.

A week since that night, the stunt Y/N pulled, the shattered whiskey glass, and the sex that followed.

Maybe, just maybe, she missed her. Or maybe she just missed fucking her.

The way Y/N moved, fluid and confident, sending shivers down her spine. The weight of her touch was possessive, greedy like she owned every inch of Karina’s body.

Karina swallowed hard, the thought igniting something deep in her stomach. Her skin still tingled at the memory of Y/N’s fingers tangled in her hair, knuckles buried deep inside her.

A sharp tap of boots against the floor cut through her haze. Someone was approaching.

A man in a dark suit stopped beside her, clutching a brown A4-sized envelope. Without a word, he bowed slightly before extending it toward her.

Karina exhaled slowly, turning to face him. Probably one of her employees. She accepted the envelope, her grip firm but her expression unreadable.

Karina barely spared him a glance as she accepted it, her fingers tracing over the rough paper. "Good work. Everything I need is in here, right?" Her voice was smooth, measured, but there was an edge to it, something that smelled of an excitement.

The man offered a slight smile and nodded. "Yes, Ms. Yoo. Everything you need is in there," he confirmed, his response short and efficient. With another respectful bow, he turned on his heels and disappeared into the club.

Karina sat still for a moment, staring at the envelope.

Then, with a slow inhale, she reached for her cocktail and downed the rest in one go. The burn of vodka mixed with apple slid down her throat, the sting settling into her chest.

She let out a quiet laugh, a breathy exhale, before leaning her cheek against her palm. Her fingers tapped lightly against the bar, eyes still fixed on the envelope in front of her.

"Think I might be crazy..." She pursed her lips, bracing herself, willing herself to open it. But she just kept staring.

──────────────────────

A sleek, glossy black Peugeot sedan rolled to a smooth stop beside a weathered, faint brown building, a breakfast joint, now shuttered for the night. A few stragglers wandered along the quiet street under the soft glow of streetlights. The air was crisp, neither too warm nor biting cold. A typical night.

11:34 PM.

The chauffeur exited the vehicle and opened the passenger door.

Karina stepped out, the sharp sound of her red-bottomed pumps slicing through the stillness. A dark brown, ankle-length coat draped her figure like a second skin, flaring ever so slightly at her calves as she moved.

In her hand, she carried a brown paper bag housing a Château Lafite 1869 and a small bouquet of red, white, and pink roses. Her eyes lifted toward the towering glass-clad building ahead, a slow smirk curling on her lips.

“Do you need me to walk you there, Ms. Yoo?” the chauffeur offered politely.

Karina turned, suppressing the growing excitement with a subtle purse of her lips. "It's fine. I’ll handle it myself," she replied, voice calm and deliberate.

She stepped back from the car, heels clicking confidently on the pavement. "Stay alert. I may call you later to take me home," she added without looking back.

“Yes, ma’am,” the chauffeur nodded as Karina strode away, fully focused.

──────────────────────

Karina’s steps were measured, precise. Every movement radiated purpose, as if this night had been carved into her bones. She moved through the empty sidewalk like a woman on a mission, her mind sharp and her thoughts singular.

When she reached the entrance, she pressed her hand against the cool glass door, pushing it open with a smooth motion.

Inside, the lobby was pristine, marble floors, soft lighting, and the faint scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air.

At the reception desk sat a young woman, perfectly poised but visibly inexperienced, eyes flickering up to Karina with a polite, almost cautious smile.

“Good evening, miss. May I ask if you’re visiting someone tonight?”

Karina's stride didn’t falter as she approached the desk, movements fluid and deliberate. Her towering presence, magnified by the length of her coat and the confident arch of her brow sent an unspoken message before she even spoke.

Karina leaned in slightly, voice lowered to a velvet hum, eyes locked on the receptionist with quiet dominance. “Penthouse 114,” she said, her tone somewhere between a command and a whisper.

The receptionist blinked, straightening in her chair. “Ah, I… don’t see your name on the guest list for 114 tonight.” Her voice wavered faintly.

Karina smiled, slow and deliberate. It didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well,” she murmured, setting the paper bag and bouquet gently onto the counter, “I wasn’t asked to make a reservation. I was asked to come.” She made sure to make the statement.

The receptionist shifted uncomfortably.

Karina’s eyes glinted. “Would you like me to call the penthouse owner myself and explain why their guest is being held at the door?” Karina's tone was faux and borderline threatening.

It was subtle but suffocating, the way Karina’s voice never rose above a gentle murmur yet pressed firmly against the receptionist’s nerves like a blade against skin.

The receptionist���s throat bobbed with a small swallow. “N-no, that won’t be necessary, Ms…?”

“Yoo,” Karina filled in smoothly, her lips tugging upward in a way that felt both reassuring and threatening.

The receptionist exhaled quietly, cheeks flushing. “My apologies, Ms. Yoo,” she stammered. “The elevator is yours.” She gestured awkwardly toward the glass doors behind her.

Karina gathered the bouquet and wine once more, her smirk deepening. “Thank you, darling,” she purred, before sauntering past the desk.

Her heels echoed with deliberate grace, her figure cutting through the pristine lobby like she owned it.

Inside the elevator, Karina let out a soft breath, eyes dark as they settled on her reflection. The weight of anticipation, of craving, pulled at her every step.

And tonight, she wouldn’t be leaving empty-handed.

──────────────────────

The sharp buzz of the doorbell echoed through the quiet hum of the penthouse. Y/N barely registered it, eyes glued to the dense paperwork littering her desk. The company was going through major restructuring by summer—new positions, new alliances, and new problems she’d need to clean up.

The doorbell buzzed again, more impatient this time.

Clicking her tongue, Y/N sighed and pushed back her chair. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants as she shuffled through the dimly lit living room, indoor slippers making soft sounds on the dark hardwood floors. The place was bathed in deep shadows and warm ambient lighting, oozing understated luxury.

Her black tee clung slightly to her frame, and her glasses were perched lazily on the bridge of her nose. Late-night visitors weren’t exactly common, and curiosity tugged at her.

Ignoring the video intercom by the door, she simply unlocked it and swung it open.

Her eyes traveled from the red-bottomed pumps up to the sharp curve of the hips hidden beneath a long, dark brown coat, and finally to that familiar face, framed by waves of midnight hair.

Y/N froze. “Karina?” she breathed, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The faintest smirk tugged at Karina’s lips, smug, knowing, dangerous. She didn’t answer immediately, choosing instead to push past Y/N with her shoulder, forcing the door open wider. The subtle bump of her body sent a shiver through Y/N, who stood motionless, caught between confusion and anticipation.

Karina’s heels echoed softly as she sauntered further into the penthouse, her eyes gliding over the pristine interior. Clean, expensive, and scented faintly of vanilla—the same scent she remembered clinging to Y/N’s skin after their last encounter.

She turned, gaze sharp and predatory as it roamed over Y/N, still standing awkwardly by the door. “Vice President energy,” Karina teased with a low chuckle, tossing Y/N a playful thumbs up. “I see that you're the rich who've got a taste.”

Y/N crossed her arms, trying to suppress the small excitement trying to crawl all over her body. “How do you know where I live, Karina?” Her voice held a thin edge of suspicion.

Karina’s dark eyes glittered with amusement. “Hmm… you’ve driven me home more than a few times. I figured it’s only fair.” She gave a casual shrug, dripping with faux innocence.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Except I asked for your address. You, what? Followed me? Dug up my personal records?”

Karina’s lips parted slightly, her smile wicked as if to say bingo. “Maybe I just have a vested interest,” she purred.

The tension was palpable now, heavy between them. Y/N’s pulse quickened as Karina casually placed the brown paper bag onto the marble-topped side table, revealing the bouquet of roses and a bottle of Château Lafite.

Y/N’s throat felt dry as she watched Karina, who stood there, eyes gleaming like a cat that had just cornered its prey.

Then Karina’s fingers slipped beneath the belt of her coat. Slowly, deliberately, she undid the buttons, one by one. The coat slipped from her shoulders like a second skin, pooling on the floor.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Karina stood there clad in dark red lingerie, intricate lace hugging her curves, leaving very little to the imagination.

“You look stupid,” Karina murmured, tilting her head. “Glasses, sweatpants... you weren’t expecting me.” She pouted as she threw the insults to Y/N's way.

Y/N felt her body tense, overwhelmed by the simmering tension radiating from the woman before her. Karina’s voice dropped, velvet and low. “It’s not sensible to feel this way, Y/N…”

And yet Y/N couldn’t look away.

Karina closed the gap between them in a few slow steps, her body grazing against Y/N’s. Her fingers reached up to pluck Y/N’s glasses from her face, letting them clatter to the floor with little care.

Karina tilted her head, eyes locked onto Y/N’s as if daring her to move away. She pressed her lips against Y/N’s, light, barely a whisper of a kiss then deepened it, tasting her like a long-lost craving.

Y/N staggered slightly as Karina’s hands gripped her tense shoulders, guiding her backward, mouth never leaving hers.

Karina smirked between kisses. “Bedroom’s this way, right?” she whispered against Y/N’s lips, voice dripping with dark amusement as she navigated through unfamiliar territory like she owned it.

Temptation incarnate, Karina wasn’t just here for a visit. She was here to devour.

Karina’s breath ghosted over Y/N’s lips as their eyes met—dark, heady, and laced with a tension neither wanted to break. The flicker of defiance in Karina’s gaze only fueled Y/N’s own possessive hunger. The distance between them was close enough that Y/N could feel the silky fabric of Karina’s lingerie brushing against her clothed skin.

Y/N’s fingers twitched at her sides, but Karina was the first to move, her hands trailing down Y/N’s chest before curling around the hem of the black tee. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted it up inch by inch, revealing the toned plane of Y/N’s stomach, the slow rise and fall of breath betraying the restraint Y/N was fighting to maintain.

Y/N’s muscles loosened, her thumb brushed Karina’s lower lip possessively before she leaned in to kiss her, slow and deliberate. The kiss wasn’t sweet. It was claiming and it was an unspoken message. Karina moaned softly against Y/N’s lips, letting herself to be enveloped by Y/N's warmth.

Hands roamed, hungry. Y/N’s fingers brushed Karina’s bare thigh and she's standing there in nothing but that sinful dark red lingerie, Karina looked like a wicked dream. Lace clung to every perfect curve, accentuating her figure in a way that made Y/N’s control waver.

Karina’s fingers didn’t stay idle either. She dragged her nails lightly down Y/N’s stomach, teasing the waistband of the sweatpants. She hooked her thumbs in, tugging them just enough to tease the bulge pressing desperately against Y/N’s sweatpants.

The stripper pulled away a little and she grabbed Y/N's wrist firmly, leading the taller woman down the hall of the penthouse and finding the biggest room—the master bedroom, Karina twisted the door handle then pushing the door open and she shamelessly inviting the owner of the place to spend the night with her within these luxurious walls.

Grabbing Karina by the waist, Y/N hoisted her up, and Karina instinctively wrapped her legs around Y/N’s hips, gasping softly. Their mouths found each other again, kissing deeper this time—messy, consuming, as if they hadn’t touched in years instead of just days.

With Karina clinging to her, Y/N strode in further into the room and tossed Karina onto the bed, eliciting a soft yelp followed by a breathless laugh.

Karina propped herself up on her elbows, eyes gleaming as she watched Y/N strip off the rest of her clothes with a predatory grace. Karina’s gaze dropped to Y/N’s hardened length pressing through the briefs, and her breath hitched.

Y/N crawled onto the bed, hovering over Karina, but before she could touch her, Karina reached up and wrapped her fingers around the back of Y/N’s neck, pulling her down into another kiss. Their bodies molded together, bare skin meeting bare skin, heat radiating in waves.

Y/N’s hand slid beneath the stripper’s back, unclasping the rest of her bra and tossing it aside. Karina’s breath trembled when Y/N’s fingers grazed her chest before trailing lower, tracing along the lace waistband of Karina’s matching panties.

“Take it off,” Y/N commanded softly, voice velvet but edged with flaming desire.

Karina arched a brow, teasing, but obeyed. Slowly, she hooked her thumbs in the waistband and shimmied out of the delicate fabric, tossing it toward the floor. Now completely bare beneath Y/N, she reached up and help to pull Y/N’s boxer down in one fluid motion, letting Y/N kick them off fully.

There was a beat where they just stared at each other with desire burning, resentment simmering beneath, and a dangerous affection neither could admit out loud.

Y/N’s lips ghosted over Karina’s jaw, down her neck, biting softly on the tender skin before kissing the spot she marked. Karina gasped, nails digging into Y/N’s back as Y/N’s length pressed heavily against her thigh.

“I want you to ruin me tonight,” Karina whispered shakily, surrendering to the chaos that only Y/N could stir in her.

Karina's fingers traced along the curves of Y/N's chest as she leaned in close, her breath hot against Y/N's neck. "Mmmm, you're looking so good," Karina purred, pressing soft kisses along Y/N's jawline. Y/N shivered at her touch, a familiar stirring growing in her loins.

Sliding a leg between Karina's thighs, Y/N gently ground her hips against the other girl's heat, eliciting a gasp. "You're already so wet for me," Y/N murmured, cupping one of Karina's perky breasts. Karina arched into the touch with a moan, grinding back against Y/N's hard bulge.

Y/N took a rosy nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the stiff peak as her hand kneaded the other breast. Karina tangled her fingers in Y/N's hair, holding her close. Her sighs were soft.

Y/N worked her way down Karina's body, kissing a trail over her soft stomach until she reached the edge of her waist. Karina lay bare before her, glistening folds already slick with arousal. Y/N couldn't wait any longer, she dived in and her tongue was gentle on the first lap. Her fingers pressed into Karina's flesh as she swirled her tongue around Karina's entrance—making the stripper exhaled out of pleasure.

"Fuck..." Karina moaned out while feeling Y/N's clever tongue swiping her folds and Karina's hand fisting in Y/N's hair as her hips bucked forward, right into Y/N's face. "You're so good at this, Y/N, oh fuck..." Her voice was shaky while she praised the woman below her.

Y/N licked and sucked at Karina's clit, alternating between firm pressure and feather-light flicks that had the midnight haired woman thrashing and begging for more. She drove two fingers knuckle-deep into Karina's slick heat, curling them just right to hit that special spot.

The stripper tapped Y/N's head to halt her and Y/N stopped, lift her head up to meet Karina's gaze and the look in her eyes were questioning Karina's intention this time without even the need to verbalize her question. Karina gestured Y/N with her finger to move up and their lips pressed again, meeting into a messy kiss and Karina tasted herself on Y/N's tongue.

Her tongue danced with Y/N's, exploring every crevice of her mouth. She could taste the sweetness of Y/N's lips, craving more with each passing second. Karina eventually was pressed back on the bed and Y/N got in between her legs as the kisses move down from the lips to Karina's neck.

With that, Y/N positioned herself between Karina’s legs, letting her length slide teasingly against her folds, eliciting a sharp gasp from the woman beneath her. Y/N’s lips pressed against Karina’s neck, voice deep and hungry.

“This is mine,” Y/N growled as she pushed inside, slow and deliberate, claiming every inch.

Karina’s moan filled the room, her back arching, nails clawing into Y/N’s skin as the mixture of pain and pleasure tangled deliciously between them.

Y/N began to move deep, rough, but steady as her body pressing Karina deeper into the mattress as she kissed her like she owned her, swallowing every sound, every gasp, every broken moan. Karina met every thrust with equal fervor, clinging to Y/N like her life depended on it.

The room smelled of vanilla and sex.

Tonight, neither of them cared who was right or wrong. All they wanted was this chaos, the pleasure, the control, the power struggle, and the quiet ache that hid beneath it all.

Y/N gritted her teeth as she pushed in deeper, the wet heat of Karina around her driving her halfway to madness. The way Karina clung to her, legs locked tight around Y/N’s waist, nails dragging red lines down her back, it was like a dare, a silent challenge for Y/N to push harder, take more.

Karina’s head tilted back, exposing her throat as moans spilled freely from her lips. Every slow grind of Y/N’s hips dragged a whimper from deep inside her, but Karina’s pride burned too hot to fully surrender.

“So slow,” Karina panted, voice dripping with provocation as her fingers fisted Y/N’s hair, tugging just enough to force Y/N to look her in the eyes. “I thought you were gonna ruin me.”

Y/N’s gaze darkened, and the next thrust was anything but slow—deep and unforgiving, knocking the breath from Karina’s lungs.

“Oh, fine say that, Karina.” Y/N growled, voice low and guttural as she pinned both of Karina’s wrists above her head, trapping her against the mattress.

Karina’s lips parted in a gasp, but her eyes are blazing with lust and a teasing glint that held no fear. Only invitation.

Y/N leaned down, mouth grazing the stripper’s ear, voice dripping with warning, “You’re mine tonight.”

Karina shivered beneath her, but her voice remained steady as she whispered, “Prove it.”

The words were gasoline on an already blazing fire.

Y/N shifted her grip, one hand still holding Karina’s wrists hostage, the other trailing down her side, fingers digging into soft flesh as she picked up a punishing pace. Each thrust rocked the bed frame, creaking beneath their wild momentum.

Karina whimpered, biting down on her lip to muffle her moans, but Y/N wasn’t having it. She dipped her head and licked a slow line along Karina’s neck before biting down, hard enough to sting.

“Let me hear you,” Y/N hissed.

And Karina did. She let go, voice breaking with a moan that trembled on the edge of a sob. The roughness, the restraint, the sheer dominance. It broke through every defense she’d put up.

“Y/N,” Karina gasped, her voice faltering as Y/N fucked her deeper, rougher.

Karina could feel herself unraveling, her mind clouding as her body melted beneath Y/N’s weight. Still, even with her breath catching and body aching with pleasure, Karina arched her hips defiantly, grinding herself harder against Y/N.

“I'm afraid you might actually like whatever we've been doing,” Karina taunted between breathless moans, that sharp tongue refusing to fully submit.

Y/N laughed bitterly, eyes narrowing as she released Karina’s wrists and flipped her over, pressing her chest into the mattress. Karina barely had time to catch her breath before Y/N gripped her hips and slammed back inside, stealing every ounce of oxygen from her lungs.

“Keep running your mouth,” Y/N snarled as she bent over, her hand tangling in Karina’s hair, yanking her head back so their faces were side by side. “I’ll keep fucking you until you can’t speak.”

Karina whimpered, her pride hanging on by a thread as Y/N’s pace grew merciless. Skin slapping against skin, the sharp sting of teeth grazing her neck, the commanding weight behind every movement, it was too much and not enough.

But underneath it all, there was that addictive thread of emotion, fraying quietly beneath the lust.

Y/N pressed a kiss to the shell of Karina’s ear, almost tender, even as her thrusts remained deep and bruising. “I don’t care how much you push me away,” Y/N murmured, voice strained but sincere. “You’re still mine when I fuck you like this.”

Karina bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, heart pounding. In this chaos, this dangerous push-and-pull, she felt alive and wanted.

Karina’s body trembled as she felt herself nearing the edge, and she gasped, “Y/N, don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” Y/N promised, voice rough and breaking with her own nearing release.

Y/N’s grip on Karina’s hips tightened as she slammed harder, deeper, until Karina cried out, her orgasm crashing over her in waves. Y/N followed a heartbeat later, releasing deep inside her as she cursed against Karina’s skin, hips slowing as the aftershocks pulsed through them both.

They stayed like that, panting and tangled, bodies slick with sweat and trembling from how very intense their bodies connected within the dim, lavish walls.

Slowly, Y/N loosened her hold, brushing Karina’s hair away from her face as she pressed a kiss to her temple. Soft, reverent.

Karina turned her head slightly, eyes fluttering open as she met Y/N’s gaze. The fire between them hadn’t dimmed, but in the quiet aftermath, something softer flickered beneath the surface.

Neither said a word.

Probably the post-sex stuff getting to them.

Because in this moment, with bruises blooming beneath fingertips and hearts pounding too fast, words weren’t necessary.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

prev | next

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ swan song ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! please be sure to check out their profile for squid game fanfictions, they have helped me with my works and their writing is perfection! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ the rain cascaded in a relentless downpour, burying the world in its somber rhythm. you stood motionless, soaked to the bone, your tattered black satin gown clinging to your pallid skin, pearls glinting faintly in the dim moonlight. across from you stood cho sang-woo, his tailored suit stained with smears of blood that had long since dried, a stark contrast to the high-class reputation he once upheld. there had been a time when the sight of him would have filled you with affection, a time when you had imagined him as your husband, the man you would spent all of eternity with.

˚ ༘♡ the man before you now bore no resemblance to the one you had loved so deeply. where once there had been kindness, there was now a malicious cruelty. the charm that had drawn you in, the quiet strength and righteous honesty, had been nothing more than a facade. before the games, your lives had seemed perfect, lavish dinners at exclusive steakhouses, extravagant shopping trips, the allure of wealth. yet it was never the riches that held your heart. you had loved him for the moments of vulnerability, the whispered dreams during midnight strolls, the promises of a future built on trust. now, those memories felt like lies, twisted shadows of a man who no longer existed.

˚ ༘♡ his grip on the knife was steady, the same blade he had used to take sae-byeok’s life. you could still see her fragile form laid on the ground, blood swarming under her stiff body as her she weakly murmured her little brother’s name. she had begged for another chance to see him again, her eyes glazed with fear and dread, only to be silenced in a merciless slashing. that moment was etched into your soul, an infested wound that refused to heal. you had pleaded with gi-hun to spare sang-woo when the opportunity arose, your love for him, a ghost of what it once was, still clinging to the hope that he could be saved. however, sparing him had been a mistake.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo had demonstrated no remorse. he had turned his blade on gi-hun after being confronted for sae-byeok’s murder, killing his childhood best friend with little hesitation, leaving you as the only two left to face the end. now, as the rain fell in endless torrents, you stood in the storm’s heart, the past unraveling between you. the love you had once cherished lay shattered at your feet, replaced by a chasm of betrayal and regret.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you called out, your voice steady despite the quivering in your limbs. your gaze locked onto his, and slowly, deliberately, you let the knife slip from your grasp. it landed in the rain-soaked sand with a muted thud, quickly swallowed by the muck. droplets cascaded down your face, obscuring your vision, but you didn’t look away. “you’ve killed so many,” you said, your voice carrying over the storm, though faint and muffled. “innocent strangers, people who trusted you, those who loved you. i’m no different.”

˚ ༘♡ his jaw clenched as his face contorted with rage. “pick up the damn knife!” he shouted, his voice raw and jagged. his body shook, a mix of fury and something more fragile, a deep, unspoken torment etched into his expression. his eyes betrayed him, scorned and sorrowful.

˚ ༘♡ “i will not,” you replied softly, your soaked hair sticking to your melancholic face. “i won’t fight you. i can’t.” your breathing troubled as you continued, words tumbling out between the harsh pouring of the rain. “even if i won… what would it matter? what’s left for me to go back to? the money won’t mend this. it can’t rid what’s been done, the people we’ve lost, the pieces of ourselves we’ll never get back.”

˚ ༘♡ for a split second, his grip on the knife loosened, his fingers moving as though fighting an internal war, but just as quickly, they tightened. blood trailed down the cut across his face, mingling with the rain, streaking his skin with crimson. “damn it!” he barked, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. “stop being so difficult and come here! let’s finish this!”

˚ ༘♡ “no, sang-woo,” you said firmly, taking a step toward him, unarmed, your hands open at your sides. “if the money is all you care about, if you’re so desperate to go back and see your mother, to undo all your mistakes, to lead the life you desire, to have a beautiful home, a loving wife, good children, then kill me. go ahead. take the knife and end the game.”

˚ ༘♡ tears burned your eyes, falling hot and salty down your face before the rain could wash them away. you moved closer, mere inches from him now, your voice low and steady, almost a whisper. “do it,” you murmured. “you’ll have to, or neither of us gets anything, and i won’t hurt you, sang-woo.”

˚ ༘♡ his arm lifted, the knife angled toward your chest. his jaw tightened, his breathing ragged, but he didn’t strike. the blade hovered between you, shaking ever so slightly. “i… i can’t kill you,” he said, his voice breaking as the words escaped him.

˚ ༘♡ “but you could kill sae-byeok?” you asked, voice hoarse, choking on your words, your lips curving downward in a frown. “you could kill gi-hun? their lives meant less than mine? sae-byeok had her little brother waiting for her, and gi-hun has a daughter who will never understand why her father didn’t come back.” your voice grew softer, mellowed by despair. “their lives were important, sang-woo. their lives held no less value than yours or mine.”

˚ ༘♡ his face became grim, a flash of anguish breaking through his hardened mask. “don’t you think i understand that?” he shouted, his voice catching on the words. his free hand pressed against his chest as though the pain inside was physical, unbearable. “i didn’t do it because i wanted to! you think i enjoyed it? you think i’m a sadist?” his voice cracked, his desperation bleeding into every word. “everything i’ve done… i had no choice! i have to fix this. i have to make it right. otherwise, what was all of this for? the sacrifices, the suffering, it will mean nothing!”

˚ ༘♡ the rain fell harder, drowning out the quietude, as his words hung in the air, each one more bitter than the last. you could see it, the guilt embedded into his aged face, the torment tearing him apart, but it didn’t undo the blood on his hands.

˚ ༘♡ your fingers wrapped around his trembling hand, guiding the blade to your throat. the cold metal kissed your skin, and your voice was composed despite the tears falling freely down your face. “go home, sang-woo,” you said softly, your grip strengthened to keep his hand close to you.

˚ ༘♡ his face was streaked with rain and tears now, his composure unraveling. his breathing was uneven, his chest heaving as he tried to pull the knife away. “i won’t do it,” he choked out, his voice hoarse, trembling with something between anguish and resolve. his fingers curled tighter around the hilt, but not to push forward, only to keep it from you. “i won’t kill you.”

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the rain pounding against the earth. your gaze shifted to the stormy horizon, staring blankly at the void ahead. “sang-woo,” you whispered, your tone solemn, distant. “do you remember that night you stayed over at my place? you said you liked my cooking, even though we both knew it was awful. and i laughed at all your ridiculous, outdated jokes and listened to your business jargon, even when i didn’t know half the terms you used, i liked being the woman you spent your days with.” a faint, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips, though it was short-lived, disappearing as quickly as it came. “that’s the day i remember the most. not the gifts, not the trips, not the money. none of it mattered to me. only mattered. i wanted you, nothing else.”

˚ ༘♡ his breath snagged, his lips parting to speak, but no words came. you turned your tear-streaked face toward him, meeting his tormented gaze. “it will never be like that again,” you said, your voice breaking. “we can’t go back, sang-woo. not after everything.”

˚ ༘♡ before he could react, you wrenched the knife from his hand with a sudden, sharp motion. his eyes widened, panic flashing across his face as he reached for you. but it was too far too late. the blade pierced your throat with brutal precision, and the warmth of your blood poured over your trembling hands. you staggered, the world moving and fading around you, your legs giving out beneath you as you collapsed.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo…” you murmured, your voice barely audible as you crumpled to the wet sand. scarlet-red ichor spilled out in thick rivers, melding with the rain-soaked earth.

˚ ༘♡ “no!” he screamed, his voice raw and broken, as he fell to his knees beside you. quivering hands reached for you, lifting your head from the wet sand as rain pelted down in icy sheets. his tears mingled with the blood streaking your face, his sobs shaking his entire body. “please, no… don’t do this,” he choked out, desperation lacing every word. “stay with me, please.”

˚ ༘♡ you opened your mouth to speak, but the words came weak, barely audible over the thunderous rain. “my… my family,” you sputtered, your voice thick with the blood flooding your throat. each breath was a struggle, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. “tell them… tell them i won’t be there anymore, okay?” your fingers, trembling and cold, lifted to brush against his bloodied cheek. your touch was feather-light, tender despite your waning strength. “sang-woo… please, don’t forget me, okay?”

˚ ༘♡ his face was agonized, tears streaming past the injuries that marred his angular features, it was rare to see him so emotional, so delirious with grief. “i won’t,” he swore, his voice cracking beneath the strain of his grief. “i won’t forget you. i’ll never…” he stopped, his words caught in his throat as he pressed his hands to the gaping wound on your neck, desperate to stop the flow of blood. it was a futile effort, the red blood spilled through his fingers, staining the sand beneath you. “please, stay with me,” he whispered, his voice shatterred into a sob. “don’t leave me. please. i can’t live without you.”

˚ ༘♡ his desperate efforts were all in vain. the life was draining from your body, the world dimming around you. your breaths came slower, softer, each one feeling close to your last. his frantic cries grew distant, muffled as if you were slipping underwater. your vision blurred, the storm above fading into oblivion. and yet, through it all, his face remained clear as could be, the pain in his dark eyes burned into your thoughts.

˚ ༘♡ the last sound you heard was not his voice, but something colder, emptier. an emotionless voice echoed through the air, chilling and robotic, void of anything human.

˚ ༘♡ “player 177, eliminated.”

˚ ༘♡ you exhaled one final breath, your hand falling limply from sang-woo’s bloodied face as the darkness consumed you.

a/n: another cho sang-woo fanfiction!! he’s my favorite character so there will definitely be more for him!!! please let me know you if any requests and your thoughts on this story! 🤍

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1880 - labyrinth of my heart

chapter summary: When walking the streets of Chicago he spots you across the street, so real, so alive. Logan takes this as a second chance; but fear slowly slithers up, making him wonder if he'll lose you all over again.

word count: 9.3k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: first, i want to say thank you so much for the support and love for this series! this is way shorter than the first chapter, only because i wanted the ending to feel abrupt to hopefully make it feel more realistic. anyways, i'm super excited for next chapter since it's a concept i haven't ever really done before. but for now, enjoy this while it lasts :)

warnings/tags: fluff, angst, outdated mindsets on women, character death

series masterlist - chapter 1 → chapter 3

Logan left New York City after you died, going back to Victor who told him exactly what he expected to hear, ‘you shouldn’t have fallen in love,’ and ‘the only people we can trust is each other’.

The Civil War had begun seven years after your death as he and Victor fought for the North for four whole years. There was one thing he always kept with him, the ring he bought for you, that he never got to use. It stayed in his pocket at all times, never leaving, always there.

He had been doing the same thing he was doing before he met you, moving around the country, never staying in a spot for too long, doing odd jobs to stay afloat.

Logan found himself in Chicago, walking along the sidewalk, the faint sound of a train in the distance. The air was heavy with the scent of coal smoke, the city bustling with life in the late afternoon. Men in long coats and women in modest dresses hurried past him, some tipping their hats in his direction as he walked by. It was just another city to him, another place he would pass through on his way to nowhere in particular.

It had been 26 years since you died. Twenty-six long years, but to Logan, it still felt like yesterday. The weight of your loss hadn’t lessened. If anything, it had only grown heavier. Every town, every face he saw, reminded him of you in some way. That soft smile you always wore, the way you’d brush your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. He kept your memory alive in the smallest of ways. The ring he’d never had the chance to give you stayed in his pocket, its presence a constant, painful reminder.

He walked without a destination, his mind lost in the past as his feet carried him down the streets of Chicago. The city had a pulse of its own, far different from the quiet life in New York where you’d once lived, where you had died in his arms. He hadn't felt truly alive since then—just going through the motions of life, the decades slipping by as if time itself didn’t matter.

As Logan neared a small schoolhouse, something caught his eye. A group of children were gathered outside, their laughter echoing through the street as they played. But it wasn’t the children that caused Logan to stop. It was the woman standing among them, her smile bright as she helped one of the younger boys tie his shoe. The world around him seemed to blur, fading away as his gaze locked onto her.

It was you.

Logan’s heart stilled in his chest. He blinked, sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him, but there you were, the same face, the same gentle presence. You looked exactly as you had all those years ago—maybe a little younger, maybe a little different, but unmistakably you.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. He just stood there, watching you laugh with the children, completely unaware of his presence. His mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. You were dead. He had been there. He had held you as you took your last breath, felt the life leave your body. And yet, here you were, as if the last 26 years had never happened.

Logan’s feet moved on their own, pulling him closer to the schoolyard. His heart pounded in his chest, his throat dry. His mind raced with a thousand questions. How could this be? Was it some kind of dream? A cruel trick?

But the closer he got, the more real you became. You were wearing a simple dress, your hair tied up in a way he hadn’t seen before, and yet everything about you felt so familiar. The way you carried yourself, the warmth in your eyes as you spoke to the children—it was all you.

“Excuse me, miss,” he called out, his voice rougher than he intended.

You turned at the sound of his voice, your eyes meeting his for the first time, and Logan felt his heart lurch. It was like being thrown back in time—like the years between this moment and the day you died had vanished. You looked at him with a polite curiosity, but there was no recognition in your eyes. No flicker of memory. To you, he was just a stranger.

“Yes, can I help you?” you asked, your voice soft, kind.

Logan’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. How could he possibly explain what was running through his mind? How could he tell you that he had loved you, that he had lost you, and that now—somehow—you were standing in front of him again?

“I... I thought I knew you,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. He didn’t trust himself to say more. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the ring in his pocket suddenly feeling heavier than ever.

You smiled, but it was the smile of someone trying to be polite, not of someone who knew him. “I don’t think we’ve met before,” you said. “I’m Y/N. I’m the schoolteacher here.”

Logan swallowed hard. Of course, you wouldn’t remember. You had no idea who he was, no memory of the life you’d lived before. To you, this was just another day, another moment. But to Logan, it was everything. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. You were here, alive again, but you weren’t his Y/N. Not yet, anyway.

“I’m Logan,” he finally managed, his voice thick with emotion he couldn’t hide. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, his heart aching in a way that felt both familiar and new.

You nodded, offering another warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Logan. Was there something you needed?”

Logan shook his head slowly, still reeling from the shock of seeing you again. “No,” he said quietly. “No, I... I just thought you looked like someone I used to know.”

You tilted your head slightly, a curious look in your eyes. “I get that sometimes. Chicago’s a big city, but it can feel small.”

Logan nodded, though his mind was far from this moment. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from you, couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some kind of miracle—a second chance. But what could he do with it? Could he approach you, tell you everything? Or would that only drive you away?

Before he could say anything more, the school bell rang, and the children started to gather their things. You glanced back at the sound, then looked at him with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I have to get back to my class. But maybe I’ll see you around?”

Logan nodded, his throat too tight to respond with words. He watched as you turned and walked back toward the schoolhouse, his heart aching with the weight of all the things he couldn’t say.

For the first time in 26 years, Logan felt hope stir in his chest. You were here. You were alive. And even if you didn’t remember him, even if you didn’t know who he was... he couldn’t walk away. Not this time.

---

Logan stayed near the schoolyard most afternoons, hidden just enough not to draw attention, watching you from a distance. It felt strange, almost painful, standing there, knowing you had no idea who he was. Every time you emerged from the schoolhouse with Ida, another schoolteacher, chatting and laughing, the urge to approach you tugged at him. But fear held him back—fear that you’d think he was insane, or worse, that you’d reject him outright.

He clenched his fists inside his coat pockets, feeling the cool metal of the ring press against his palm. It had been with him through wars, across states, through lifetimes. And now, here you were, alive again, and he still didn’t know what to do with it.

It was absurd, the way his heart raced just from seeing you walk down the street. How after all these years—after so much pain—hope could sneak its way back in. This wasn’t just a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Logan wasn’t the type to believe in magic or miracles, but what else could explain this?

As he lingered, the school bell rang, signaling the end of another day. Children poured out of the building, laughing and running. A few hung on your arms as you walked them down the steps, their chatter filling the air.

Logan shifted from foot to foot, nerves prickling along his spine. Just talk to her, idiot. You’ve been through worse.

But when you stepped into the street, Ida at your side as usual, the words died in his throat.

“Y/N, you coming for dinner at my place tonight?” Ida asked, tucking a stray curl beneath her bonnet.

You smiled, brushing your hands on your skirts. “Can’t tonight, but I’ll stop by tomorrow. The kids wore me out today.”

Ida chuckled. “You’ll turn into an old maid before you’re thirty at this rate.”

You rolled your eyes, but your laugh was warm. Logan felt the sound of it settle deep in his chest—like an old memory coming back to life. It was a laugh he hadn’t heard in 26 years, and it took everything in him not to run to you right then and there.

As you and Ida turned the corner toward the tenement, Logan followed at a distance. His heart hammered against his ribs. He just needed a moment, a chance to say something—anything.

Finally, the two of you paused outside the building. Ida gave you a quick hug before heading upstairs, leaving you alone on the stoop. You stood there for a moment, adjusting your shawl against the evening chill.

This is it. Now or never.

Logan forced his feet to move, crossing the street toward you.

You looked up as he approached, a little surprised but not alarmed. “Logan, wasn’t it?”

His throat felt tight, but he gave a short nod. “Yeah. Logan.”

You smiled softly, the same kind smile that had haunted his dreams. “What brings you by?”

He cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. “I... I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, but there was no fear, only curiosity. “About what?”

Logan shifted his weight, his hands tightening around the edges of his coat. The ring in his pocket seemed to burn against his skin, a reminder of everything unsaid.

“I... You remind me of someone,” he admitted, voice low. “Someone I lost a long time ago.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze steady but gentle. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “That must’ve been hard.”

Logan’s jaw clenched. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It was.”

There was a beat of silence between you—heavy, charged with the weight of all the things Logan couldn’t say. You didn’t know him, didn’t know what you’d meant to him in another life, but standing here, so close to you again, it felt like the world had tilted back into place.

“You... wanna walk for a bit?” Logan asked suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

You hesitated, but only for a moment. Something in his expression must’ve stirred your kindness, because you nodded. “Alright.”

The two of you started down the sidewalk together, the city humming around you. Logan kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, fingers brushing the ring again and again like a talisman.

“So, how long have you been in Chicago?” you asked, glancing over at him.

Logan shrugged. “Not long. Just passing through.”

You gave a small smile. “It’s a good place to get lost in for a while.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Guess so.”

The conversation fell into a comfortable rhythm after that—small talk, nothing too deep. Logan told you bits and pieces about his travels, careful not to reveal too much. He learned that you’d moved to Chicago a couple of years ago, taking the teaching job because it felt right.

“I’ve always liked working with kids,” you said with a soft smile. “There’s something... hopeful about it, you know?”

Logan nodded, though hope had been a foreign concept to him for a long time. But walking beside you now, listening to your voice, he felt something stir in him—a flicker of warmth he thought he’d lost forever.

As the evening deepened and the sky turned a dusky purple, you reached your building again. You stopped on the stoop, turning to face him.

“Thank you for the walk,” you said, your smile gentle. “It was nice.”

Logan nodded, his heart heavy with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. “Yeah. It was.”

For a moment, it felt like time stood still—like the universe had bent just enough to give him this moment with you. And even though you didn’t remember him, didn’t know the history you shared, Logan knew he couldn’t let you slip away again.

“Y/N...” he began, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You tilted your head, waiting.

He swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat. “Can I see you again?”

Your smile widened, something warm flickering in your eyes. “I’d like that.”

Logan gave a short nod, his heart pounding against his ribs.

“Good,” he murmured.

And for the first time in 26 years, Logan allowed himself to believe—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, he’d found his way back to you.

---

You had taken up Ida’s offer after all, you lived in the same building so it wasn’t like it was out of the way for you.

“Oh, hey! Thought you weren’t gonna come by.”

You shrugged, taking off your shawl, “changed my mind.” You sat down on the couch and told Ida about your walk with Logan, and she listened intently.

“I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed him. He’s been watching the schoolyard for the past few weeks.”

"Wait, what do you mean, ‘he’s been watching the schoolyard for weeks?’” you asked, your brows knitting together as you leaned forward.

Ida waved her hand dismissively but gave you a sly smile. “Oh, don’t get the wrong idea. He hasn’t been creepy about it or anything. Just... noticed him hanging around, that’s all. Kind of hard to miss a guy like that, don’t you think?”

You blinked, a sudden flush creeping up your neck. “A guy like what?”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” she teased, sitting down across from you. “Tall, rugged... that serious, brooding look. You’re telling me you didn’t notice? He’s practically been glued to the corner across from the schoolhouse for days.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, thinking back to the walk you’d just had with Logan. You hadn’t seen him watching the school, but now that Ida mentioned it... there had been something in his eyes. A familiarity you couldn’t quite place, like he was looking at you but seeing something—or someone—else.

“I didn’t know he was hanging around,” you admitted, glancing down at your hands. “But... he seems kind. Sad, but kind.”

Ida leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest with a thoughtful hum. “Sad, huh? You picked up on that, too?”

You nodded, feeling a strange tightness in your chest. There had been a weight to Logan’s presence, something unspoken in his voice, like he was carrying the world on his shoulders. And then there was the way he looked at you—like he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to.

“You think he’s okay?” you asked quietly.

Ida shrugged, her teasing expression softening. “Who knows? The world’s a tough place. We all got our own burdens to carry. But... maybe he’s looking for something.”

“Looking for what?”

“Maybe someone to share the load,” she replied with a small smile, her eyes twinkling. “Maybe that someone’s you.”

You shook your head, the idea seeming too far-fetched. “I don’t even know him, Ida. I mean, we just talked for the first time today.”

“Hey, stranger things have happened,” Ida said, getting up to grab a pot of tea from the stove. “You felt something, right? That’s not nothing.”

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I guess. He did say I reminded him of someone he lost.”

Ida paused, setting the teapot down carefully. “Lost, huh? That would explain the sad part. But... why hang around you then? What’s he hoping to find?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her. The idea that Logan had been watching you, even unknowingly, made something stir in your chest—a mix of curiosity and something you couldn’t quite name.

Ida handed you a cup of tea, sitting back down beside you. “Well, maybe next time you see him, you can ask.”

You looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. “Ask him why he’s hanging around the schoolyard?”

Ida laughed softly. “Maybe not that bluntly, but yeah. There’s something about him, Y/N. Might be worth finding out what.”

You sipped the tea, the warmth spreading through you. Maybe Ida was right. Maybe Logan was carrying something heavy, and maybe—just maybe—you could help.

---

The next day, you found yourself more aware of your surroundings as you walked to the schoolhouse. Every sound, every movement seemed sharper. You scanned the street, looking for a familiar figure, but Logan wasn’t there—at least, not that you could see.

The day went on as usual, though you felt a bit distracted, your mind drifting to the walk you’d shared with him. There was something about Logan that pulled at you, a quiet intensity that you couldn’t shake. He was a mystery, and part of you wanted to solve it.

When the school day ended, you lingered outside a little longer than usual, hoping—half-expecting—that he might show up again. The children ran off, their laughter echoing down the street as they disappeared into their homes. You smiled at the sight, but your thoughts were elsewhere.

“Looking for someone?”

You jumped slightly, turning to find Logan standing just a few feet away. He had approached so quietly you hadn’t even heard him.

“Logan,” you said, surprised but not unwelcome. “I didn’t see you.”

He gave a small shrug, his hands shoved into his coat pockets. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

You smiled softly, your heartbeat slowing as the initial surprise wore off. “It’s alright. Just didn’t expect to see you today.”

Logan shifted his weight, his gaze flicking to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “I wanted to see if you’d like to take another walk. If you’re not too tired, that is.”

You hesitated, but only for a second. There was something in his voice—something vulnerable, almost hesitant. And despite not knowing him well, you found yourself wanting to say yes.

“I’d like that,” you said, stepping down from the schoolhouse stoop.

The two of you started walking again, this time in a different direction, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the street. For a while, neither of you spoke. It was a comfortable silence, though, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. Logan walked beside you, his steps steady but deliberate, like he was trying to figure something out.

“Why’ve you been hanging around the school?” you finally asked, your curiosity getting the better of you. “Ida said she noticed you there for a while.”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, and he didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quiet. “I wasn’t trying to... I don’t know. I guess I was just... drawn there.”

“Drawn there?” you echoed, glancing up at him.

He nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. “Yeah. Like I said before, you remind me of someone.”

You didn’t press, sensing that whatever it was, it was personal. Instead, you walked in silence for a few more steps before Logan stopped abruptly.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said, turning to face you fully. His eyes were intense, but there was something almost apologetic in them. “If I am, just tell me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, you’re not making me uncomfortable.”

Logan studied your face, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he gave a small nod, almost as if he was relieved.

“Alright,” he said quietly.

The conversation shifted after that, lightening as you talked about small things—the city, your students, even the weather. Logan listened more than he spoke, but you could feel him relax bit by bit, the tension in his posture easing as the afternoon wore on.

When you reached your building again, Logan stopped with you on the stoop. There was a moment of hesitation, like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you asked, offering him a small smile.

Logan looked at you for a long beat before nodding. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

As you turned to head inside, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder. Logan was still standing there, watching you with that same look in his eyes—the one that made you feel like you were more than just a stranger to him.

And in that moment, you realized... you didn’t want to be just a stranger to him either.

---

After about a week of Logan walking you home, it became a familiar routine. Each time, you’d stand on the stoop, exchanging a few words before you’d head inside, always with that lingering feeling of something left unsaid. But tonight was different—the air was colder, and the wind was biting, so when you reached your building, you didn’t hesitate.

“You’re not going out in that cold again,” you said firmly, reaching for his arm. He tensed slightly under your touch, but you ignored it, tugging him toward the door. “Ten minutes outside in the cold, you need to warm up before you go.”

Logan didn’t protest, but you could sense his hesitation. He glanced around the dimly lit hallway as you led him up the stairs to your small apartment.

“Don’t worry,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. “I won’t keep you long. Just until you can feel your fingers again.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, following you inside. Once you were both in, you motioned for him to sit down on the worn couch, tossing your shawl onto a chair as you made your way to the stove to boil some water for tea.

Logan stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning the modest space, before finally sitting down. His presence seemed to fill the room, making it feel smaller, more intimate.

“You don’t gotta fuss,” he muttered, his gruff voice breaking the silence. “I’m alright.”

“Humor me,” you replied with a soft smile, setting a kettle on the stove. “Besides, I’ve been dragging you along on these walks. Least I can do is make sure you’re not freezing to death.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back into the couch. His eyes followed your movements, though his expression stayed guarded. He looked... cautious, like he wasn’t sure how to be here with you, in this space. It was strange, this carefulness, coming from a man who seemed so unbreakable.

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?” you asked, turning to face him while the water heated up. “We’ve been walking for a week, and I feel like I barely know you.”

Logan’s gaze shifted, and you could tell he was weighing his words. “Not much to tell,” he said after a beat. “Just a guy who’s been around a while.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “That’s it? No family, no friends? You just... wander?”

He looked down at his hands, his fingers idly tracing the worn fabric of the couch. “Had family once. Friends, too. Lost most of ‘em.”

There was a heaviness in his voice, and you could feel the weight of his words. You didn’t push him, though. Instead, you poured the hot water into two cups, walking over and handing him one.

“Sorry,” you said softly. “That must’ve been hard.”

Logan took the cup but didn’t drink right away. He stared down into the tea, his expression unreadable. “Life’s hard for everyone,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You sat down beside him, the warmth from the cup seeping into your hands. For a while, the two of you sat in silence, sipping tea and letting the quiet fill the space. There was something about being near him that made you feel calm, like the world slowed down for a little while when he was around.

“Why’d you let me walk with you?” Logan asked suddenly, his voice rougher than before.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t know me,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Most people wouldn’t... They’d be scared, or they’d push me away. But you... you let me stay.”

You frowned, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know... I guess I just felt like... I should.” You shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious under his intense gaze. “Besides, you’re not exactly a scary guy. Brooding, sure, but not scary.”

A small, barely-there smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not afraid of much, are you?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Not really. I mean, what’s the point of being afraid? Life’s hard enough without worrying about things that might not even happen.”

Logan’s smile faded, replaced by that familiar look of sadness. He stared into his cup for a moment, then set it down on the table in front of him. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Guess you’re right.”

The silence stretched between you again, but this time it felt heavier, like there was something unsaid hanging in the air. You could feel it, pressing down on both of you, but neither of you seemed ready to break it.

Finally, Logan stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. “I should go,” he said, though he didn’t make a move toward the door.

You stood up too, your heart pounding a little harder than usual. “Logan...”

He turned to face you, his eyes dark and full of something you couldn’t quite place. “Yeah?”

You took a step closer, your hand reaching out to touch his arm again. “You don’t have to carry it all alone,” you said softly.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without saying a word, he nodded once, a silent acknowledgment that you didn’t need to explain.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said quietly before turning to leave.

You watched him go, your heart heavy but hopeful. There was something between you—something unspoken, something old—and you weren’t ready to let it go.

Not yet.

---

It had taken a few more days to convince Logan to come back into your apartment. You weren’t sure how you convinced him this time, but you were happy that you did.

Your apartment smelled nice and homey. Before you had left for work, you had put bread in the oven to bake, and now, as you came back home with Logan in tow, it was finished. The warm, inviting scent of freshly baked bread filled the room as you stepped inside. Logan hesitated in the doorway, lingering for a moment before following you in, his expression unreadable but curious.

You busied yourself with the bread, slicing into the crust and offering Logan a piece. He took it, though his attention seemed more focused on you than the food.

"Thanks," he muttered, taking a bite.

You smiled, trying to ignore the way your heart sped up just from him being here. "I was thinking..." you started, turning to grab a couple of plates from the cupboard. "Maybe we could go into the city tomorrow? It’s market day. There's a lot to see, and it’d be nice to get out of the schoolhouse routine for a bit."

Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. "Market, huh?"

"Yeah, you know, just... walk around. Maybe pick up a few things." You looked over at him, half expecting him to decline, but to your surprise, he didn’t.

"Alright," he said, his voice low but without hesitation. "I’ll come with you."

You smiled, feeling a small flutter of excitement in your chest. "Great. It’ll be fun. I promise."

---

The next day, you found yourself walking through the bustling streets of Chicago with Logan by your side. The market was crowded, full of people haggling and chatting, the air thick with the smell of fresh produce, spices, and the occasional whiff of roasting meat. It was a world away from the quiet walks you'd shared, and you could feel Logan's unease in the busy atmosphere. But he stayed close, his hand brushing yours more than once as you wove through the crowd.

"Do you come here often?" Logan asked, his eyes scanning the vendors with mild interest.

"Once or twice a month," you replied. "I like the energy here. Makes the city feel alive, you know?"

Logan grunted in response, though he didn’t seem entirely convinced. You could tell he wasn’t used to this—being around so many people—but he stuck close to you, his presence protective without being overbearing.

After a while, you stopped at a stall selling flowers. The colors were vibrant, a burst of life in the middle of the dusty street. You picked up a small bouquet of wildflowers, smiling as you held them up.

"These are my favorite," you said, glancing up at Logan. "They're simple but... I don't know, they make me happy."

Logan’s gaze softened as he looked at the flowers in your hand, then back at you. There was something in his eyes, a flicker of something unspoken, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a few coins, handing them to the vendor before you could protest.

"Logan, you don’t have to—"

"Consider it a thank you," he said quietly, cutting you off. "For the bread."

You blinked, surprised but touched by the gesture. "Well, thank you."

He nodded, and the two of you continued walking, the flowers resting in the crook of your arm as the city bustled around you. For a while, you walked in comfortable silence, the sounds of the market fading into the background as the two of you wandered further from the busy streets. Eventually, you found a quiet park at the edge of the city, a small, peaceful space away from the noise.

You sat down on a bench, feeling the cool breeze brush against your skin. Logan sat beside you, his posture relaxed but his eyes always scanning the area, as if he couldn’t fully let his guard down.

"Do you ever stop looking over your shoulder?" you asked, half teasing but curious.

Logan’s mouth twitched into a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Old habit."

You studied him for a moment, sensing there was more behind those words. He had a way of holding himself, like he was always ready for something, always waiting. It made you wonder just how much he’d seen, how much he’d lived through.

"I’m glad you came with me today," you said softly, looking out at the park. "I feel like I’ve been stuck in a routine for a while now. It’s nice to just... do something different."

Logan glanced at you, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. "I’m glad I came too," he admitted, his voice low.

There was something in the way he said it, something that made your heart skip a beat. The air between you felt different, charged with a quiet tension that neither of you seemed willing to break. You wondered if he felt it too—the strange pull between you, like something just beneath the surface was waiting to be uncovered.

After a long pause, Logan spoke again. "I ain’t good at... this." He gestured vaguely, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. "Being close to people."

You turned to him, surprised by the admission. "You’re doing fine," you said gently.

Logan’s jaw clenched slightly, and he shook his head. "It’s not that simple."

You felt a pang of something—sympathy, maybe, or understanding. Whatever it was, it made you reach out, your hand lightly brushing his. "You don’t have to explain," you said softly. "I get it."

Logan’s eyes flickered down to where your hand rested near his. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he turned his hand over, his rough fingers brushing against yours in the faintest of touches. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a step—like maybe, just maybe, he was letting you in.

---

As you walked to the tenement building after work one day, you glanced over at Logan. “You ever been to the exhibition hall in the city?”

Logan looked over to you, slightly puzzled by the question. “The exhibition?”

You nodded, turning toward him. “There’s a display of inventions and art from all over. I heard they’ve got this new thing—electric lights. I was thinking about going this weekend, and… maybe you’d like to come with me?”

For a moment, Logan just stared at you, as if unsure what to say. The idea of stepping out into the city, surrounded by people, probably wasn’t something he did often. But he shifted slightly, his eyes softening in that way they did when you caught him off guard.

“You want me to go with you?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Well, yeah,” you said, smiling. “We’ve been walking the same few streets for days. Thought it might be nice to do something different. Besides, I’m curious about those lights. They say it’s going to change the way people live.”

Logan gave a low, thoughtful hum, and for a moment, you worried he might decline. But then he nodded slowly, his expression softening further. “Alright. I’ll go.”

Your smile widened. “Great! We can meet at my place on Saturday afternoon, then head out.”

The conversation drifted back into easier topics—your students, a new bakery that had opened nearby, and the way the city seemed to grow busier every day. But beneath it all, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this small invitation marked a shift, a way to see more of who Logan was beyond the quiet man who walked beside you in silence. Maybe out in the world, you’d understand him better.

---

Saturday came quickly, and the two of you walked side by side through the busy streets, the sounds of horses and carriages filling the air. You led Logan through the bustling avenues toward the exhibition hall, your excitement barely contained.

“Ever seen anything like this?” you asked, glancing up at him as the towering hall came into view.

Logan’s eyes flicked over the building, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not in a while.”

Inside, the hall was a wonder of modern marvels. Booths lined with mechanical inventions, sculptures, and paintings from around the world. The hum of excitement filled the air, and the bright new electric lights cast a strange, almost magical glow over everything.

You wandered the displays together, your curiosity leading the way. Logan stayed close, his attention less on the inventions and more on you. Every now and then, he'd glance at a piece of machinery or a strange-looking contraption, but his eyes kept drifting back to your face, watching the way your expression changed with each new discovery.

"This is incredible," you murmured, leaning in to get a closer look at a large machine labeled as an ‘automatic loom.’ You smiled at Logan, your excitement clear. "Can you imagine how much time this would save?"

Logan nodded, though you could tell his thoughts were elsewhere. "Yeah, I can see how it'd be useful."

You moved to the next display, but Logan lingered for a moment. When he finally caught up, you were already studying a painting—a soft, pastoral scene that contrasted with the industrial energy around you.

"It's beautiful, isn’t it?" you said, glancing at him.

Logan’s gaze flicked to the painting, but quickly returned to you. "Yeah," he said, though it was clear he wasn’t talking about the art.

You felt his eyes on you again and looked up, meeting his gaze. There was something there—something that made your heart skip. Logan had always been protective, always hovering just close enough to shield you if need be. But this felt different, like there was more to it now.

"You sure this ain’t boring for you?" you asked, trying to lighten the moment. "I know you’re not one for crowds."

Logan gave a quiet grunt, his version of a chuckle. "It’s fine. Long as you’re enjoying yourself."

You smiled, touched by the sentiment. "I am. Thanks for coming with me."

For a while, you wandered together in silence, taking in the sights and sounds of the exhibition hall. The crowds around you buzzed with excitement, but the space between you and Logan felt almost separate—like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

At one point, you stopped in front of a display showcasing early electric light bulbs. "Look at that," you said, pointing to the glass bulbs flickering with soft light. "They’re saying these will replace gas lamps soon."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Doesn’t seem right, replacing something that’s worked for so long."

"Change is good sometimes," you said, glancing at him. "It keeps things moving forward."

Logan met your eyes, his expression soft but thoughtful. "Guess I’ve never been good with change."

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the weight behind his words. "Maybe you just haven’t found the right reason to embrace it yet."

For a moment, Logan didn’t respond. His gaze lingered on you, like he was trying to make sense of something. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Maybe."

As the afternoon wore on, the two of you eventually stepped outside the exhibition hall, the sun low in the sky and the city’s evening glow starting to take over. The air felt cooler now, a welcome relief after the warmth of the crowded hall.

You walked beside Logan in comfortable silence, but the charged undercurrent between you hadn’t faded. It felt like something had shifted—like you’d both acknowledged a deeper connection, even if neither of you had fully put it into words yet.

"You want to get something to eat?" Logan asked, breaking the silence.

"Sure," you said, smiling up at him. "There’s a place not far from here. They make the best stew."

Logan nodded, falling into step beside you again as you made your way toward the small restaurant you had in mind. The quiet between you was easy, but there was an unspoken understanding that something had changed between the two of you today. Neither of you said it out loud, but you didn’t need to.

As you entered the restaurant, the warm scent of food filled the air, and you found a table near the back, away from the main crowd. Logan took the seat across from you, his eyes scanning the room out of habit, but eventually settling back on you.

"This place isn’t so bad," he said, giving a small nod of approval.

You laughed softly. "Glad it meets your standards."

Logan smirked, but there was a softness behind it. As the two of you talked over dinner, you realized just how much you enjoyed moments like this—quiet, simple, yet meaningful. It wasn’t about grand gestures or fancy places; it was about being together, about the way Logan made you feel safe and seen.

---

One day, after inviting Logan into your apartment once again, you set out to make tea like you always do.

You felt a cough building up in your throat, so you grabbed a small handkerchief from the counter and coughed into it. You had seen the school doctor while you were at work, and he said you just had a mild cold.

Logan, who was sitting on the couch, immediately turned his head to you, his heart almost beating out of his chest. He’d heard that cough before—26 years ago.

"Y/N?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You turned around, still holding the handkerchief to your mouth. "Yeah?" you answered casually, noticing the tension in his voice but thinking nothing of it. “Just a little cough, nothing serious. I saw the doctor earlier, and he said it’s just a cold.”

Logan stood up slowly, his eyes fixed on you, his expression unreadable. He took a step closer, his mind racing back to 1854, to your last days—bedridden and coughing, just like this. He had lost you then, watching helplessly as the illness took you. He couldn't shake the feeling, the memory, and the fear that history might repeat itself.

"Cold, huh?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was an edge to it.

"Yeah, no big deal." You smiled, folding the handkerchief and putting it back in your pocket. "Really, Logan, I’m fine."

Logan’s jaw tightened. He had seen too much, lived too long to believe in coincidence. This was too familiar, too painful. And yet, here you were—alive, vibrant. This time, he couldn’t lose you again. He wouldn't.

"You should take it easy," he said, stepping closer, his tone gentler now. "You been workin' too hard at that school."

You raised an eyebrow, sensing his concern but not quite understanding the depth of it. "I’m fine, really. It’s just a little cold. Nothing that rest and tea won’t fix."

Logan didn’t argue, but the worry in his eyes didn’t fade. He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before he gently brushed his fingers against your arm, grounding himself in the fact that you were here, with him. This wasn’t 1854. But the memory haunted him.

You noticed the way he was looking at you, his eyes searching yours like he was afraid to lose you. "Hey," you said softly, resting a hand on his. "What’s really going on?"

Logan’s breath hitched for a moment, and he fought the urge to pull you closer, to tell you everything. But how could he? How could he explain that you’d been here before—that he’d watched you die, that he’d loved you once in another life, in another time? Instead, he just shook his head, the weight of those memories too heavy to share.

"Just... don’t push yourself too hard," he said, his voice quieter now. "I’ve seen people get worse when they don’t take care of themselves."

You nodded, though his intensity still lingered in your mind. "I promise, I’ll rest." You gave him a reassuring smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides, you’ll make sure I do, right?"

Logan’s lips quirked into the smallest smile, but there was still something distant in his eyes. "Yeah," he said softly. "I will."

The moment hung in the air, the unspoken weight of Logan’s past pressing down on him, though you couldn’t see it. You were the same, and yet not. The woman he had once loved and lost was standing right in front of him, alive, but without any memory of that life you’d shared.

---

You didn’t see Logan for a few days, which was unusual, ever since he started walking with you he had never missed a day.

You couldn’t help but worry a tad bit, it wasn’t like him to just not be there. Even Ida had made a few comments, including now as you sat in her apartment, just a few doors down from your own, sipping tea.

“He hasn’t been by at all?” Ida asked, her brow furrowed with concern. “That man never misses a day. He’s usually lurking outside, waitin’ to walk you home.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah, I noticed. It’s been three days now.”

Ida leaned forward, her hands folded on the table. “You don’t think somethin’s happened to him, do ya? That man is tough, sure, but even the toughest get into trouble sometimes.”

You shook your head quickly, not wanting to entertain the thought. “No, I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he just needed some time alone. He’s... not the type to explain himself much.”

Ida hummed, though she didn’t look convinced. “Maybe. But if he doesn’t show up soon, you ought to go find him. He’s a good man, Y/N, and you’ve only known him a month, but it’s clear he cares about you.”

The truth of her words settled over you, heavy and unspoken. You cared about Logan too. Even if you didn’t quite understand the pull between you, it was there—undeniable. And the fact that he hadn’t shown up, without so much as a word, made your chest tighten with worry.

Later that evening, after you’d left Ida’s apartment and returned to your own, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. Logan had become part of your routine, part of your day-to-day life. And now that he was gone, it felt like something was missing.

Just as you were about to turn in for the night, a knock sounded at the door.

Your heart jumped, and you rushed to open it, half expecting—half hoping—it would be Logan.

And there he was.

He stood in the doorway, his coat damp from the light rain outside, his hair slightly tousled. His eyes, though, were what caught you—the familiar intensity, but with something else lurking beneath. Something darker.

“Logan,” you breathed, stepping aside to let him in. “Where have you been? I was starting to get worried.”

Logan stepped into your small apartment, his broad frame somehow filling the space, making it feel even smaller. He didn’t say anything right away, just ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply, as if he were trying to gather his thoughts.

“I needed time,” he finally said, his voice low and gravelly.

“Time for what?” you asked gently, sensing that whatever he was about to say wasn’t easy for him.

Logan glanced at you, then looked away, as if he couldn’t meet your eyes. His jaw tightened, and you could see the struggle on his face—like he was wrestling with something deep inside. After a long pause, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, the words sounding foreign in his mouth, like he wasn’t used to saying them.

You blinked, taken aback. Logan was the last person you ever expected to hear those words from. “Scared of what?”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you saw the vulnerability there, raw and unguarded. “Of losing you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Logan… we’ve only known each other for a month,” you said softly, though the words felt strange even as they left your mouth. Because deep down, it felt like you’d known him much longer—like this connection between you was more than just a month in the making.

“I know,” Logan said, his voice rough. “But it doesn’t change how I feel.”

There was something in the way he was looking at you, something desperate and pained, like he was holding onto you with everything he had. You wanted to ask him why, to understand what had happened in his past to make him feel this way. But instead, you just reached out, your hand finding his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand gently. “I’m right here.”

Logan’s breath hitched, and before you could say anything more, he stepped closer, his hand cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, his touch rough but gentle, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fall away. It was just the two of you, standing in the quiet of your apartment, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

And then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was urgent, almost desperate, like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words. His lips moved against yours with a fierceness that took your breath away, and for a moment, all you could do was hold onto him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as you kissed him back.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing along your jawline.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Your heart ached at the raw honesty in his words, and you wanted to promise him that he wouldn’t—that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere. But something about the way he said it made you hesitate, made you wonder what he wasn’t telling you.

“Logan…” you started, your voice soft. “What aren’t you telling me?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. His hand dropped from your face, and he took a step back, his expression guarded once again. The walls he’d let down just moments ago seemed to be rising back up.

“I’ve lived a long time,” he said finally, his voice low. “I’ve lost people before. People I cared about. I can’t… I can’t go through that again.”

You felt a pang in your chest at his words, but there was something else there too—something unspoken. “Logan… who did you lose?”

His eyes flickered with pain, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he just shook his head, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

You wanted to press him, to understand, but you also knew that Logan wasn’t someone who opened up easily. So instead, you just stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a gentle hug. He stiffened at first, but then his arms slowly came around you, pulling you close as if he was afraid to let go.

“I’m here,” you whispered against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For now, that was all you could offer him. And for now, it seemed to be enough.

---

You and Ida sat in the back of the rattling carriage, bundled against the cold, the wheels creaking beneath the weight of your bags from the market. The late afternoon sky was heavy with clouds, promising rain before nightfall and a storm by morning.

“Supposed to come down hard tomorrow,” Ida said, clutching her shawl tighter. “Glad we got everything done now. Don’t wanna be caught in that mess.”

You smiled, shifting a bag of potatoes off your lap. “It’ll be nice to have an excuse to stay in and rest. Logan’s been after me about taking it easy anyway.”

Ida gave you a knowing look, her brow lifting. “That man likes you, Y/N. More than you think.”

You shrugged, though your cheeks warmed slightly. “I know he cares. He’s just… different. Keeps to himself.”

“He’s different, alright,” Ida muttered, peering out the carriage window. “But he’s not the type to care about someone without good reason. Don’t let that one get away.”

You didn’t respond, but your thoughts drifted to Logan—how he had kissed you that night, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. There was something ancient in his touch, like he had carried the weight of loss for far too long. You didn’t fully understand it, but you felt it—something deeper than words or time.

The carriage jolted suddenly, jerking you forward in your seat. The horse up front whinnied, wild and panicked.

“Whoa!” the driver shouted, yanking hard on the reins.

You clutched Ida’s arm, your heart racing. “What’s going on?”

The driver cursed, standing in his seat to get a better look. “The damn harness snapped! The horse—”

Before he could finish, the horse bolted, the broken leather straps slapping wildly behind it. The carriage lurched, and you and Ida were thrown sideways. The wheels screamed as they spun out of control, the driver shouting as he fought to keep it steady.

“Hold on!” he yelled.

The world tilted violently as the carriage careened off the road, slamming into a ditch. Bags spilled across the floor, and you hit your shoulder hard against the side wall. Ida’s scream filled your ears, but the noise was drowned out by the thunder of the collapsing carriage, wood splintering and wheels buckling beneath the weight.

And then—nothing.

The carriage stopped, shuddering to a halt in a twisted heap at the bottom of the ditch. The rain started, light at first, pattering against the wreckage.

---

Logan was walking back toward your tenement building, the collar of his coat turned up against the cold drizzle, when he saw it—just beyond the next block, down by the road.

The sight hit him like a punch to the chest.

A carriage, overturned, one of the wheels still spinning lazily. The horse was gone, its reins dangling uselessly from the harness. People were gathering, but no one dared approach the wreckage yet.

Logan’s heart stopped. He knew—he just knew.

His feet moved before he could think. He sprinted toward the wreck, rain falling harder now, soaking through his clothes. His boots hit the muddy road with heavy thuds, splashing water as he ran faster than any ordinary man should.

By the time he reached the scene, a bystander had climbed down, trying to pry the splintered door open. Logan shoved him aside without a word, claws itching under his skin, ready to tear the door off if need be.

“Someone’s inside!” the man stammered. “Two women—”

Logan didn’t wait. His hands found the edge of the door, and with a growl of effort, he yanked it off the hinges. Inside the crumpled interior, he saw you, half-buried beneath scattered bags.

“Y/N!” His voice cracked, raw and frantic. He dropped to his knees and pulled you free, cradling you in his arms.

You stirred, barely conscious, your head lolling against his chest. Blood streaked your temple, and your breath came in shallow gasps.

“Logan…?” you whispered, confused, your hand weakly grasping his coat.

“I got you,” Logan said, his voice breaking. “I’m here. You’re gonna be fine.” But even as he said it, dread gnawed at him—this wasn’t fine. It was happening again.

Ida groaned nearby, struggling to sit up, but Logan’s focus was locked on you. He pressed a hand against your side, where your ribs felt wrong under his touch. He could feel the heat of your blood seeping into his fingers.

“No, no, no…” Logan whispered, shaking his head. The storm raged around him, but all he could hear was the shallow rasp of your breathing.

You looked up at him, your gaze unfocused, but your lips curled into the faintest smile. “I told you… I’d rest…”

“Don’t,” Logan begged, his forehead pressing against yours. “Don’t do this. Stay with me. You hear me? Stay.”

You blinked slowly, your hand slipping from his coat. “I… tried…”

Logan clenched his jaw, biting down hard against the scream building in his chest. His healing mutation would keep him alive through anything—but it couldn’t save you. Not now. Not again.

He kissed your forehead, his breath shuddering. “I can’t lose you again, darlin’. Not like this…”

Your breath hitched once, then stopped.

“No,” Logan whispered, rocking you in his arms. “No, no, no…”

His hands trembled as he pulled you closer, your lifeless body limp against him. The rain poured down harder, drumming on the wreckage, but Logan didn’t care. He sat there, holding you, feeling the familiar, soul-crushing emptiness settle in his chest like an old wound tearing open again.

And still, he held you. Because this time, just like 26 years ago, he couldn’t let go.

in this chapter logan is 48 years old and reader is around 22-24 years old. just a reminder that going forward there is going to be an age gap between the two since logan obviously keeps getting older.

[ilovemilestellersmoustache]

Country Boy’s Dream Girl

Jake Seresin x Reader

WC: 2K

Summary: Jake meets an old friend at the bar while visiting his family in Texas

Jake "Hangman" Seresin sat back in his worn leather chair, the cool breeze from the open window brushing against his skin as he stared at the familiar yet distant skyline of San Diego. The golden hour light filtered through the palm trees outside, casting long shadows over the simple furnishings of his rental home. The city’s endless sunshine and soft waves, which had once seemed idyllic, now felt like a constant reminder of something missing. The rhythmic crash of the ocean against the shore, the warm breeze carrying the scent of salt, all of it should have been comforting, but lately, it only amplified the restlessness simmering within him.

His gaze drifted over the distant horizon, but his thoughts were elsewhere—somewhere filled with rolling hills and wide-open skies. Austin, Texas. That’s where his heart kept pulling him. San Diego, with its picture-perfect beaches, had served him well, but it never felt like home. Home was where the dusty trails stretched out beneath his boots, where the heat wrapped around you like a blanket, and the sound of cicadas filled the evening air. It was where the people knew you, really knew you, not just your call sign. It had been months since the Dagger Squad's last mission, and though the Navy had served as a distraction something in him felt restless. San Diego was nice but it wasn’t home. Home was Texas.

His phone buzzed on the wooden table beside him, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced down, the screen lighting up with a message from his sister: "Can’t wait to see you! The kids have been asking about Uncle Jake nonstop."

Jake’s lips curled into a smile, soft but genuine. He loved his sisters and their families, loved the rowdy chaos of his nieces and nephews whenever he visited. They always made him feel grounded, like no matter how high he flew or how fast he lived, they would always be his soft landing. And now, after months of jet-setting and the endless pace of military life, he was more than ready to touch down for a while.

The Navy had given him the excitement and adrenaline he craved, flying high above the clouds, pushing the limits of speed and skill. But even in the thrill of flight, there was always the need for a safe landing—a place to return to. For Jake, that place had always been Austin. After months of deployments and the constant go-go-go of military life, the thought of heading home to his roots felt like a breath of fresh air.

Jake’s flight touched down at Austin-Bergstrom Airport late in the afternoon. The moment he stepped off the plane, the thick humidity greeted him like an old friend. The heat clung to his skin, not oppressively, but with a warmth that felt familiar, grounding. As he made his way through the terminal, the sounds of Austin wrapped around him—the twang of country music playing softly in the background, the faint drawl in people’s voices. It all felt like slipping into a favorite pair of boots, worn in and perfectly molded to fit.

His parents were waiting for him just past security, their faces lighting up as soon as they saw him. His mother wrapped him in a tight hug, the smell of her familiar perfume tugging at memories of childhood, while his father clapped him on the shoulder, his grip firm, reassuring.

As they drove home, the landscape of Texas unfolded around them—endless fields of wildflowers, the horizon stretching out beneath a brilliant blue sky. They talked about everything and nothing, the conversation easy, the silence between them filled with the comfort of people who didn’t need to fill every space with words.

"Y’all planning on going out tonight?" his dad asked, his eyes cutting over from the driver’s seat with a knowing smirk.

Jake’s mother chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with the same mischief she had always had. "You know his old friends won’t let him stay in on a Friday night."

Jake grinned, a flood of memories rushing back—nights spent at the local bar, a spot they’d practically lived in during their teenage years. The steady beat of country music in the background, the clink of beer bottles, and the easy banter between friends. His high school buddies, the ones who had stayed in Austin and the ones who had left but always came back, were more than just friends—they were family, just like Austin was more than a place; it was home.

"You know me," Jake said, his grin widening. "Can’t say no to a good ol’ night out with the guys."

By the time he arrived at the bar that evening, the sky had darkened into a deep, inky blue, the stars twinkling above like old friends. The neon lights outside the bar flickered, casting a colorful glow over the parking lot filled with trucks. The familiar hum of country music drifted out from inside, mixing with the scent of barbecue from the joint next door. As Jake stepped inside, the sights and sounds hit him all at once—the twang of a guitar, the hum of voices, the scent of spilled beer and whiskey mingling with worn leather and sweat.

The bar was filled with familiar faces, people he hadn’t seen in years but who greeted him like no time had passed at all. But amidst the laughter and catching up, his eyes landed on one person who made the world around him seem to slow down.

Y/N stood near the bar, her laughter carrying over the crowd as she tossed her head back, the kind of laugh that turned heads. She looked every bit like the girl he remembered but with something more, something that drew him in like a magnet. Her long, sun-kissed hair cascaded down her back, her low-rise denim shorts showing off tanned, toned legs. She wore worn-in cowboy boots and a tank top that fit her perfectly, effortlessly blending casual with a kind of understated allure.

Jake couldn’t look away.

Jake had always remembered her as the wild, untamed spirit from high school—the girl who could be the life of the party one moment and disappear into the Texas wilderness the next. She was known as the princess of the school coming from a prim and proper family, the epitome of a southern belle Y/N was. Till her family looked away then Y/N wasn’t just a pretty face anymore; She wasn’t like the other girls who strutted around in heels and short skirts, playing the part of arm candy for boys who didn’t care about anything but looks. She was the kind of girl who could drive a four-wheeler through an old red road, cranking Curtis Loew, line dance until the sun came up, bonfires out in the fields and tailgates. If that was what anyone was looking for they wouldn’t have too look any further. She’d always had a wild side that set her apart, a fire that made her untouchable to anyone who couldnt match her energy. One that attracted attention but also scared off anyone who wasn’t up for the ride.

And Jake? Jake was up for it.

As he watched her now, twirling on the dance floor with her friends, her cowboy boots scuffing the wooden floor as she moved to the beat. She was all energy. Jake felt something stir deep in his chest. She was untamed, all energy and movement, a force of nature that was impossible to ignore. When she grabbed the mic for karaoke and belted out an old country tune, the crowd cheered her on, her voice unpolished but full of heart. She commanded the room without even trying. She wasn’t perfect, but she didn’t need to be. She was magnetic.

Jake realized he’d been staring at her all night, and for the first time he felt nervous. He’d flown high-speed jets, faced impossible odds, but this—walking up to Y/N after all these years—felt like a leap into the unknown.

Finally, after another round of drinks and a deep breath, he stood, squaring his shoulders. Come on, Seresin. He told himself. It’s just Y/N.

her eyes met his, that slow, easy smile spreading across her lips, Jake knew this wasn’t just a casual encounter. This was something more.

As he approached her, she caught his eye and smiled, the kind of smile that could stop traffic. “Well, if it isn’t Jake Seresin,” she said, her voice a mix of surprise and amusement. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

Jake grinned. “Yeah, it has. You look good, Y/N. Still stealing the spotlight, I see.”

She laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, you know me. Can’t help it. What brings you back to Austin? Thought you were too busy saving the world these days.”

Jake shrugged. “Home’s always home. Figured I’d come back for a few weeks, see the family. And it’s good to see you too.”

Jake chuckled, trying to play it cool as he leaned in closer, resting his elbow on the bar beside her. “Can’t stay away from Texas too long. It’s in my blood, you know that.” His eyes lingered on her a moment longer than necessary. “Besides, I had to see if Austin was still the same.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, tilting her head just slightly. “Still the same? You think Austin’s the only thing that’s changed, Jake?”

Her words hung between them, the weight of their shared history filling the space. Back in high school, Jake had been the golden boy—the one who everyone thought would soar higher than anyone. He had, of course. But in doing so, he’d left everything behind, including the people who knew him before he was “Hangman.” And Y/N, with her rebellious streak and free spirit, had been the one he never quite figured out how to speak to.

“Guess I’m here to find out,” he said, his voice softer now, more serious as he met her gaze head-on. “What about you? Still causing trouble wherever you go?”

Y/N laughed, the sound rich and full of life. “Trouble follows me, Jake. You should know that by now.”

The banter was easy, familiar, but beneath it all was an undercurrent of something deeper. They’d always had that between them—an unspoken connection that neither had fully explored. Back then, life had been all about fast cars, late nights, and chasing whatever adventure they could find. But now, as adults, the stakes felt different.

Y/N’s eyes sparkled. “Well, it’s good to see you too, Jake.” She took a sip of her drink, then set it down. “You wanna dance? Or are you just gonna stand there looking pretty?”

Jake laughed, feeling the last of his nerves dissolve. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Y/N hesitated for only a split second before placing her hand in his. “Alright, Seresin,” she said, a teasing edge in her voice, “but don’t think you can keep up just because you can fly a jet.”

The two of them moved out onto the dance floor, the familiar beat of a George Strait song playing in the background. Jake hadn’t danced in ages, but it came back to him quickly. And Y/N? She moved like she was born on the dance floor, guiding him through the steps, her body close to his. It was easy, comfortable, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the noise, the crowd, the years between them.

“So,” Y/N said, her voice light but her eyes searching his. “How’s life been treating you, Mr. Navy Pilot? Saving the world one flight at a time?”

Jake smirked, spinning her effortlessly before pulling her back into his arms. “Something like that. The flying’s great, but it’s not all action movies and glory like people think.”

She nodded, her expression softening. “I bet. It’s gotta be hard being up there all the time, away from everything.”

Jake didn’t answer right away. There was something in the way she said “away from everything” that hit him harder than he expected. Because it wasn’t just about flying; it was about what he’d left behind—who he’d left behind. Austin, his family, his friends… Y/N. For years, he’d been chasing the thrill of the skies, but now that he was grounded, here with her, he realized how much he’d missed what was right in front of him.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, looking down at her. “It is.”

For a moment, they just moved together, the music carrying them as the world around them blurred. It felt natural, like they’d been here a hundred times before, even though they hadn’t. And maybe that’s what made it feel so right.

As the song came to an end, Jake reluctantly let her go, but not before he caught the flicker of something in her eyes—something that mirrored the way he was feeling. This wasn’t just a casual reunion, and they both knew it.

Y/N’s eyes flickered with something he couldn’t quite read, but before she could respond, the song ended, and the moment was interrupted. The crowd cheered as another round of karaoke started up, and Y/N’s friends called her over.

“Looks like they need me,” she said with a smile. “But hey, don’t be a stranger, Jake. It’s been nice catching up.”

Jake watched her walk away, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t ready to let her go, not yet. So, in a burst of confidence, he called out to her.

“Wait! How about a duet?”

Y/N turned around, surprised. “A duet? You sing now?”

Jake smirked. “No, but I figure you could make me look good.”

She laughed, walking back over to him. “Alright, Seresin. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Later that night, after they’d belted out a slightly off-key version of a Kenny Chesney song and shared a few more dances, Jake couldn’t stop thinking about Y/N. She was like a sky full of stars, lighting up everything around her, making him feel like maybe—just maybe—he could have something real with her.

Before he could overthink it, Jake spoke. “What do you say we get out of here? Maybe take a drive? Catch up somewhere quieter.”

Y/N’s smile widened, that familiar glint of mischief in her eyes. “You sure you can handle that, Seresin? I don’t wanna be responsible for getting you into trouble on your first night back.”

Jake grinned, already reaching for his keys. “Trust me, Y/N. I’ve been in plenty of trouble, but I think I can handle whatever you’ve got in mind.”

The two of them ended up in Jake’s truck, windows down, the warm Texas night air rushing in as they cruised down a familiar country road. The radio played softly, but neither of them paid much attention to it. Instead, they talked—really talked. About everything and nothing, about what they’d been up to, the paths their lives had taken, and all the things that had changed since high school. The cool Texas night air wrapping around them, Jake felt the urge to pull her close, to kiss her under the stars like some kind of old country song in his old tee and faded jeans. But he held back, not wanting to rush things.

Y/N told him about her life in Austin, about the business she’d started—something Jake never would’ve guessed she’d do, but somehow made perfect sense. She still had that wild streak, but there was a groundedness to her now, too. She had roots, something Jake had always admired from afar but never quite managed to plant himself.

“You seem happy here,” Jake said after a while, glancing over at her as they pulled off the road, parking under a wide-open sky filled with stars.

“I am,” Y/N replied, looking out at the horizon. “It’s not always easy, but I love it here… It’s home.”

Jake nodded, the word “home” settling in his chest like a weight. Home. That’s what he’d been chasing, wasn’t it? Not just a place, but a feeling—a sense of belonging. And sitting here, with Y/N by his side, it was starting to feel like maybe he’d found it.

She was this country boys dream girl.

[sophrosynesworld]

Summer Softness

Katsuki’s always had that fierce, protective streak—everyone knows it. But what happens when the paparazzi go too far?

The gala is… unexpectedly pleasant. The air inside is filled with low, refined chatter, the clink of glasses, and the soft melodies of classical music drifting through the space. For a while, it’s easy to forget about the pressures outside.

Katsuki seems more relaxed than usual, in his own way. He’s never fully off duty—there’s always an edge to him—but tonight, he’s actually engaged in the conversation, smiling down at me as we move from one painting to the next. His crimson eyes scan the pieces before he offers a comment about the colors or techniques, terms he’s learned from watching me paint in our living room.

"I’ll be right back," Katsuki murmurs, his soft lips brushing against my ear as his hand rests gently on my waist. I hum in acknowledgment, leaning into his chest and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. As he steps away, I wander toward another sculpture, drawn in by the intricate twists of her hair, each curve and detail mesmerizing.

I glance down at the plaque beneath it.

Antonio Mardie, Summer Softness.

I step closer to the sculpture, tracing the air just above her delicate features, careful not to touch. The marble feels alive under the gallery’s soft lighting, shadows dancing over her form as if she might move at any moment.

"Beautiful, isn’t she?" A quiet voice pulls me from my thoughts. An older man, dressed in a dark coat, stands beside me, his eyes fixed on the sculpture. His expression is curious, like someone who’s seen countless works of art and yet still finds wonder in them.

I nod, glancing at him. “Yeah… I think she’s waiting for someone.”

He smiles faintly, a knowing look in his eyes. “Antonio Mardie was known for capturing fleeting moments—the softness of summer love, the quiet before a storm. It’s said this piece was inspired by a lost love, the woman he could never quite forget.”

I would go crazy without him too.

“It’s amazing,” I say softly. “Did he ever show it to her?”

“No.” The man’s voice is soft, eyes fixed on the sculpture as though lost in his own memories. “She died before it was finished… cancer.” He pauses, his voice faltering slightly before he clears his throat.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, unsure if I’m apologizing for his loss or simply for prying too much.

He nods, a faint, melancholic smile gracing his lips. “It’s all right. She’s here, in a way.” He taps the plaque lightly, the metal clinking softly under his touch. “I like to think she’d be proud.”

I smile back. “I’m sure she would be.”

As the man turns and drifts back into the crowd, I feel that familiar sensation of being watched. Scanning the room, my eyes catch on a figure with platinum hair, sitting at the bar and sipping his drink. Katsuki’s gaze is locked onto me, as if he’s been waiting the entire time.

“You’re staring,” I tease. Katsuki's eyes track my every movement, but he doesn’t respond immediately, just extends a glass of wine as I reach him.

“Couldn’t help it,” he replies, his voice low. “You were stealing the spotlight.”

I chuckle softly, accepting the wine, brushing my fingers against his. “I guess I just found something worth looking at.”

He raises an eyebrow, smirking as he leans back against the bar. "Me too.”

I take a sip of the wine, letting its warmth wash over me, and smile at him, feeling a little lighter.

The night flows like that, with a steady rhythm of quiet moments and his sharp, witty remarks keeping things light. Katsuki's hand rests on the small of my back, guiding us toward the entrance. We finally step outside, the colder winter weather enveloping us, and the next thing I know, they’re on us—paparazzi swarming from every direction. The blinding lights, the rapid clicking of cameras, and the overwhelming noise—it’s all too much. I blink, trying to make sense of it when suddenly, someone shoves past me. Hard.

My breath catches in my throat as I stumble forward, feet catching on the concrete. My heart stops in that split second—until a strong arm wraps around me, pulling me upright. It’s Katsuki who catches me mid-fall, his grip firm but careful, instantly shifting me behind him like the first time we met.

The second he pushes me behind his back, I feel his whole body tense. He’s furious—I can see it in the tightness of his jaw, the fire burning in his eyes. Katsuki’s glare cuts through the crowd, searing into the faces of the people around us. The once-shouting paparazzi shrink back, their aggressive pursuit turning hesitant under his gaze. My arms wrap around his waist, attempting to calm him, but it’s pointless.

His voice is low, a growl barely restrained. “Who the hell touched her?”

No one dares respond. The air around us feels heavy, almost crackling with his anger. He takes a step forward, towering over them.

“I said, who did it? Step forward, or I swear to god, I’ll give you something to report about.”

The crowd of photographers seems to freeze, like they’re deciding whether getting the next big story is worth Dynamight’s wrath. There’s a moment of eerie silence, then a few of them start backing away, realizing that whatever shot they were hoping for isn’t worth the risk.

He turns back to me, his crimson eyes searching my face with a sharp, almost frantic focus. His hands lift to rest on the sides of my face, and despite everything, his touch is gentle, almost delicate.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice rough but quieter now.

I nod, even though my heart’s still racing, the adrenaline pumping through my veins. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Good,” he mutters, his jaw still clenched, though his grip loosens slightly. "If anyone tries something like that again, I’ll handle it.” He glances back at the remaining paparazzi, eyes narrowing into slits. “I'll fucking kill you. Put that on the record.”

With that, he guides me forward, his arm firmly around my waist, shielding me from any more intrusions. As we walk away from the crowd, I glance up at him, noticing the way he stays on high alert, even as the commotion begins to die down.

“Thanks, katsuki,” I whisper, but he just grunts in response, his eyes still scanning for any threats. But in this moment, walking beside him, I don’t mind the danger. Because I know, without a doubt, that he’s got me.

Author's note: I was giggling and kicking my feet this entire chapter. We are so back baby.

[whimsyfinny]

How to Avoid the Love of Your Life

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: (Y/n) had spent the last four years of her life avoiding him, but when her and Dean inevitably cross paths again it could go one of two ways - either really good, or really bad.

Warnings: Language, angst (so much fucking angst I'm sorry), Smut, PinV, Fingering, Oral (F receiving), Overstimulation, Dean being a sex God, reader being anxious, bad breakup, reader having a gun

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 8200 (wtf I'm sorry I got carried away)

A/N: Here it is! I'm sooooo sorry @jackles010378 that this took so long. I would've had it up last week but my kid got sick and I had to learn how to solo parent hahaha. Anyway, this is the final competition oneshot, and I hope you enjoy it!

“Well well, what do we have here?”

A voice that I knew all too well reached my ears through the crowd of people in the bar. The deep tone of his voice immediately brought goosebumps to my skin and a small smirk to my lips. I straightened where I stood besides the pool table, lowering the cue and leaning on it lazily as I turned to the direction the voice had come from.

“Dean Winchester,” I let my eyes travel over his rugged form; taking in the faint new scars on his face, his weather-beaten jacket and distinctive choice of plaid and denim. He looked virtually the same as he did when I last saw him four years ago - just older. His eyes now holding more haunting memories than any man should ever have to keep locked away in the depths of ones mind.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I asked with the tilt of my head as he took a step closer, ignoring the bustling of people trying to get past him to order more drinks.

“You know why we’re here,” he pushed his hands into his pockets as he took another step, slowly creeping closer.

“Hmm,” I hummed, reaching for my beer and taking a sip, letting the bitter bubbles sit on my tongue for a moment before swallowing them down.

“So, I take it this has nothing to do with coming for that falsely promised personal visit, and all to do with the pack of werewolves that have moved in across town?” I jabbed the beer bottle in his direction, feeling the smile on my face lose its warmth. Dean sighed and looked at his boots, and when he’d pondered on his answer, ready to verbalise it, I cut him off.

“Jody has been doing her fucking best to keep shit safe around here with the skills you taught her. The least you could do is check in a couple of times a week - visit once a month.”

“Listen sweetheart-”

“I don’t need to hear how you saved the world five hundred times this week. I don’t need to hear it second hand from other hunters. I need to hear it from you. She needs to hear that you’re ok. We all do.”

Dean looked up, his eyes meeting mine, clouded by a regretful shadow.

“(Y/n) I’m sorry. Life has been so fucking messed up and sometimes I don’t even know what fucking month it is. I’ll do better. Me and Sam - we’ll be better.”

I stared at him intently, reassuring myself that he wasn’t saying ‘he’d be better’ if he didn’t mean it. He’d fed me empty lies wrapped in colourful silk in the past and I’d unwrapped every one with a hopeful heart, disappointment following every single one of them. People live and they learn, and I was no exception.

“If you’re not better, for Jodys sake - for Claire and Alex and even Donna - then I will never forgive you.” I stared at Dean long enough to feel the frustration towards him start to simmer in my veins, reminding me why I did what I did all those years ago. I was willing to endure him for my family’s sake despite hating that stupid pedestal they’d put him on - hating how in their eyes, he could do no wrong.

If only they could see him through my eyes.

The sound of long-strided footsteps and a familiar voice exclaiming “oh shit” snapped me from my festering thoughts, and I looked up to see Sam walk up and stand next to Dean.

“Sam!” I smiled, his face the picture of apprehension as he nervously smiled back.

“H-hey (Y/n), it’s been a while. I’m surprised to see you.”

I raised an eyebrow and looked around the room incredulously before locking eyes with him again.

“Surprised to see me? Drinking in a bar, in my hometown? Where you guys know that I live? I know, right? Who would’ve thunk it.”

Sam shifted nervously, like he wanted to whisper something to his brother or simply whisk him away to a booth where they could sip beers, work a case and ogle waitresses. I sighed out a mentally exhausted breath - the presence of the Winchesters flooding my mind with memories of a better time - a simpler time. Dean was right about one thing - that life was messed up.

“Look, I’m clearly keeping you boys from your secret club meeting. I promise to behave if you do too,” I eyed them, waiting for them to accept the proposal of peace. Sam nodded, offering a few lacklustre words of poor convincing whilst Dean just stared at me, his lips twitching into a slight smirk, his eyes swimming in defiance.

“You’ve never been one to behave yourself, have you? Let's see how long this lasts.”

“Fuck you, Dean.”

Sam pulled Dean away before any more weaponised words could be fired, Deans lips forever holding that slap-worthy grin as he eventually turned his back and headed to the other side of the bar.

For the whole evening I could feel eyes on my back and a prickle on my skin. No matter what I did or how much I tried to distract myself - I was so hyper-aware that the Winchesters were sitting at a table just across the room. Every time I turned my back or walked to the bar, I could feel myself scrutinised under an unwanted observation. As I politely turned down the offer of a drink from a handsome stranger, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I reached to answer it, my palms growing sweaty when I saw the name flash on the screen.

“Hey Jody,” I fought to keep my voice steady, my previous frustrations starting to bubble to the surface again.

“Hey (Y/n)! You’re never going to guess who’s in town!”

My teeth immediately clenched and I shot a glare over to where the brothers were sitting, watching Dean tuck his phone back into his pocket and drop his head into his hands.

When I failed to utter a single word at Jody’s excited proclamation, she instantly caught on.

“Oh shit, you know already, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You at the bar?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“I feel like I spoke at him, which counts I guess.”

Despite knowing my inner conflictions, she chuckled slightly.

“You give him a piece of your mind?”

“Yup,” I sighed, running a hand over my face, “I think I’m going to have to keep my distance from him, Jody. Just seeing him - looking at him after all these years - it hurts. It fucking hurts and he doesn’t realise how much he messed me up with everything that he did and said,” I could feel that all too familiar burn in my eyes as I fought desperately against the tears; biting my lip to stop it from trembling. When I gave my emotions away with a not-so-discrete sniff, Jody’s more sympathetic side emerged.

“Aw sweet girl, I know it’s hard. Do you want me to come and get you?”

I shook my head despite knowing she couldn’t see me and wiped away a rogue tear.

“No it’s ok, I think I just need to be alone. Plus I know you - you want to spend some time and catch up with them, which is fine and I get it. It’s just not something I can be there for right now,” I lifted my head and looked through the crowd of people, watching how Sam talked to Dean and Dean fiddled with his beer bottle again. I looked down before he could see me, though I knew he would be able to pick me out of any crowd anywhere within a matter of minutes. I hated that he knew me so well.

“If you’re sure, you know where we are if you need anything.”

“I know, thanks Jody. And… I’m sorry for making this so complicated for you. I know you have no reason to hate him, and I don’t like putting you in the middle like this.”

“(Y/n) I get it sweetheart, you have nothing to apologise for. Just…” she paused, as though debating if her words were worth saying.

“Just what?”

“Just don't do anything stupid,” I could hear the slight amusement in her voice despite her words of caution. I chuckled slightly, wiping away another tear.

“You know me - I can’t make that promise. Bye Jody, see you later.”

After the farewell I hung up the phone, deciding some fresh air would help me to cool my head.

I'd barely taken five steps out the bars entrance and into the parking lot when the harsh sound of rowdy chatter drew my attention. Snapping my head towards it, cold blood filled my veins at the sight in the shadows - the gut wrenching sight of a small group of men huddling together and attempting to steal a car.

To steal Baby.

The cold sensation of dread quickly transformed into the heat of fury as my blood started to boil at the sheer audacity of the thieving group, now doing their best to stay out of the glow of the street lamp. They were lucky it was me that had found them and not Dean, as the latter would have dropped every single one of them by now and not left a soul breathing. I know Dean and I no longer had any sort of relationship, but when we did, this car had been witness to every moment. Baby saw every smile, laugh, and happy tear shared between Dean and I, along with petty lovers quarrels and raw moments of lust filled passion. I'd lost count of how many times we'd steamed up those back windows since we were teenagers and Dean stole the car from his old man for our first date. Then there were the long rides from case to case - Sam and I arguing over who rode shotgun - with Metallica blasting from the speakers, windows rolled down and the wind wisping every worry away as we belted our lungs out. Those were the best moments of my life. In that car. And I'd be damned if I let some dive bar fuckheads steal her.

With zero hesitation I pulled out the gun tucked into my boot and fired three warning shots to the sky before aiming my piece at them, wary that they might also be packing.

“Get away from the FUCKING car - NOW!”

The anger in my voice was a deadly warning as the group turned to me like rabbits in the headlights before turning tail and bolting - one of them dropping a hefty crowbar in the process. As I lowered my gun when they fled, I turned around at the sound of hurried footsteps thumping on the gravel behind me.

“What the hell is going on?” Dean had arrived at my side before Sam and he reached to rest a hand on the small of my back; guided by muscle memory. I turned to face him, a small crowd gathering outside the bar to witness the fleeting commotion. As Sam arrived I explained, my voice harbouring a slight tremble of adrenaline and frustration.

“Some assholes tried to steal Baby-”

“WHAT?!” Deans voice filled with horror, yet his hand remained on my back.

“But you- you're ok right? They didn't hurt you?”

“What? No, I'm fine.”

With my confirmation he withdrew his hand and doubled over, resting his palms on his knees and dropped his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Ugh thank fuck - you scared the shit out of me.”

Sam, who appeared shortly after Dean, patted him on the back and flashed me a split-second grin, the glint lingering in his eyes.

“Yeah, I don't think I've seen Dean move so fast - like… ever.”

I couldn't stop the soft, airy laugh leaving my lungs, a memory flooding my mind.

“I think the fastest I ever saw him move was when we used to hunt with your dad, and Dean took the car without permission. John ended up stranded at that god-awful motel for six hours after we accidentally fell asleep in the layby-”

“Oh god, was that the motel with those raccoons?” Dean stood up straight, the memory seeming to light up his face as he looked me straight in the eye, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin.

“Yes - oh my GOD those raccoons were awful,” I started to chuckle and I could tell Dean was holding it in.

“Raccoons?” Sam asked, looking between us with a raised eyebrow. I opened my mouth to explain but Dean beat me to it.

“In every corner of each room there was a taxidermy raccoon, however the person who taxidermied them obviously had no idea what an actual raccoon looked like.”

“Most of them had eyes that were too close together and their bodies were way too long - like some sort of ferret-raccoon hybrid,” I chimed in, the memory bringing warmth to my chest at the comical idiocy of it all.

“I remember dad turned his so they faced the wall and away from the bed,” Dean let out a small laugh, managing to pull one from Sam as well as we slowly made our way over to the car, my gun returned to the holster in my boot.

“I'm pretty sure that was the first and last thing that ever gave John Winchester genuine heebie jeebies,” I looked up at Sam's disbelieving expression.

“And your brother hid his in the bottom of the closet.”

Dean grimaced before chuckling again.

“They had tiny little ferret-raccoon buttcheeks.”

“Oh god yeah, they were so prominent.”

“So prominent.”

Stepping up to Baby, Dean gave her a thorough once over, running his large hands gently over the places most likely to have laid victim to the crowbar. After three laps and continuous scrutiny, he deemed her unharmed.

We stood together for a moment in silence, the conversation having bled out, leaving nothing but our prior heavy tension and my own dwelling sorrow. I looked up at them both, my gaze lingering on Dean.

“Look, I need to go. I can't- I can't be around you right now, Dean. I'm glad Baby is ok and I…” I sucked in a breath, steadying my voice, “I wish you all the best. Both of you. Stay safe out there.” with my final words I spun on my heel and left.

The motel room was pitch black save for the small box TV flickering in the corner, the original Ghostbusters playing through blown out speakers. I sat in the middle of the couch rocking baggy plaid pj pants and an old band t-shirt (likely Deans, much to my own dismay). With criss-crossed legs and a bowl of popcorn in my lap, I attempted to wallow, Rory Gilmore style, over a man who I would never fully get over. Mine and Deans relationship had ended years ago, yet here I was, the wound still as fresh as the day it was inflicted. Most days I get by, and sometimes even forget the pain he caused me, allowing me to feel light and almost normal. But seeing him in the flesh, catching the scent of him and hearing his voice had turned my defences to ash. I felt exposed and raw, my heart practically on a silver platter ready for another round of being ripped to pieces. I thought I would be able to handle it if I ran into him. I knew deep down in my gut that it would happen eventually, that it was unavoidable given my living arrangements. That he would likely come and visit Jody and the others, and I would have to pretend that everything was ok - that my heart wasn't still breaking over him. I'd avoided him for this long, always able to find the perfect excuse to not be around when he showed up. It was about time the avoidance streak ran it out.

The sound of his laugh earlier this evening had tightened every muscle in my chest, reminding me of every blissful moment we'd spent together - obsessed with each others company and craving nothing else on this fucked up Earth. His smile had made me want to weep, knowing I no longer got to wake up to it every morning or let it be the last thing I witnessed before sleep. The smile that got us both into so much trouble, both as teenagers and adults alike. The smile that always made arguments feel absurd half way through. No matter who I encounter in life or how many people God throws at me in an attempt to fill the void left behind by Dean, it's an incurable hole in my soul that can never be healed.

I shovelled a handful of popcorn into my mouth as I watched the movie unfold - desperate for the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man to reach through the screen and devour me along with my melancholy attitude. Too preoccupied with the film and the strange attraction I seemed to be harbouring to men in boiler suits, I almost missed the low rumble of an engine pull into the motel parking lot outside my room. An all too familiar engine. My ears pricked before reality dawned, the blood draining from my face.

“That son of a bitch.”

I scrambled off the couch and ducked behind it, popcorn flying, knowing all too well that he'd come peering in through the gaps in the blind - which my dumbass had left open so I could watch the rain. Heavy rain and self pity went together like jack and coke after all.

There were a few breaths of silence after the squeak and slam of the impala door, and I thought maybe I'd gotten away with it. Perhaps he was staying in a room further down? Fate was forever against me though when there was a loud knock on the door. I flinched, anxiety dampening my palms as I tucked my knees into my chest and held my breath, praying to Chuck himself that Dean would leave. That he'd convince himself that he was making a reckless decision by being here, or that he had the wrong room. I almost jumped out of my skin when he rapped on the window and his voice boomed through the pattering of rain and static-y TV audio.

“I know you're in there (Y/n), now open the door.”

Even if I'd wanted to move, the ability to do so had fled my body, my muscles petrified at the thought of confronting him. I jumped again when he hammered on the door this time, the cheap wood rattling on its hinges.

“Jesus Christ, (Y/n)! Your truck is parked outside and I can see your hunting gear on the table. Open the fucking door!”

“Go away!”

“Not until you let me speak to you!”

“No!”

There was a loud THUD as his boot collided with the door and I heard him growl in frustration. I could just picture him pacing in a circle, running a hand through his hair.

“(Y/n)-”

“Please, Dean, just… just don't. I can't look at you.” I felt my voice shrink as I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, unsure if he caught my words. He did.

“What- why not?” His voice was a wretched mix of desperation and confusion, cracking between words.

I was quiet for a moment, letting the silence hang thick in the air before I pushed myself to my feet, instantly missing the comfort of the upright foetal position. I wandered over to the door, my fuzzy-socked feet padding on the thread-bare carpet.

“Because,” I leant against the wood, my heart aching at the thought of him being so close yet so devastatingly untouchable, “if I open this door I'm going to undo all the progress I've made with getting over you, Dean.” His name was bittersweet as it slid off my tongue. The quiet sound of Dean sucking in a breath hissed through the gaps in the wood.

“Please, sweetheart. I need you to open this door.”

The softer tone of his voice made him infinitely harder to resist, but I had to stand my ground.

“Dean, you know I can't,” my eyes burned as the tears started to well, my voice objecting to my words with a pitiful rasp.

“Yes you can,” he paused, “you have to, otherwise I'm going to kick this piece of shit down.”

My eyes flew wide.

“No-no Dean-”

“Stand back.”

“Don't!”

“Three…”

“Stop-”

“Two…”

“Dean-”

“One-”

“Fine!”

I grasped the handle and flung the door open, my heart dancing with my stomach when I finally caught sight of him. There he was, soaked through from the rain and giving me that woeful Mr Darcy stare. The water droplets clung to his lashes and trickled down his cheeks, the breathtaking beauty of him erasing the pre-prepared sentence from my mind. Now, all I could think at that moment was to get him warm and dry. The noose around my heart tightened when I reached a hand out to grasp his, pulling him in out of the downpour. As the door closed behind him there was a pause, my quickly dissolving self restraint making it agonising to be in his presence. And Dean seemed to know that, yet he remained.

“(Y/n)-”

“Don’t,” as the cold water started to pool around his boots, I paced over to the bathroom, quickly emerging with a fuzzy towel in hand. I passed it over to him slowly, treating him like a wild, unpredictable animal that could pounce at any moment. He took it gently from my grasp, his fingers softly brushing mine. His skin was cold and damp from the outdoors. We stood in silence for a few moments whilst Dean dried his hair as best as he could, shortly after shrugging off his jacket to hang on the dining chair beside him. As he continued to ruffle his hair dry, I steeled myself, taking a deep breath and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Why are you here, Dean? What do you want?”

He lowered the towel and hung it with his jacket, sighing from the pit of his stomach.

“Me and Sam went to see Jody and the others. I was hoping to run into you again - I wanted to talk to you. But when you didn’t appear, Jody said you’d checked out for a few nights - said you wanted to be away from the house when… uh…” his voice faltered and something akin to guilt flashed in his eyes. Unable to finish his sentence he leant on the table, staring intently at the pile of hunting gear I'd dumped there.

“When you arrived,” I finished it for him, “Yeah, that’s right. And I told  her not to tell you where I was.”

“She didn’t,” he stood up straight again, holding his hands up, “I knew you wouldn’t have gone far, so I drove around until I spotted your truck,” he admitted, gaze flitting down to the floor. More silence followed, the atmosphere thickening as the seconds ticked by.

“Dean,” my voice was small as my anxiety spiked again, the question ready to spill from my mouth though no matter what he said, I knew I wasn’t ready for the answer. “Why are you here? What do you want from me? You say you want to talk, but you’re the one who ended everything. You ended our decades-long relationship out of fucking nowhere. What could there possibly be to talk about anymore. It’s been four years.” My voice trembled and he clenched his teeth, looking away from me before setting his eyes back to the floor. He dragged his gaze back up to mine, and something burned deep in those evergreen irises that took my breath away. Yet he remained silent.

“You crushed me when out of nowhere you said we were over - that we had no future. That you couldn't imagine growing old with me, like we'd always talked about. You have no idea how much you broke my fucking heart, and then you just expected me to live alongside you in the bunker like nothing was wrong? In my own room, far away from you? Why did you think that I would be ok with that?” I felt the familiar drip of hot tears and they flooded down my cheeks and rolled off my chin, the dam I’d fought so hard to contain now bursting wide with vengeance.

“You think I wanted you to leave?” Dean spoke up finally, his voice deep and gravelly, like it always was when he was upset. “You don’t think that telling you that everything was over wasn’t the hardest thing that I’ve ever had to do? That I was happy watching you pack your bags and walk out without so much as a goodbye?”

“You didn’t love me, Dean, so why would you have cared? You obviously didn’t love me the way that I loved you.”

He flinched, but took a step closer. 

“You think this is because I stopped loving you? (Y/n)... it wasn’t safe- you weren’t safe in the bunker. You weren’t safe with me…” his expression turned to one of pain as his brows pinched and his eyes glistened. He took a deep breath. “I thought maybe if you just stayed in the bunker with little to no association with me, then it would be ok. I mean, I'd still get to see you, talk to you. Be in your fucking presence. I never expected you to- to…” he took another deep breath, his lungs almost stuttering. “I didn’t think you would leave.”

He never took his eyes off mine. I saw the years of hurt and heartbreak intertwine with glimmers of green and gold, the emotions I always knew he’d struggled to cope with were swimming in a pool of desperation and fear. On the outside, Dean Winchester was the strongest there was. He was an undefeated and undisputed leader of men. He was the King of hunters. The Alpha. The man who could make you wish you were dead. Yet here he was, wearing every vulnerable emotion on his sleeve as he stood before me with anxious breaths and fearful eyes. The sight made my heart break all over again.

“Dean,” his name was like a quiet prayer as he moved closer again, “I don’t think you understand…”

“Understand what, sweetheart?” the rasp in his voice pebbled goosebumps on my skin, and when he reached for a lock of my hair to twirl around his finger, I had to fight off every instinct to just throw myself into his arms and bury my face in his chest. His familiar scent floated through the air and wrapped itself around my senses, and when I breathed him in the aroma of old leather and gunpowder went straight to my brain like a hit of cocaine. The pleasant hum from my chest was involuntary. 

“I don’t think you understand that… that…” I sighed a woeful breath, looking up at him and seeing nothing but a warm, expectant gaze.

“That I’m still in love with you.”

The finger Dean had looped around my hair froze in place and I heard him suck in a breath, his lips parting. He remained unmoving, as though every thought racing through his mind had taken precedence over his body. It was a moment before he blinked, coming back down to Earth. When he looked down at me, all of the desperation, hurt and heartbreak dissipated from his eyes and in their place was the blazing heat of hope, accentuated by a small upturned twitch of his lips.

“You do?” 

“Yes.”

“You’re not fucking with me?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Before I could react Dean had scooped me into his arms and crashed his mouth onto mine. The urge to push him away and tell him to get the fuck out bubbled up inside me, however when his familiar taste graced my tongue, a taste that was home, every desire for him to leave evaporated. The years of being apart, of being unable to touch him had made every caress electric, no matter how feather-light. My hands had tangled in his shirt as he pressed his mouth harder onto mine, pulling him crushingly close. His embrace was almost suffocating before he gently slid his hands up and threaded his rough fingers through my hair, and I lifted my own hands to do the same. I took my time with the motion, reminding myself of what he felt like - not that the memory of him ever truly left. I remembered how the muscles across his stomach and chest felt hard beneath a soft layer of skin. I remembered the way they quivered at my touch, and how my touch always pulled soft moans from his lips. My hands crept up to take hold of his face, the familiar feeling of his rough stubble beneath my fingertips ever present, a reminder of how that rough stubble felt when it tauntingly brushed against other parts of my body. I cupped his cheeks, feeling my own tears dampen his skin. He kissed me in a way that said I’m sorry, a kiss that held four years of pent up emotions with a desire to be released. A kiss that I knew was designed specifically for me. Our breaths and lips became frantic, the pace in which we were now devouring each other was still not enough to soothe the wounds in our hearts that were so desperate to be healed. Dean pulled away and held my face in his hands, running his rough thumbs over the soft skin under my eyes to wipe away the tears.

“I miss you, so fucking much,” his voice was low, his words for my ears only - not that anyone else was listening.

“I miss you too,” I sniffled, resting my palms on his chest again and relishing in the heat seeping through his shirt.

He leant down and rested his forehead against mine, taking a deep breath with his eyes closed. The atmosphere shifted however when he dipped down lower and pressed a hot kiss to my cheek, then to my ear, and then to my neck - each press of his lips drawing a shiver from my spine. I gasped when he nibbled my pulse point gently and my hands flew to grasp the short strands of hair at the back of his neck, my nails dragging over his scalp. He groaned against me at the sensation, one large hand moving to grip my hair at its roots whilst the other slid to my hip - squeezing the soft flesh. A moan of his name slipped past my lips and it was like a switch was flipped as he pulled away suddenly. He turned to take a few steps across the room, attempting to put some distance between us. I stood, baffled for a moment, but when he turned back to me and his vibrant eyes were now black with lust, I almost knew what he was going to say.

“Do you really want to go there sweetheart? Do you think you’ll be able to handle it?” he started making slow strides back towards me and I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth. 

“Yes,” my voice was more breathy than I’d anticipated.

“No regrets?” he was almost within reach again.

“No regrets.”

When his hands landed on my waist again, his frenzied kisses on my lips, I was expecting to be able to ravage him equally; but when he lifted me and threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing I let out a shocked yelp. 

“Dean!”

He chuckled, the sound low in his chest as he strode over to the bed and threw me down, the impact on the mattress knocking a breath out of me.

“I’ve not been able to fuck you sensless for four years, there ain’t no way I’m going easy on you tonight sweetheart.” I propped myself up on my elbows and watched as he tore his top from his body. I barely got a glimpse of his rugged physique that I’d so terribly missed before he all but pounced, trapping me beneath him. My hands immediately clung to the tight muscles of his back, my nails digging in and drawing a hiss from his clenched teeth before his mouth pressed to my neck right below my ear.

“Do you remember how you used to scream my name?”

I nodded.

“I’m going to make you scream much, much, louder than you ever have before. I’m going to make all past encounters feel like a warm up compared to what I’m gonna do to you tonight.” I shivered at his words as his hot breath fanned over my skin. His hands were fast, desperately tugging on my pyjama pants to slip one inside the soft fabric, not bothering to remove them entirely. There was an urgency to his movements like nothing I’d ever seen, the air leaving my lungs on a gasping moan when his fingers grazed my underwear. He chuckled slightly, pressing a series of searing kisses down my neck to my collar bone. 

“Well, aren't you sensitive? How long has it been, darlin’? Since someone else touched you - since someone else made you cum?” The heat rose to my already flushing cheeks at his words and I tried to cover my face with the back of my hand. My attempts to hide were futile as his long fingers wrapped around my wrist and he pinned my arm above my head. 

“Well?” he pressed, a smirk on his lips.

“Four years,” I all but squeaked. He thought for a moment before his smirk evolved into a widespread grin. “Don't let it go to your head, Winchester,” I did my best to bite out my words yet my voice trembled with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. My head rolled into the quilt and my back arched when he pushed his finger against my clit through my underwear a second time, this time harder, more purposeful. His own breath was shuddering as he continued to plant hot kisses against my skin, the slight dampness from his lips cooling quickly when he pulled back to sit on his knees. My heart didn't know if it wanted to stop dead in my chest or palpitate itself into oblivion when he looked down at me. Dean eminated a dark, primal hunger, glazing his eyes with lust as he gnawed his bottom lip. There wasn't a part of me that he hadn't seen before, and despite my current lack of nakedness it was as if I wasn't wearing anything at all. He made a noise in his chest that seemed to roll up his throat, like a growl of approval as I lay like prey beneath him. Dean may be older now, but he was bigger. Broader. Larger. The years of saving the world and fighting every abomination in his path had forced him to bulk up most exquisitely. With my free hand I traced over the scars adorning his shoulders, chest and abdomen: some old and silver, some newer and pink. There were even a fresh few, still scabbed over, and he shivered at every gentle touch. His gaze, however, was unrelenting. Without uttering a word he yanked my pyjama bottoms from my legs and tossed them into the depths of the room, immediately doing the same with my underwear. Instinctively I attempted to pull my knees together despite him being planted between them and he laughed softly, dragging his dark eyes over my slightly squirming body. He clutched my hand that was touching his chest and pinned it with my other one above my head, leaning down to lift the hem of my t-shirt, to gather above my breasts with his teeth. A shiver tore through me as his hot breath dusted the soft skin of my stomach and ribs, perking my nipples instantly.

“I think your body missed me sweetheart.”

“Definitely not just my body,” I panted. He breathed over my lips for a moment, every possibility of tonight's endeavours flashing before his eyes before he dipped his head to kiss me. His mouth moved slightly slower this time, like he was desperately trying to control the beast inside and make every moment count. To make every moment memorable.

“Do you remember Oasis Plains, Oklahoma? With that fancy house we borrowed?” His voice dropped an octave, eyes hooded as he recalled the memory.

“Yes,” I practically clenched, remembering the late night escapades from all those years ago. In my mind it was like yesterday - the way his lips felt on my skin, how his strong fingers bruised my thighs, and how he brought me to total completion no less than three times. His lips twitched up as he slid down my body and off the edge of the bed to kneel on the floor. He roughly gripped my thighs and threw them over his shoulders before slowly, tantalisingly sliding his hands up the supple flesh to grasp my ass and pull my whole body towards him.

“I’m gonna make you lose your fucking mind, just like you did back then. Maybe I'll even beat that record.”

My eyes could've disappeared inside my skull with how far they rolled back, his mouth's quick descent over my most intimate area - a soft kiss placed just above my clit - had me gasping in anticipation. Without a second to gather my thoughts he pressed his next kiss to that bundle of nerves; the wet heat of his mouth sending a pulse after pulse of fire through my veins as I twitched at his touch. He was an expert. Every flick of his tongue was practised and calculated, knowing which way to swirl, to caress, and how much pressure to apply. It was only a matter of minutes before my hands plunged into his hair and I grasped desperately at the soft strands, feeling that tidal wave build, and build, and build before he daringly grazed his teeth over my clit and it sent the wave crashing down around me, my body arching off the soft mattress as I came undone in his arms at the mercy of his mouth. 

“F-FUCK- Dean-”

My limbs twitched as they relaxed on the come-down, Deans tongue softly tracing up and down my opening. Without pulling away, he spoke in a husky tone:

“Fuck, sweetheart. You have no idea how many times I've reminisced about you moaning my name like that.”

The breath from his words made me shiver, and I moved to prop myself up on my elbows. 

“Ready for round two?” His voice remained low, not waiting for my inevitable confirmation before slowly dipping a finger into my still-clenching walls. The moan that slipped past my lips pulled a groan from Dean, a second finger joining the first as they curled up to push against the soft cushion hidden in the depths of my core. He knew where to find it with zero hesitation - his fingers seemingly acting on muscle memory as he beckoned another orgasm from me. He coaxed it forward, my inner nerves dangerously sensitive as the pleasure began to pool for a second time. With every motion of his finger, again and again, I started to feel the coil twist. I was in two minds on whether to be mortified by how easily he could pull a climax from my very soul, or impressed by it. Either way, he had me teetering on the edge a second time before a single flick of his tongue snapped the coil and euphoria claimed me once more.

His name merged with the endless moans spilling from my mouth, my hazy brain struggling to differentiate the two.

“Shit, you taste so good baby. I could devour you all night.”

“I wouldn't stop you.”

He grinned.

“As much as I would love to indulge you, I need to fuck you. Now.”

He pushed on the backs of my thighs, urging me to centre myself on the bed before he climbed back over me. I could feel myself salivating at the sight of his broad shoulders flexing under his weight, his skin damp with sweat from being trapped beneath my thighs.

He leant down to capture my mouth again, a kiss fueled with raw, carnal desire as he struggled to hold himself back. He shuddered under my fingertips as I trailed them down his torso to his belt, hastily unfastening the buckle and top button of his jeans. It was a joint effort to push them off his hips and down his thighs, but that's as far as they went. The feral need to be inside me had consumed him, and I'd barely withdrawn my hands from between us when he lined up and buried himself to the hilt. 

The burn and stretch was immediate - knocking the air from my lungs as I clutched his solid biceps like a lifeline, my nails indenting his scarred skin. He had the common decency to stay still for around ten seconds before his self restraint diminished yet again and he withdrew slowly. I could feel the divine ridges on his length through the immense build up of my slick and his spit, and as he eased back in he dropped his head into the crook of my neck with a gasp and a groan. A large, rough palm glided down my thigh, goosebumps in its wake as he grasped beneath my knee to rest my leg on his hip. Another moan filled the air between us at the new angle, the top of his cock kissing the soft, sensitive cushion inside. His mouth was hot on my neck as his hips found a rhythm against mine - a rhythm that gradually increased in speed with the intense pleasure unrelenting on my over-sensitive insides. My next impending climax swiftly appearing on the horizon.

“Dean,” I pleaded, my eyes cracking open to look up at him through welling tears, “I'm getting close again-”

He lifted his head, that play-boy grin finding his lips as he saw the mess I'd become at his touch; the mascara-stained tear tracks smudging on my cheeks and the unruly sex-hair was always a good sign of a good time.

“I need you to let go sweetheart - cum for me. Please…”

His words were the cherry on the cake for my undoing yet again and I felt my whole body explode with pleasure and tense up around him. The third orgasm of the night had my vision blurring when he cursed under his breath at my contracting walls, yet he didn't let up. He fucked me through the mind blowing bliss, not letting me catch my breath as a fourth climax hit me out of nowhere, the torturous attack on my g-spot making me feel close to blacking out.

“F-FUCK- Dean- Please- I can't,” my voice was hoarse from the moans and ragged breaths ripping from my throat every other second and my whole body trembled, slick with sweat from both myself and Dean. Despite the death grip I had on Deans cock, every involuntary clench making my knees twitch, he still wasn't finished. His powerful thrusts stuttered slightly before he pulled out, causing me to suck a breath through my teeth. Before I had a chance to query his actions he flipped me with ease, landing me flat on my stomach, my face buried in the soft quilt. Much like before, he didn't wait for an invitation to push back in, the overstimulated nerves in my core sending a jolt through every aching muscle in my body. The deeper angle pulled a cry from my lips when he bottomed out, and if I didn't know any better I would've said that his cock was in my ribcage. Deans large, warm hands took up residence on the supply flesh around my hips, tugging them up so my ass was in the air.

“Shit, (Y/n), with a view like this I'm not gonna last much longer- fuck,” Deans words were strained as he picked up the pace again, albeit this time there was an urgency to his movements. A desperate desire to experience the same Earth shattering euphoria that he had hand delivered to me. With my face in the fabric I snuck a hand down between my legs, finding the pleasure of circling my clit both a relief and an amplifier for the scorching pleasure Dean was inflicting. It didn't take long for him to tear my hand away, only to replace it with his own - pulling noises from my lips that were a whole new calibre of erotic that I didn't know I was capable of. My moans had an effect on Dean, and the hand that was on my hip, that was kneading my soft skin with a bruising grip had shot forwards and planted beside my head, bracing his weight above me. I couldn't see him but I could feel his solid chest against my back, his head dipping down to place rough kisses against my shoulder, his stubble tickling the sensitive skin there. I prepared myself for the bruises I'd find on my body in the morning - his firm hold on me would have been almost painful given any other situation. That's not to forget the biting and sucking he was now subjecting my neck and shoulder blades to - the sensation setting my skin ablaze. Deans strained breaths were a tell for his own impending end, with his hips losing their strong rhythm as he panted out laboriously. The sound of him on the verge of bliss, accompanied by every other agonising ministration performed on my body had me unravelling one last time; one hand fisting the sheets whilst the other reached back, my nails brushing over Deans scalp and toying with his short, soft hair. The fluttering of my channel around his cock was all it took to bring him to his long awaited fervid finish. I trembled beneath him as he groaned into my ear, the sound something primal, something almost unhinged. We remained still for a moment, waiting for the post climax clarity to come along and make us regret our decision. He pulled out slowly, earning a hiss from both of us at the loss of warmth and intimate contact. The simultaneous feeling of emptiness and relief was an odd feeling, as I know full well he’d ruined me for anyone else - no one in Heaven or Hell could compete with that. Not that I wanted them to in the first place. Every nerve ending in my lower region fizzled with overstimulation, yet I couldn't have felt more relaxed; more satiated. For the first time in a very, very, long time, I felt complete. 

Dean grabbed the towel he'd left on the back of the chair and used it to catch the evidence of our intimacy, the wetness cooling quickly on my thighs as I pushed myself to sit on my knees. I turned and looked up at him, watching as he stood beside the bed, eyeing me nervously. I raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on my lips.

“What's wrong? Regretting the whole ‘No Regrets’ thing already?” 

He shook his head.

“Do you?” His voice held a crackle that equaled his nervous expression.

I shook my head. He looked down at his clothes on the floor.

“No, although I'm getting the impression from you that this was a one time thing,” he must've heard the disappointment when I spoke, his eyes flying up to meet mine.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because you're picking your shit off the floor like you're about to leave, that's why.”

“You…want me to stay? I thought-”

“Did I fucking stutter when I said I still love you, Dean? Because I do, and it's all-consuming and to be totally honest, I never want to leave your side again.” Heat bloomed across my cheeks at my sudden proclamation. Deans grip on his clothes slackened, letting it all fall back to the floor. From the look on his face it was like I'd just declared him King of the world; like a light switched on behind his eyes and a smile threatened to spread across his face.

“Yeah?” 

I fiddle with my fingers in my lap, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth.

“Yeah-whoa!”

I didn't get the chance to feel bashful or embarrassed when Dean tackled me onto the bed. At first he peppered my still-damp skin with small kisses that tickled with his stubble, before placing his mouth over mine. I couldn't recall a time that he'd kissed me so softly, and accompanied by the gentle embrace of his arms with his fingers carefully threading through my hair, it was enough to bring me to tears.

“I've missed you so much,” my sniffles brought an almost relieved smile to his features as he pulled back and stroked my hair with overwhelming tenderness.

“I've missed you too, sweetheart.

So fucking much.”

----------------------------

Taglist: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @libby99hb @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung @king-of-milf-lovers @xshortputax @jerksbitch @multifandoms-saidwhat @deans-baby-momma @writersxxx

[vanilladollette]

Hey girl wassup, can you write about sweet female reader, with (all the characters if that's okay for u, if no, then jae Joon)

Female reader who is friends with Dong Eun and she had no idea that burns were from the bullies, and didn't know that jae Joon was apart of the incident, and when Dong exposes jae Joon, female reader goes from sweet to cold towards Jae Joon and breaks up with him, and lends him to be yandere.

(ALSO GIRL I WANNA SAY THAT I LOVE YOUR THE GLORY X READER ON, WATTPAD ♡ )

The Sweetest Poison

Pairing: Yandere Jeon Jae-Joon x Fem! Sweet Reader

Word count: 1.75k

Summary:After learning you left him upon discovering his past as your best friend's bully, Jae-Joon's heartbreak twists into a dangerous obsession.

Warnings: Bullying, Burns, toxic, violent behavior, cursing

A/n: I'm glad that you like Beneath The Surface!!! This took me awhile to write but thank you for being patient with me. Anyways, I hope you like this!

You couldn’t believe it, even as you replayed her words in your head. The signs were all there, and yet somehow, you’d missed them. How could you have missed something like that?

When Moon Dong-eun, your friend from high school, had contacted you, you were thrilled. It had been years since you’d last seen her. Her message had been brief, almost cryptic, saying she needed to talk about something important in person. Curious and eager, you’d agreed to meet her at a quiet café downtown.

As you approached the agreed-upon spot, you saw her sitting alone at a corner table. Dong-eun looked different but not unrecognizable. Her posture was composed, her expression serene yet distant, like someone who had seen too much and learned to mask it well. You felt a pang of nostalgia as memories of the once cheerful, soft-spoken girl from high school resurfaced.

“Dong-eun!” you greeted warmly, sliding into the seat across from her. “It’s been so long. How are you?”

Her smile was faint but sincere. “Hello, y/n. It’s good to see you.” Her voice had a weight to it, as though each word carried unspoken emotions.

The two of you exchanged pleasantries. You told her how you’d thought about her over the years, wondering where she’d gone and what had happened after she left school. You mentioned how devastated you were when you found her house empty, with no way to contact her.

“I’ve been well,” she said, her tone polite but guarded. “After leaving school, I went to college to study education. I’m a teacher now.”

“Wow, that’s wonderful!” you exclaimed, genuinely impressed. “I wouldn’t have guessed you wanted to be a teacher back then.”

“What about you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “How have you been?”

You gave a small laugh. “Oh, nothing as exciting as becoming a teacher, that’s for sure. Just working and… you know, living life.”

As the conversation lingered, you couldn’t help but feel there was something unsaid, something heavier lurking beneath her calm demeanor. Finally, you decided to ask.

“Anyway,” you began, leaning forward slightly, “what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Dong-eun hesitated, her fingers curling around the edge of her cup. Her gaze flickered downward for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was soft but deliberate.

“You know,” she said, almost wistfully, “I always wondered how someone as kind as you could be so close to him.”

Her words caught you off guard. Him? You blinked, your head tilting in confusion. “Who are you talking about?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, her eyes met yours, searching your face as though gauging your reaction. Finally, she asked, “Do you know why I dropped out of high school?”

You nodded slowly. “You were being bullied. I assumed that was the reason… that you didn’t want to deal with it anymore.”

“Yes,” she confirmed, her voice steady. “But I never told you who my bullies were.”

A chill ran down your spine. Something in her tone made your stomach knot. You stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

She took a deep breath, her fingers now toying with the hem of her sleeve. “One of them was Jae-joon,” she said finally, her words landing like a thunderclap. “He was one of them.”

Your breath caught. Jae-joon? You stared at her, your mind racing. Jae-joon, the same person you’d been close to all these years? The same person you’d trusted, laughed with, maybe even defended? The shock on your face must have been evident, because Dong-eun gave a sad, knowing smile.

“I’m guessing he never told you,” she said, her voice tinged with resignation. “I didn’t think he would. Why would he admit something like that to you?”

You were at a loss for words. Memories of Jae-joon flooded your mind—his easy smile, his charm, the way he always seemed so confident. You couldn’t reconcile the image of him with what Dong-eun was telling you. But then you thought about her, about how she’d suddenly vanished from your life, leaving no trace. And you realized… maybe you’d never really known Jae-joon as well as you thought.

“I’m sorry you had to find out from me,” Dong-eun said, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft but firm, her gaze unwavering.

You shook your head quickly, trying to process everything. “No… I—I needed to know.” Your voice trembled, and you suddenly felt a lump in your throat. “I’m sorry, but I… I have to go.”

Without waiting for her response, you grabbed your bag and stood. Your legs felt unsteady as you walked out of the café, the weight of her revelation pressing down on you like a heavy fog. As you stepped into the cold air, one question echoed in your mind: How had you missed it?

“Y/n, I’m home!” Jae-Joon called out from the entrance of your shared home, his voice echoing through the quiet space. The late hour clung to him like a shadow, exhaustion evident in the way he shrugged off his coat and draped it over the back of a chair.

“Y/n?” he called again, his tone softening slightly when no response came.

He moved through the house, his footsteps muffled on the carpet as he checked the usual places you might be. The kitchen was empty, the living room undisturbed. A flicker of unease settled in his chest as he made his way toward the bedroom.

Pushing the door open slowly, Jae-Joon’s eyes landed on your still figure lying on the bed, your back facing him. Relief warred with apprehension as he stepped closer, his voice low and uncertain.

“Y/n?”

When you didn’t stir, he perched cautiously on the edge of the bed beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. His hand found your hip, a gesture meant to bridge the growing distance he felt between you. For a moment, he said nothing, unsure how to break the silence that had thickened between you lately.

“How was your day?” he finally asked, his voice tentative.

“Fine,” you replied curtly, your tone as cold as the wall you stared at.

Jae-Joon’s shoulders sagged under the weight of your indifference. The silence returned, heavier than before. Sighing, he rose and left the room to prepare for bed, the unspoken words hanging in the air like ghosts.

The next morning, Jae-Joon woke to find the bed empty. He blinked at the sunlight filtering through the curtains, assuming you were already up. The faint clink of dishes guided him to the kitchen, where he found you seated at the table with a bowl of untouched cereal in front of you. Your gaze was fixed on some indiscernible point ahead, your posture rigid.

“Morning,” he greeted, though the lightness in his tone faltered when you didn’t respond. Shrugging it off, he began rummaging through the cabinets for something to eat.

“When were you going to tell me that you gave Dong-eun those burns?”

Your voice cut through the stillness. Jae-Joon froze, his hand hovering over the coffee pot. Slowly, he turned to face you, his expression a mixture of confusion and unease.

“What?” he managed, his voice strained.

“Or were you just hoping I’d never find out?” Your voice trembled, though your eyes remained fixed ahead.

Jae-Joon’s throat tightened. “Who told you? Did Dong-eun tell you?” He approached the table, his movements deliberate.

“Answer my question,” you snapped, finally meeting his gaze. Your red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks were like a punch to his gut. “Were you ever planning to tell me, Jae-Joon? Or did you think you could hide the fact that you were my best friend’s bully?”

His jaw clenched as anger flared in his eyes, a defense mechanism against the guilt clawing at him. “What did she tell you?” he demanded, his voice rising.

“Why are you so worried about what she said? Is it because it’s true?” you shot back, standing up abruptly.

The two of you locked eyes, the tension crackling between you like a live wire. You didn’t wait for his response. Turning on your heel, you strode toward the bedroom.

Jae-Joon followed close behind, his stomach twisting as he watched you yank a suitcase from the closet and toss it onto the bed. His heart sank further with every article of clothing you packed.

“Wait, what are you doing?” His voice cracked, the panic unmistakable.

“I’m done, Jae-Joon,” you said, your voice rising. “We’re over.” You zipped the suitcase with trembling hands, refusing to look at him.

“Y/n, wait!” He grabbed your wrist as you made for the door, his grip firm but not forceful. “Let’s talk about this. Please.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You wrenched your arm free, your voice breaking.

Jae-Joon stood frozen as you walked out the door, the sound of your suitcase wheels scraping against the floor a bitter reminder of your departure. The silence that followed was deafening.

“FUCK!” The scream tore from his throat as he hurled a lamp across the room, the crash doing little to ease the storm raging inside him.

Grabbing his phone, he scrolled furiously through his messages until he found Dong-eun’s number. His hands shook as he hit the call button, the phone pressed tightly to his ear.

After several rings, her voice came through, calm and composed. “Hello?”

“WHAT DID YOU TELL HER?” he roared, his voice laced with fury.

“Simply the truth,” Dong-eun replied coldly.

“Because of you, Y/n left me!” His voice cracked, the admission spilling out like a wound reopening.

“Did you really think she wouldn’t find out, Jae-Joon?” Dong-eun’s voice was unyielding. “She deserved to know.”

He ended the call abruptly, hurling his phone across the room. Chest heaving, he sank onto the bed, his head in his hands.

Jae-Joon sat on the edge of the bed, his breathing ragged as the room fell silent. His hands shook. You were his—his light, his purpose, his everything.

You leaving wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be. He’d make you see that. He’d make you come back to him, no matter what it took.

A smile—a chilling, empty smile—spread across his face. You weren’t responding now, but that was fine. He didn’t need words. He knew where you were. He’d find you.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost tender. “You’ll understand soon, Y/n. We’re meant to be.”

His heart pounded with renewed determination as he got up, his mind racing with plans. You belonged to him, and nothing would change that.

Nothing.

Taglist: @petersasteria

[halfmoonaria]

what i can’t undo

pairing: tara carpenter & reader

summary: tara goes down a path she never expected to take.

word count: 9.9k

author’s note: part two of ‘what i can’t undo’

The bathroom was small, its walls painted a faded cream that reflected the golden glow of the single overhead bulb.

You didn't care about the way it flickered slightly, nor did you care about the damp towels tossed over the hooks or the cracked soap dish on the sink.

None of it mattered because your mind was spinning, your heart racing like you'd just stepped off a rollercoaster.

Brian had kissed you.

You stood in front of the mirror, gripping the edges of the sink to steady yourself as your reflection smiled back at you, wide and unabashed.

A soft squeal bubbled out of your throat before you could stop it, your hands flying up to cover your face as though you could somehow hide from your own excitement.

It didn't work.

A grin tugged at your lips anyway, spreading until it hurt your cheeks, but you couldn't stop it. How could you? Brian—the boy you'd been dreaming about since you were old enough to understand what a crush even was—had kissed you. He'd actually kissed you.

The memory replayed in your head like a favorite scene from a movie. The way his hand had lingered on your waist, the faint taste of his drink on his lips, the way he'd smiled at you before leaning in—it was perfect.

Everything about it felt perfect.

You leaned closer to the mirror, running your fingers through your hair to fix the strands that had fallen loose in your excitement. Your reflection stared back at you with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine what Tara would say when you told her.

She'd probably tease you about how long it took for Brian to finally get the courage, maybe roll her eyes and say, "Took him long enough."

You couldn't wait to tell her all about it.

So, with one last look in the mirror, you smoothed your hands over your outfit, took a deep breath, and turned for the door. The night felt like it was only just beginning.

The hallway outside the bathroom was crowded, a line having formed sometime during your moment of excitement.

You squeezed past a few impatient faces, murmuring quick apologies as you tried not to push too hard. The music from the party thumped louder now, vibrating through your chest as you re-entered the main part of the house.

The crowd had only grown, spilling into every corner of the space. People leaned against walls, danced in the middle of the living room, and sat sprawled on furniture with red cups in hand. It was warm and hazy, the air thick with a mix of sweat, spilled beer, and perfume.

You tucked yourself into the flow of the room, weaving between bodies as you excused yourself with a polite smile here and there.

Your head felt light, your steps unsteady—but it wasn't entirely from the alcohol.

At least, you didn't think it was. Was it the kiss? The way Brian's lips had lingered on yours, soft but sure, like he'd wanted it for just as long as you had?

Or was it the remnants of the few drinks you'd nursed earlier, finally catching up to you? You couldn't tell, and honestly, you didn't care.

A few familiar faces stopped you along the way, their greetings overlapping with the music. You smiled, exchanged quick hellos, and let their words pass without really processing them.

Your mind was focused on something else entirely—getting to Tara and Brian. You couldn't wait to see Tara's expression when you told her how the kiss had happened, how perfect it had felt.

You rounded the corner toward the spot where you'd left them just a few minutes ago, threading your way through another group of people. But when you got there, the space was empty.

The corner of the room where Tara had been leaning, arms crossed with her sharp smirk, was now vacant. Brian, who'd stood beside her looking effortlessly charming, was nowhere to be seen either. Your brow furrowed as you glanced around, scanning the crowd for any sign of them.

At first, you didn't think much of it. Tara and Brian probably went to grab another drink or stepped outside for some fresh air. Maybe Tara needed to use the bathroom after all, or Brian had spotted someone he wanted to say hello to. In your slightly drunken haze, every excuse you came up with felt perfectly reasonable.

Still, a faint unease bubbled at the edge of your thoughts, though you quickly brushed it away. There was no reason to overthink it. So, instead of lingering, you turned to walk to the dance floor.

You exchanged a few fleeting smiles as you passed familiar faces—people you recognized from school or other parties, their names blurred in the haze of your tipsiness.

Someone called your name from across the room, but when you glanced back, you couldn't place who it was, so you just offered a polite wave before continuing.

The crowd was packed tighter here, bodies moving in time with the heavy bassline that vibrated through the room.

You slipped into the mix, weaving your way through swaying shoulders and raised arms until you caught sight of a familiar face—Aria, one of your relatively close friends, standing near the edge of the makeshift dance floor.

Her dark curls framed her face, damp with sweat from dancing, and her eyes lit up when she spotted you. She tilted her head, raising her eyebrows in a teasing question as she motioned for you to come closer.

"Where the hell have you been hiding all night?" she asked loudly, her voice barely cutting through the music.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair out of your face as you stepped closer. "Everywhere except here," you answered, your voice light.

Aria gave a short laugh, her shoulders shaking, before gesturing vaguely to the crowd around her. "You missed the fun," she teased, but her tone was warm, her teasing meant for banter, not criticism.

The moment felt light—like a reprieve from the chaos of the party—but something in the back of your mind nagged at you. Tara and Brian weren't where you had left them.

The question slipped out before you could overthink it.

"Hey, have you seen Tara or Brian?" you asked casually, scanning her face for any hint of recognition. "They were over there earlier, but now I can't find them."

Aria's smirk widened, and for a second, she didn't say anything, just let the music thud around you like she was holding onto some secret. Then, without shame, she leaned in, almost laughing as she said, "They're at it upstairs."

You blinked, leaning closer to her to make sure you heard her right. The music pulsed too loud, swallowing her words, and your mind tried to fill in the blanks. They're sitting upstairs? They're chatting upstairs?

It was almost funny—her tone, the absurdity of what she'd just said—so you laughed loosely, shaking your head. "What?" you asked, still grinning, your voice light, almost teasing.

She leaned back slightly, her expression practically glowing with drunken mischief, and repeated, louder this time, "They're fucking upstairs."

The smile fell from your face.

At first, the words didn't feel real. They felt distant, like they'd been said about someone else, not Tara and Brian. Not the Brian who had kissed you. Not Tara, your best friend.

You stared at Aria, blinking, waiting for her to break the joke. Surely, she was messing with you. Surely, it was just Aria being Aria, drunk and teasing.

"What?" The word came out soft, barely audible, trembling on your lips like it wasn't really yours.

It couldn't be true. Tara and Brian? Brian kissed you. His lips had been on yours, his hand on your waist. Just minutes ago, it had felt perfect—like something out of a dream.

You tried to rationalize it, to push the idea out of your head.

Sure, people had teased about Tara and Brian before, said they'd look cute together. But that was years ago, back when it was nothing more than an innocent observation. Not now. Not when Brian kissed you.

Aria, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you, kept going, her smirk growing even wider. She leaned closer, her voice teasing but louder, like this was all just harmless fun.

"What, you wanna go join them?" she joked, laughing lightly as she nodded toward the stairs. Her finger lazily pointed in their direction. "Because if that's the case, they went up there."

Her grin was huge, too wide, and you forced a laugh—tight and nervous—just to play along. But it didn't sound right, even to your own ears. Your lips twitched into a smile that didn't reach your eyes, and you felt your head buzzing, like there was a ringing in your ears, a static you couldn't shake.

Not from the music. Not from the alcohol.

It wasn't true. It couldn't be true.

Your mind scrambled for reasons, for excuses. Tara would never do something like that—not to you.

You knew her, didn't you? She was loyal, maybe reckless when alcohol hit her senses, but not cruel.

And Brian? Sure, you didn't know him as well, not as deeply as you thought you knew Tara, but you'd grown up in the same spaces. You'd been close enough to see him on the field while you stayed on the sidelines, cheering from afar.

Your stomach twisted again, bile rising in your throat as you forced yourself to ask the question, the only question that might give you an out.

"Are you sure it was them?" Your voice was quiet, barely audible over the music, but the words came out steady despite the pounding in your chest.

You clung to the hope that Aria had been wrong, that she had seen someone else, that this was all some stupid misunderstanding.

Aria tilted her head at you, her expression slightly confused, as if she couldn't understand why you were asking. "Oh yeah," she said, her tone as casual as if she were talking about the weather. "They were making out in the kitchen too. It was pretty gnarly."

Her words hit like a second blow, stealing the breath from your lungs.

She didn't even seem fazed, just took a lazy sip from her red cup, her lips curling into that same amused smile.

The ringing in your ears grew louder, drowning out the music, the chatter of the party, the sound of your own breathing. Your fingers twitched at your sides, your body frozen between fight and flight, between storming upstairs and pretending this wasn't happening.

Because it wasn't happening. It couldn't be.

You scanned the room desperately, your gaze darting between the couples tangled up on couches, slipping away toward the stairs. People you didn't know. People who didn't matter. It could be anyone upstairs, couldn't it? There were so many people here, so many faces that blurred together in the haze of alcohol and sweat and flashing lights.

But the image of them—Tara and Brian, together, doing what Aria said—burned behind your eyes like a brand.

The bass of the music pounded in your chest, an unrelenting rhythm that only made the nausea clawing at your throat worse.

You couldn't stay in there. The walls felt like they were shrinking, the air thick and stifling as if every breath you took was doing nothing. Your chest was tight, your stomach turning violently, and the music was a cruel, unrelenting pulse in your skull. You felt like you might throw up, or cry, or both.

But you couldn't. Not here. Not in front of Aria, not in front of anyone.

You turned sharply, barely aware of the steps your feet took as you wove your way through the crowd. It was a blur of faces and noise, laughter and voices blending into a shapeless roar.

Your legs felt shaky, your knees unsteady, but you kept moving, forcing yourself toward the front door like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

The cool night air hit you the second you stepped outside, but it didn't bring the relief you were hoping for. Your breaths were shallow and fast, coming out in sharp gasps that did nothing to ease the tightness in your chest.

You stumbled down the steps, the wooden ground feeling unsteady beneath your feet, your hand brushing the railing just to keep yourself upright.

It was quiet outside, but not enough.

The ringing in your ears wouldn't stop, and it wasn't the music anymore—it was the words Aria had said, looping in your head like a cruel joke. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep going, the gravel crunching beneath your shoes as you moved further down the walkway, away from the house and the noise and the suffocating heat.

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, blurring the porch lights and casting halos around the shadows. You blinked rapidly, trying to force them back, but it was no use. They slipped free anyway, streaking down your face in hot, silent trails.

Your hand shot up to your mouth, your fingers pressing hard against your trembling lips as if that would stop the tears, stop the shaking in your chest. You couldn't breathe—your lungs refused to fill no matter how hard you tried, and the ache in your throat only grew sharper with every failed attempt.

You leaned against the wooden railing at the base of the stairs, gripping it so tightly your knuckles ached. The nausea rose again, sharp and overwhelming, and you hunched forward slightly, gasping for air like you'd just run a marathon. The tears came faster now, hot and relentless, and you gave up trying to fight them.

Your mind screamed that it wasn't true, that it couldn't be true. Aria was drunk—she had to be wrong.

There were so many couples here, so many people sneaking away. She probably confused them with someone else. But even as you tried to convince yourself, you could feel the doubt creeping in, winding its way around your chest and squeezing tighter and tighter.

It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. It couldn't be Tara. It couldn't be Brian.

___

Tara laid on her back, staring at the ceiling, the hazy glow of the bedside lamp casting uneven shadows across the cracked plaster.

Her chest rose and fell quickly, her breath catching in her throat like a sob she wouldn't let out. The room reeked of sweat and stale alcohol, and every inch of her skin felt wrong—sticky and stifled, like it didn't belong to her anymore.

The air felt heavy and suffocating, the dull thrum of the music outside the door a distant reminder that the party was still going on. But in this room—in this bed—everything had gone horribly, irreversibly wrong.

She could still feel Brian beside her, his warmth radiating off the sheets they had shared, and it made her skin crawl. Every nerve felt raw, exposed, and the sweat slicking her skin wasn't from exertion or alcohol anymore—it was shame, seeping out of her pores and clinging to her like a second skin.

She sat up abruptly, the motion making her dizzy, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The room tilted for a second, and she dug her nails into the mattress to steady herself.

The sheet slipped down her shoulders, and she yanked it off like it had burned her.

She couldn't even look at Brian, couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She didn't need to; his lazy grin was practically tangible in the air, smug and satisfied in a way that made her want to throw up.

Her mind raced, fragments of the last hour playing on a loop she couldn't stop.

The way he had touched her, kissed her—none of it had felt like it was supposed to. It had been mechanical, hollow, every moment an act she had performed because she had to. Because she was the one who had started it.

She pressed her palms against her forehead, digging her fingertips into her temples like she could claw the memories out. She hadn't wanted him.

Not really. But she had kissed him first, hadn't she? She had leaned in when she shouldn't have, her lips brushing his in a moment of weakness, confusion, or something she couldn't even name.

And he'd kissed her back. Of course, he had. Because he was an idiot.

From there, it had spiraled—hands that didn't belong on her skin, whispers she didn't want to hear, a weight pressing her down until she felt like she couldn't breathe.

She had gone along with it, letting herself sink into the numbness because it was easier than facing the truth. She had laughed when he made a joke, arched her back when he touched her, gasped in all the right places like she wasn't dying inside.

Like she wasn't drowning in disgust.

But the truth was suffocating now, wrapping around her throat like a noose. She had let it happen. Worse—she had made it happen.

Her body felt heavy, her limbs sluggish as she stood and began searching for her clothes. Your shirt lay crumpled at the foot of the bed, but when she reached for it, her hand froze. She couldn't put it back on. It didn't feel right. Nothing felt right.

Your shirt. Tossed carelessly over the back of a chair in the corner, the one you had given to her earlier. Because you thought this night would be fun, for both of you.

You had wanted her to come.

The sight and thought of it sent a pang through her chest, sharp and unbearable, but she grabbed it anyway.

She pulled it over her head, the familiar fabric brushing against her skin, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like a lifeline. Like she could pretend this hadn't happened. That it wasn't real.

But the sweat was still there, sticky and vile against her skin, and no amount of fabric could hide it. It felt like it had seeped into her soul, tainting her in a way that no amount of scrubbing would ever erase.

Brian shifted on the bed behind her, and she stiffened.

"Tara," he said, his voice low and lazy, like he had just woken up from a nap. "What's the rush? Come back here.”

She didn't even look at him. Her jaw clenched as she yanked her skirt on, her fingers fumbling with the piece. The lump in her throat grew thicker with every second, threatening to choke her.

"Seriously, are you mad or something?" he asked, a hint of confusion creeping into his tone.

Her response was the click of the door latch.

The hallway felt brighter than it should have, the overhead light buzzing faintly as her bare feet padded against the cool floor. She could feel the stares the moment she emerged, the way the noise in the hallway quieted just slightly as people turned to look.

Her stomach twisted, bile rising in her throat as she caught sight of a group of guys leaning against the wall. One of them smirked at her, elbowing his friend, and she wanted to scream. She could feel their assumptions, their judgments, and the heat of their eyes burned into her skin.

Someone let out a low whistle as she passed, and her fists clenched at her sides.

She kept her head down, her hair falling like a curtain around her face as she descended the stairs. Each step felt heavier than the last, her legs trembling under the weight of what she had done.

The air felt colder when she reached the ground floor, the faint draft from the open door biting at her skin. She scanned the room automatically, her eyes searching for you, even though she wasn't sure she could face you now.

But you weren't there.

The corner where you had stood earlier was empty, the space where she should have been—where she wanted to be—gaping and hollow. Her chest tightened, her heart pounding so loud she could barely hear the music anymore.

She didn't know what she would say when she found you. If she would tell you the truth or if the words would choke her before they ever left her lips. But she knew she needed to see you. Right now.

Because this—this thing that had just happened—it wasn't who she was. It wasn't who she wanted to be. And it wasn't supposed to happen.

It wasn't supposed to happen.

Her breath hitched as her gaze swept over the empty space where you should have been. Her chest felt like it was caving in, the weight of your absence pressing against her ribs.

She lingered at the base of the stairs, her hand gripping the banister so tightly her knuckles turned white. The urge to turn around, to flee back up the stairs and disappear into the bathroom, was almost overwhelming.

Her hands moved to her hair, fingers threading through the strands as she tugged at the roots, trying to ground herself. Her mind raced with thoughts she didn't want to think.

The walls of the house felt like they were closing in, the noise of the party distorting and warping around her. She could still feel Brian's touch, still feel the sweat clinging to her skin, and it made her stomach churn violently.

She wanted to throw up. God, she needed to throw up. She wanted to purge every trace of him from her body, like vomiting would somehow erase what she'd done. Her body screamed at her to turn back, to lock herself in the bathroom upstairs and sob into her hands until the party was over. Until she could leave without facing you.

Because seeing you would mean telling you. And she didn't want to. She didn't want to tell you.

Her chest heaved as the thought of your face swam into her mind, unbidden and crystal clear. She could already see it—your wide, questioning eyes, the way your lips would part, trembling as the realization hit.

It would look just like it had when you were kids, back when Tara had lied to you about something stupid or broken a promise. The memory of it felt like a punch to her gut, and she nearly doubled over with the force of it.

She didn't want to see that look on your face again. She couldn't bear it.

But she had to.

Tara's legs felt rooted to the ground, her body teetering on the edge of a decision she didn't want to make. Her nails dug into her scalp, her breath quick and uneven as she fought the overwhelming urge to run.

Every instinct screamed at her to hide, to shove this moment into some dark corner of her mind and bury it where it couldn't hurt either of you.

But she couldn't.

She had to find you. She had to see you. Because no matter how much she didn't want to face what she'd done, no matter how disgusted she felt with herself, she knew that running wasn't an option.

Her feet finally moved, one step at a time, as if the very act of walking was a war against gravity. She let her hands fall from her hair, clenching them at her sides, and forced herself to keep moving. The knot in her stomach tightened with every step, but she pressed forward anyway.

Because she owed you the truth. Even if it destroyed her.

Tara scanned the dance floor, her eyes darting from one face to another, searching desperately for a glimpse of you. The flashing lights and shifting bodies blurred together, and no matter how hard she looked, no head turned out to be yours. The longer she searched, the harder it became to breathe. Panic clawed at her chest, her stomach twisting tighter with every passing second.

Then she saw Aria.

Tara didn't know Aria—not really—but she recognized her. She'd seen the two of you together before, laughing at something Tara hadn't been privy to. And now Aria was looking at her, eyebrows raised, her lips curled into an amused smirk that made Tara's skin crawl.

Before Tara could decide what to do, Aria lifted her hand, her painted nails catching the light, and pointed to the door.

Tara froze.

It wasn't the gesture itself that hit her; it was what it meant. Aria had caught her looking, and she knew. Whether it was some instinct, some unspoken understanding, or just Aria being perceptive, it didn't matter. She knew.

Tara swallowed hard, her throat dry. She didn't know why Aria was pointing, but she could only guess it had something to do with you.

Had you gone outside? Or had you left entirely?

Her feet moved before her mind could catch up, carrying her toward the door. If there was even a chance you were out there, she had to find you. She couldn't let you leave, not without telling you.

The knot in her stomach tightened, her pulse pounding in her ears as she pushed through the crowd. Tara didn't look back at Aria—she couldn't. Whatever silent judgment lingered in that smirk would haunt her later. For now, all that mattered was finding you.

So, she pushed through the crowd, the sweaty, swaying bodies pressing against her as the stench of spilled beer and cheap cologne filled her nose.

Her breaths came fast and shallow, the air in the house too thick, too stifling. She couldn't stop imagining what she'd see when she finally found you—if you were even still here. If you weren't, she wasn't sure she could handle it.

Her nerves twisted into something sharp and unbearable, clawing at her insides.

How could she look you in the eye? How could she possibly explain that she'd ruined everything?

Every step closer to the door made her chest tighten. She couldn't picture your face, not without picturing the moment it would change—when you'd realize what she'd done.

How your eyes would harden, your lips press together, and then your expression would crumple like it always did when you were trying not to cry. That was what would kill her. That look.

And then what? Would you ever speak to her again? Would you ever let her near you again? She'd ruined everything. All of it.

When she finally shoved her way to the front door and pushed it open, the cold air hit her like a slap. Her bare legs prickled, and the chill seeped into her skin, but it wasn't enough to wash away the sweat clinging to her body.

That disgusting, sticky sweat that felt like a mark of her guilt. She shuddered, her arms crossing over her chest as she stepped out onto the porch.

She looked around carefully, her heart pounding. The street was mostly quiet, save for the faint thrum of music from the house and the occasional passing car. For a moment, she thought you weren't there, and her stomach dropped.

But then she saw you.

You were sitting on the stairs, hunched over slightly, your arms wrapped around yourself as if trying to block out the cold. The soft light from the porch cast a faint glow over you, illuminating the curve of your shoulder, the tilt of your head.

Tara froze.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she couldn't move. Couldn't think. She just stood there, staring at you, her hands trembling at her sides. The weight of what she'd done pressed down harder than ever, making her legs feel like they might give out beneath her.

You were right there. Right in front of her. And she had no idea what to say.

For a second, Tara wanted to turn around again. Her feet twitched like they might carry her back inside, up to that bathroom where she could lock the door and collapse on the tile floor. She didn't have to tell you. She couldn't tell you. She couldn't even look at you.

Her chest heaved, her breath catching as she stared at the back of your head. You sat there so still, so quiet, and she felt like an intruder just being here, like her very presence was an assault on whatever moment of peace you were trying to hold onto.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't tell you.

Her stomach twisted, the nausea bubbling up again, and she swore the sweat clinging to her skin got colder, thicker. The words she needed to say tangled in her throat, choking her. She didn't dare to move. Didn't dare to speak.

But then, before she could stop herself, before her brain could stop her body, her mouth opened.

And your name slipped out.

"Y/N?"

It was small, barely audible over the faint hum of the night. Raspy, broken, like it had been clawed out of her throat. It wasn't even a word, really—just a sound, raw and desperate, heavy with everything she couldn't say.

You flinched, your shoulders jerking upward like a startled reflex, the same way you always did when something scared you.

It was such a specific little quirk, one Tara had known since you were kids—how your hands would shoot up, brushing at your face as if shielding yourself from something unseen.

It almost made her smile. Almost.

But she didn't deserve to smile around you anymore. Not after what she'd done. The thought hit her like a slap, and whatever faint curve had started forming on her lips immediately dropped.

You didn't need to look back to know who it was. That voice was ingrained in you like muscle memory. It was the same voice that had yelled your name when the ice cream truck jingled down the street, excitement cracking through every syllable.

The same voice that had pleaded between gasps of laughter, "Y/N, stop! Please, I'm begging!" when you'd tickled her so hard she'd collapsed onto the carpet, tears of joy streaming down her face.

But you did look back.

And when you did, Tara's breath caught in her throat.

Your face was streaked with faint trails of tears—not many, just a few—but they were enough to break her all over again. Enough to twist that growing knot in her stomach so tight it felt like it would crush her from the inside out.

Your mascara was still perfect, though. Of course, it was. Everything about you always seemed perfect. You looked beautiful, even now, even when the evidence of your sadness glimmered faintly under the dim porch light.

But then there was the look on her face, the faint crease of her brows, the way her lips parted like she couldn't quite piece it all together. Why were you crying? Did you already know?

Or was it something else?

Had someone else hurt you tonight? Had someone been rude to you, said something that cut too deep?

Her chest tightened at the thought, an instinctive protectiveness surging up despite the shame gnawing at her. If someone had hurt you, if someone had dared to make you cry, she'd—

But then it hit her: it didn't matter. Whatever had happened, whoever had said or done whatever—it wouldn't erase what she'd done.

She didn't know what to say.

Her mind was blank, drowning under waves of guilt and shame that threatened to pull her under, her breath catching painfully in her throat. What was she supposed to say? How could she possibly say it? Every sentence she tried to form shattered before it could even reach her lips, the jagged pieces cutting deeper into her as the silence stretched on.

And yet, even as her chest heaved, even as her hands trembled, and every instinct screamed at her to speak—to do something—Tara stood frozen. She stood there, her entire world crumbling beneath her feet, unable to find the words that might save her from this moment.

But she didn't have to think.

Because you spoke first.

"Is it true?"

Your voice wasn't loud or sharp. It wasn't angry or demanding.

It was soft. Raspy. Raw, like it hurt just to speak.

And it was worse than anything Tara had prepared herself for.

The sound of your voice sliced through her like a blade, sharper than anything she had ever felt. Her stomach twisted violently, a sickening churn that made her want to double over. The cold night air wasn't enough to stop the heat rushing to her face, or the prickling sensation behind her eyes that threatened to spill over.

Her breath hitched, and for a second, the world around her seemed to stop.

Tara froze, her heart slamming against her ribcage as though it were trying to escape.

You knew.

The realization hit her like a freight train, leaving her reeling, unable to breathe, unable to think. You knew, and she hadn't even been the one to tell you.

Her chest constricted painfully, her shame deepening into something far more unbearable. Who had told you? Who?

The question burned in her mind, the thought of someone else's voice breaking this news to you making her stomach churn with nausea and fury. She wanted to scream. She wanted to punch whoever it was. To yell at them for stealing this moment from her, for forcing this confrontation before she'd had a chance to figure out what to do—how to fix it.

But then another, far more horrifying thought crept in.

Were you talking about Brian?

Were you talking about what she'd done with him?

Or was it something else entirely?

The flicker of hope—the desperate, irrational wish that this wasn't about what she had done—was crushed almost immediately under the unbearable weight of her guilt.

It had to be about Brian.

It had to be.

Her throat tightened, her mouth dry as the silence stretched on between you. She needed to say something, to explain, to beg you to forgive her. But she couldn't move, couldn't force the words out of her throat.

Her knees felt weak, her chest heavy, like she might collapse at any moment. All she could do was stand there, trembling and small, as the world continued to crumble around her.

"No," she said finally, the word slipping out too fast, too sharp, too desperate.

The sound of her own voice made her wince, the harshness of it only amplifying the crack in her composure. She swallowed hard, her chest heaving as she tried to reel herself back in.

"I mean..." Her voice broke, cracked open like a wound as she scrambled for some semblance of control. "What are you talking about?

Her words sounded weak, hollow, dripping with guilt so heavy she felt like it might crush her. She hated how obvious it was. How every crack in her voice betrayed the truth she was trying so hard to deny.

Her hands were trembling now, clenched into tight fists at her sides as if holding onto herself would stop her from falling apart entirely. But it wasn't enough.

Silence passed between you, thick and suffocating, wrapping around Tara like a noose.

She thought she heard you sniffle, a soft, broken sound that barely reached her ears but still managed to pierce her heart. It sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing down on her, nearly knocking the air from her lungs.

Her chest ached with the overwhelming urge to do something—to move, to reach for you, to fix this. She wanted to sit down next to you, to wrap her arms around you and hug you so tight you could barely breathe.

Like she always used to.

Like she had done every time you cried about the thought of never having Brian. How she would shush you, brush her fingers through your hair, and promise that no one would ever make you feel that way again.

But this wasn't like those times.

This wasn't her comforting you over some distant, unreachable heartbreak.

Now, you were crying because of her.

Tara's breath hitched as the thought echoed in her mind, her legs trembling as she fought the overwhelming instinct to fall to her knees in front of you, to beg you to tell her how to make this right. But the guilt—the shame—kept her rooted in place, her fingers digging into her palms as she struggled to keep herself upright.

She wanted to say something. To ask if you were okay. If you were mad. If you hated her.

But then you spoke, and everything around her shattered.

"Did you fuck him?"

Your voice was quiet, soft in a way that somehow made the question even sharper. It wasn't an accusation or a scream—it wasn't even a demand.

It was a plea.

And that made it worse.

Tara swore the ground beneath her feet disappeared, a sickening freefall that left her stomach in knots. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out, her throat tightening like a vice as the words refused to form.

She could barely breathe, barely think, as your question lingered in the air, heavy and unbearable. You didn't look at her as you said it, your head tilted slightly away, as though the very idea of meeting her gaze hurt too much.

And God, she wanted to fall apart right then and there. To drop to her knees and tell you everything. To grab your hands and promise you that she didn't mean for this to happen.

But all she could do was stand there, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps as the question echoed in her ears.

Tara couldn't hold it in anymore.

Her hands felt clammy, trembling at her sides as tears blurred her vision, spilling over before she could even blink them away.

Her chest ached, heaving with shallow, panicked breaths that she couldn't seem to steady. And then, when she opened her mouth to speak, her voice cracked—fragile and uneven, the way it always did when she tried to talk through her tears.

"I'm sorry," she almost sobbed, the words escaping her lips before she could stop them.

Her voice trembled, heavy with guilt and desperation, breaking apart on the syllables like she couldn't even hold herself together long enough to say the words properly.

She felt her knees buckle, her legs trembling under the weight of everything she'd been holding in. It was too much, far too much, and she swore she was going to collapse right there in front of you.

She couldn't even pretend it hadn't happened. She didn't have it in her to lie to you—not to you. Not ever.

Not since you were kids, when you could always tell if she was hiding something. She could never play Mafia with you during those endless summer afternoons because she couldn't keep a secret from you, not even a small one. You always saw right through her, always caught her when she tried.

And now, you'd caught her again.

Tara's throat felt raw, her tears spilling faster now as her whole body seemed to betray her, shaking like she couldn't stand under the weight of her own shame.

You didn't say anything.

Tara couldn't even make out your body language—not with the way her tears blurred her vision, turning you into a hazy shape against the dim light of the porch. It made her feel even smaller, even more pathetic, knowing she couldn't even look at you properly. The space between you both felt impossibly vast, though you were so close.

Her sobs came in uneven gasps, too loud, too sharp, filling the silence like a jagged edge tearing through her. It was almost unbearable, the way the quiet stretched on, the way you didn't speak or move. It felt like you were waiting, like you were letting her cries settle into the air before either of you could do anything else.

And eventually, they did.

Tara's sobs began to quiet, the frantic hitching in her chest slowing to an uneven rhythm. She was still crying, though. The tears kept falling, one after the other, hot and relentless, dripping down her cheeks and onto the ground beneath her.

Her breaths were shaky, catching now and then like she might start up again, but the storm was beginning to fade.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, quieter this time, but no less desperate. She was clinging to the words like they were her last hope, like repeating them enough might somehow make them mean more, make them matter.

But the silence between you both pressed back at her, heavy and suffocating, and she didn't know what else to do.

Then you spoke.

Tara's breath caught at the sound of your voice, soft and filled with emotion, yet still unmistakably yours—the voice everyone loved. It was steady, even now, even when it shouldn't have been.

She could see it, imagine it, the way everyone at school hung on your every word during presentations. The way people complimented you, envied you for the way you spoke so clearly, so beautifully.

But now, it wasn't a presentation.

"It's fine," you said, so softly it almost sounded like a sigh.

Tara froze, her whole body stiffening at the words.

A brief silence followed, and she felt her heart pounding in her chest, each beat echoing louder in her ears. And then you continued.

"You could've told me you liked him, Tara... because I didn't know that you did."

You still weren't looking at her, but Tara could hear the strain in your voice. The slight quiver that betrayed you were on the verge of crying. She could picture it—the tears welling in your eyes, the way you'd blink them back like you always did, refusing to let them fall until you were alone.

And it shattered her.

Anger and sorrow crashed over her in waves, pulling her under until she could barely think, barely breathe.

Why would you say it was fine? How could you say it was fine? It wasn't.

It couldn't be fine.

Tara wanted you to spit in her face, slap her so hard her cheek stung, shove her down the porch stairs— anything to show her how much she'd hurt you. Anything to prove she hadn't ruined this for nothing. Anything to show that what she'd done mattered.

But she wasn't surprised.

You were a forgiver. Always.

You forgave the girl who spread rumors about you in middle school, the bus driver who skipped your stop in the pouring rain, Sam when she didn't make enough food for dinner when you were over and you had to go hungry. Every time, you brushed it off with a smile and moved on.

And now, even this.

But Tara couldn't take it. She couldn't stand that you thought she liked Brian, even for a second.

Liked him? She despised him.

She hated him so much it burned, hate so deep it made her sick to her stomach. She hated the way he smirked, the way he touched her, the way she could still feel his hands on her skin if she thought about it too long. She hated his voice, his eyes, his existence.

How could you not see that? How could you not understand that you were the one she wanted? That it had always been you.

"I..." Her voice cracked as the words clawed their way up her throat. "I don't like him."

It was barely audible, so soft and stammering that she wasn't sure you even heard it.

But she couldn't say more.

She wanted to. The words were right there on the tip of her tongue—I like you.

But she couldn't say them.

Of course, she couldn't.

Tara didn't know if you'd heard her. She couldn't tell, and she wasn't sure if it even mattered. It wasn't like she could confess that she'd loved you since the day you two were each other's first kiss at ten years old.

Even then, it hadn't been serious—just a joke, a silly little "practice" kiss to prepare for middle school. But Tara had carried it with her ever since.

She watched as you stood up from your makeshift seat on the stairs, brushing off your dress—the dress you'd worn to impress Brian. It was pretty on you, almost too pretty, and Tara hated how much she loved the way you looked in it.

When you turned to face her, the dim light caught your face, and Tara's heart sank at the sight of your teary, bloodshot eyes.

She couldn't tell if they were red from crying or from the alcohol you'd been drinking, and that thought filled her with an ache she couldn't describe. She didn't know how much you'd had to drink after you left the bathroom and disappeared into the party, alone.

But it didn't matter.

You didn't acknowledge her quiet confession.

Instead, you said, "I really don't want to talk to you right now... so I think I'm going to leave."

Your voice was steady, even soft, but it held a distance that made Tara's chest tighten.

You turned away, muttering something about how "it's getting boring anyway," and that was when Tara realized what you were planning. You were going to leave. Alone.

You'd promised to leave together.

Tara had come to the party for you, to take care of you, and now you were walking away.

She saw it before it happened—the way your steps faltered on the stairs, your balance tipping as if you might fall.

Tara was moving before she could think, catching you, her hands gripping your arms tightly to steady you. She felt the panic rise in her throat, her breath hitching at the thought of you stumbling home, drunk and vulnerable, without anyone to protect you.

"I'll call Sam," she said quickly, nervously, brushing her hair behind her ear. Her voice wavered, soft and hesitant. "She'll come pick us up."

But you pulled your arms free from her grip, stepping back.

"I really don't want to be anywhere near you right now," you said, your voice quieter now, but just as sharp. "I'll walk. It's fine."

Tara scrambled for another option, her words tumbling over each other in a frantic rush. "I—I don't have to go with you! I'll call Chad, or Mindy—they'll take you home. Please."

You were already heading down the outdoor stairs, your steps uneven but determined.

"I said it's fine, Tara," you said, your voice cutting through her rambling. You didn't stop, didn't turn to look back.

"I'll walk."

Tara instinctively began to follow you. Her feet moved on their own, driven by the thought of you wobbling down the dark streets, vulnerable in the cold night air. But she stopped herself after a few steps, freezing in place as her guilt pulled her back.

She'd done enough already.

Sleeping with Brian—your crush since you were five—was bad enough. Chasing after you now, invading the space you clearly wanted, would only make things worse. She had no right to follow you, no right to protect you after what she'd done.

So she stayed rooted where she was, watching you disappear into the night. Your steps were uneven, your shoulders hunched against the cold, and Tara could see you trembling. She didn't know if it was from the icy air or the tears she could still hear in your voice, but the thought of either made her stomach twist.

She wanted to help you. She wanted to run after you, throw a jacket around your shoulders, and walk you home, just to make sure you were safe. But she didn't. She couldn't.

It was a long walk to your house from here. Tara knew the streets you'd have to take, how dark and empty they'd be at this hour. The thought of something happening to you made her chest ache, but the weight of her guilt held her back. She couldn't follow you—not when you'd made it so clear you didn't want her there.

Instead, she turned back toward the party, the sounds of music and laughter filtering through the air, mocking her.

She stepped inside, the warmth of the crowded room doing nothing to ease the cold settling deep in her bones. Without you, the party felt hollow. Pointless. She couldn't even remember why she'd agreed to come in the first place—oh, right. You.

Tara lingered near the door, scanning the room as if looking for someone she knew. But no one else mattered. Aria, not Brian, not anyone else who might've offered a distraction.

You weren't here.

And without you, she couldn't stay.

___

friday (11:24pm)

im so sorry y/n

can you text me once you're home so I know you're safe?

11:56pm

did you get home safe?

pls answer

saturday (9:15am)

can you please just text me back?

im sorry. im so sorry.

2:42am

how are you? are you okay?

can i come over so we can talk? please?

2:56am

i don't know what to do... just please answer me. i just want to make things right.

sunday (10:31am)

are you coming to school tomorrow?

1:25 PM

if you want, me and sam can give you a ride. we'll pick you up, i promise.

5:58 PM

please don't shut me out like this.

Tara's eyes were glued to her phone as she pushed through the school doors, her thumb scrolling through the unanswered messages she'd sent over the weekend.

One after another, each one a desperate attempt to reach you, to say something—anything—that might make things better. But the blank screen staring back at her was the only response she'd gotten.

At first, when the silence stretched into the early hours of Saturday, Tara was terrified. She couldn't shake the thought that something might have happened to you.

Her imagination ran wild—someone approaching you while you were walking home, dragging you into the shadows. Her chest tightened every time she pictured it, and no matter how tightly she wrapped herself in her blanket, she couldn't stop shaking.

It wasn't until she remembered Life360 and checked your location that she finally exhaled. You were home. Safe. She stared at the little pin marking your house for what felt like hours, the relief flooding her body so quickly it made her dizzy. But the relief didn't last long.

The rest of the weekend was a haze of disgust and self-loathing. Tara couldn't eat. Every time she tried, her stomach twisted, and she had to stop before she threw up.

She spent most of the time curled up in her room, alternating between clutching her phone and pacing like a trapped animal. The guilt was unbearable. Every second she replayed the night in her head, wishing she could take it back, wishing she could erase the hurt she'd caused you.

Now, walking through the school hallways, the weight in her chest felt heavier than ever. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to face the stares, the whispers she knew were waiting for her. It felt like everyone could see through her, like they all knew what she'd done.

But to her surprise, the whispers weren't as loud as she'd expected—if they were there at all.

A few people glanced her way, and while some looks were judgmental, others seemed... impressed. Tara's stomach churned at the thought. She didn't want their admiration, their approval for something so vile.

She made her way to her locker, her steps dragging with every step closer. Your locker was right next to hers, and she'd been bracing herself to see you there, to finally face you in the harsh fluorescent light of the school hallway. But when she arrived, the space next to hers was empty.

Tara stood frozen at her locker for a moment before typing a quick message, her fingers moving faster than her thoughts. She wasn't expecting an answer—she hadn't received one all weekend—but the hope still lingered as she sent it anyway:

are u not coming?

are u really going to put me through history with mrs. johnson alone?

She stared at the screen for a few seconds, almost willing the writing bubble to appear. It didn't.

Sighing, Tara grabbed her books slowly, dragging out the process as if that would somehow make time pass faster—or maybe just delay the moment she'd have to admit you weren't coming.

When nothing changed, her frustration bubbled up. What else could she do? She'd apologized, begged, and explained everything she could think of.

And yet, you still weren't here, still weren't answering. With a sharp slam, she shut her locker harder than she meant to, the sound echoing down the hallway and turning a few heads. Tara didn't care.

Clutching her books against her chest, she walked toward her first class, her eyes darting to her phone every few steps. Maybe this time, the bubble would be there.

Maybe this time, you'd reply. But the screen stayed empty, and the knot in her stomach tightened with every passing second.

As she rounded the corner, her head down and shoulders tense, someone grabbed her forearm.

The sudden force pulled her off balance, dragging her closer to them in one quick, fluid motion.

Her heart skipped, and for a split second, she thought it was you. The possibility almost made her legs give out. But as her eyes darted up, the hope drained out of her when she saw who it really was.

Brian.

Her stomach twisted violently at the sight of him, and her body tensed as she tried to pull her arm free.

Brian let her arm go as quickly as he had grabbed it, holding his hands up slightly in mock surrender. "Whoa, didn't mean to scare you," he said, his voice softening. He must've seen the tension etched into her face—the way she couldn't even hide how much she didn't want to be there.

He shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "Look, I know we didn't exactly leave things on the best terms..." His words trailed off, and then he let out a nervous laugh. "You know, after you left me alone just minutes after we, uh... finished."

Tara's stomach churned, her jaw tightening. She avoided his gaze, but her silence only seemed to encourage him to keep going.

"I guess I'm just a little confused," Brian admitted, his tone dipping with hesitation. "I mean, you left like... like it burned you or something."

It did, Tara thought bitterly, the memory flashing in her mind like an open flame she couldn't put out.

"But..." he continued, stepping a little closer, "I really liked it."

Tara flinched at his words, the knot in her chest tightening with every syllable.

"And I think you're a great girl," Brian added, his voice soft and earnest, like he thought he was paying her some grand compliment.

She nearly scoffed. A great girl? The thought made her want to laugh or cry—or both. She wasn't a great girl. A great girl wouldn't have lost her best friend over a guy she didn't even want. A guy who was now standing in front of her, completely clueless to the destruction he'd unintentionally helped cause.

And then he said it.

"So... I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me?" He paused, his eyes hopeful. "You know, just try again?"

Brian looked sincere as he waited for her response. Nice, even. Of course he was—he had to be. You wouldn't fall for a prick.

At first, Tara wanted to spit in his face. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to tell him that she never wanted to see him again, let alone entertain the idea of going out with him.

As if sleeping with him hadn't been enough to upend her entire world.

Why wasn't he asking you out? That question burned in her mind. He'd kissed you first, flirted with you first. He'd made you feel special. So why was he standing here, looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered? Why wasn't he chasing you?

Her chest tightened as anger bubbled just beneath her skin, hot and unrelenting. But then, as she looked at him, something shifted. His face wasn't smug or calculating—it was sincere. He looked like he meant it, like he actually wanted this, and the fire in her chest began to dull. Her expression softened against her will.

Did he really want to be with her?

The thought felt impossible at first, but the longer she considered it, the more it began to make sense. Or at least, she convinced herself it did.

Because you weren't coming back to her. That much was clear. You hadn't answered a single text, and you weren't waiting at her locker like you always did. You didn't even want to look at her, let alone talk. And why would you? She'd ruined everything.

The ache of losing you hit her again, sharp and suffocating. You were her best friend—her only true friend. And now? She had no one. Sure, there were Mindy, Chad, and Anika, but they didn't share the same schedule. She didn't see them enough to cling to them like she clung to you.

So what else was she supposed to do? The least she could do was try to fill that void with something. With someone.

And Brian... well, he was here. He wanted her—or at least, he seemed to. Maybe this could go the right way. Maybe this could be enough.

Tara swallowed hard, trying to steady her thoughts.

It wasn't about replacing you—not really. Nothing could. But if you weren't coming back, if you weren't going to forgive her, what was she supposed to do? Sit alone, wallowing in her mistakes while you moved on without her?

The sincerity in his voice and the way he looked at her—like she wasn't the terrible person she knew she was—made it easier to rationalize. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea. He wasn't a bad guy, after all. He was sweet in his own way, and clearly, he liked her. That had to count for something, right?

You wouldn't even care. The thought stung, but it came unbidden. You were probably glad to be done with her. Maybe she was the only one left mourning what you'd had.

So Tara forced herself to take a deep breath, her gaze softening completely as she met Brian's eyes.

"Sure, I'd love to."

[natsredbra]

Velvet & vice II

summary: Sometimes, the best moves happen offstage.

pairing: customer!Lottie x stripper!fem!reader

a/n: Yayyyy im so happy this is finally out (even tho i lowk hate it)! I hope you guys like it though because it seems a bit bloated and whatnot to me, im happy to get feedback as always. Also i had to proofread this on my phone to add emojis to the text parts. English isn’t my first language!

warnings: strip clubs, alcohol, suggestive themes, making out, angst if you squint

word count: 3.9k

part 1

taglist: @towabirdno1fan @minariiis @lesbabe6 @maksysti @radioactivesweet @ambessasevikasexslave @ashliami @johnnytoothpick @ikeepgettinglostwithchairs @jinxslapdog

You woke up in a cold bed, alone, your very first thought being that this wasn’t your bed at all. Hearing the faint commotion of the coffee maker, all memories from last night suddenly hit you.

Your hair stanched of smoke and bad decisions as you scanned the room for your clothes. Spotting them all, in the most quiet fashion you got up and started getting dressed, ready to sneak out. Was it the best thing to do? No. But you were way past good choices right now.

Silently, picking up all your stuff you tiptoed to the front door, getting the hell out of that house. Once the door clicked you could hear Lottie calling your name, which made you walk faster, barefoot. Not like you could run away in 7 inch heels - though at least they weren’t your platforms.

As soon as you got down to a more civilized street, you called over a cab once you spotted it.

As soon as it drove up to you, you got inside, telling the man your address.

You pulled a compact mirror out of your purse, internally groaning at the sight. Your entire base was gone - likely lingering on Lottie’s pillow, while your mascara was smudged all over. You weren’t sure if you thought you looked like a panda or a raccoon. And of course, your hair was no better either - messy and all over the place. Fortunately for you, you carried some wet wipes and removed what little was left of your makeup.

Finally, your hand landed on your cellphone. 8%, enough to make one call.

“Hey?” A voice belonging to your coworker and friend Jade called out.

“Hi. What’s up?” You growled out, hoarse.

“Not much, honestly. You don’t sound too good.” She said bluntly.

“I’m having a bad morning. Anyway, I was calling to see if you could cover for me tonight.” You said hopefully. Fingers crossed, I guess.

“Seriously? I don’t-“

“I’ll do your Friday!” You cut her off. Sure, Fridays make bank but they’re also a pain in the ass.

“…Deal.” She relented, after which you blew her a few kisses over the phone.

“Ugh, I love you!” You exclaimed dramatically.

“Yeah, yeah. Better be there on Friday.” Jade said in a flat tone before hanging up.

Now you could finally breathe out. There was no doubt that Lottie would be back tonight, even though it was a Wednesday. She simply struck you as that kind of person, one that wouldn’t wanna leave anything unfinished, even if it ended badly.

As if on cue, the car pulled up in front of your apartment building, and you hastily paid up and made your way upstairs.

Plopping down on your couch, you prayed that a gallon of coffee would magically appear in your hand, along with a painkiller. You were a little hungover even, likely since you took shots between rounds. Don Julio 1942. You’d even think she was trying to impress you, but she wasn’t falshy like that. And as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret anything that happened. It was hard with the ache between your legs being such a bittersweet reminder of the events that took place.

Without even realizing it, minutes after plugging your cell to charge you dozed off in the living room. It was that same phone that woke you up approximately four hours later - once you did awake you felt even worse somehow. Still, you lit up the screen and checked your messages.

“AHHH! Saw you leave with that hot girl last night, I need the teaaa!” - Jackie💕

Should’ve expected it.

“We hooked up, not much more to it tbh.” You replied.

“Suuure, but we’re still going for drinks tomorrow, I’m off too.”

“And wear that new black top you told me about, you’re gonna look sooooo super hot :))” - Jackie💕

Of course, she left no room for argument.

“Fine, but it’s your treat.” You texted back before putting the device away.

——————————————

Tomorrow night came sooner then you thought, and there you were in your cramped bathroom, drinking diet coke while doing your makeup.

Trying to get a perfect wing for your eyeliner, you pondered on the text lingering in your phone.

“Everything okay? Missed you yesterday.” -Lottie club

Yeah. You didn’t respond. What the hell were you even supposed to say? “I had three cosmos before my dance and I shouldn’t have come with you” ? (You were going to but realized how bad of an explenation that was).

Most likely because booze wasn’t the reason. You wanted to go. You wanted her. But you’d need to admit that to yourself before Lottie. It was a dumb mistake, a slip up. A one night stand, and it couldn’t happen again.

Finally getting dressed, you put on the shirt that Jackie suggested as well as some flared jeans in the back of your closet. Anyway, you looked amazing.

“Y/N!” Jackie called out, sitting by the bar as you entered it. You sat on the high chair, greeting the girl.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late, traffic was horrible.” You huffed, setting your bag down.

"That's alright, I haven't been here too long." Jackie replied, waving her hand in dismissal as you put in your order hastly.

"Okay, well how have you been?" You asked, turning on the barstool to face her.

She herself looked gorgeous too. There were her signature glittery eyes and glossed lips that made her features stand out, as well as a black based floral sundress that hugged her curves perfectly.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." She brushed the question off, "Tell me about the other night." Jackie exclaimed with a grin, sipping her diabolically pink, sugary cocktail.

"Not much to tell. I mean the sex was great but then I snuck out in the morning.” You said in a flat tone, making Jackie’s eyes pop out of her sockets.

“What do you mean you snuck out?!” She exclaimed.

“I mean I just slipped out when I woke up. I wasn’t gonna deal with all that!” You fought back.

You dreaded coming here too. Knowing Jackie, she’d always be this pushy, and knowing you, you’d bottle everything up until it was dangerously close to spilling over.

“Are you serious? Why?” She inquired.

“Because I made a huge mistake. Who sleeps with a client? It’s like the first thing you’re told not to do!” You tried to reason with her, though she didn’t seem to bite.

“A very hot and rich client?”

Well when you put it that way…

No. No way, you may be a stripper but you won’t let yourself be a sugar baby to a girl your same age.

“Jackie, those are not the only important things. Maybe, if you’re a one time thing kinda girl but you know I’m not.” You argued.

“Maybe she’d date you.” Jackie said, though you both knew it was utter bullshit.

You just gave her a small eye roll and and stayed quiet, not exactly wanting to voice why she would never actually go out with you. Slut, whore, hooker, stage stain and many more were names people you tried to be in a relationship in would call you. Safe to say, all ended badly, as if you weren’t simply trying to get by, just like them.

It always hurt you, no matter how many times it happened, because you still let yourself fucking hope. You still always hoped to find someone who would accept you, full package, and not just pinpoint what worked for them.

“Sure she would.” You retorted sarcastically.

—————————————

About a month had passed since your encounter with Lottie, and you weren’t quite over it yet. Still, you thanked every god you knew about that she didn’t show up at the club.

In this particular moment, you sat in the backstage, applying eyeshadow when someone tapped you on the shoulder.

“Hey. Need any help?” Jade said, leaning on the counter beside you. Her hair almost reached her elbows as it trailed down her back, her body barely covered in a black babydoll with rhinestones.

“Nah, I'm okay.” You said, gluing your lashes on.

“Okay. I'll leave you, I'm having a bit of fun tonight. anyway” She said in a singsongy voice before walking off. You chuckled a little, thinking her idea of fun was likely some stupid guy buying her a few extra drinks. Not like she was to blame, it was fun to milk those dickheads for everything they were worth. Unless they acted respectful - which was tough to find.

Finally you went out, greeting the crowd with a big smile and a killer dance. Playing in the back was an upbeat pop song to which you swayed your hips in a faster manner, eventually dropping the skimpy dress to your feet, staying in your lacy, overdesigned langerie, spinning around the pole with practiced movement.

You thought you would faint if you saw Lottie after all this time. Not seeing her was bittersweet and you found yourself thinking that if she did come, she'd want a simple show.

Much worse, you wanted to cry, since you did spot her, surprisingly, and it made you feel like you got stabbed in the chest. Because unlike last time, she wasn’t in the crowd, engrossed with heart eyes, looking at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

No, this time she wasn’t even watching from the sidelines. This time, her arm was entwined with Jade’s, who led her into the private space. Once the song ended you scrambled all your tips and rushed to the ready room, avoiding any conversation and catcalling.

It was such a gnawing feeling, her pretending to care, and then doing this. Her writing to you and showing up just for Jade to snatch your ride and take it for a spin.

“Y/N, I need you on the main floor.” A manager said, kocking on the door hastly.

You let out a frustrated groan, not exactly in the mood to deal with drunk men and get payed with crumpled five dollar bills.

Still, you went out and immediately were met with a swarm of guys calling you over. You recognized a regular, making your way over to him. He was mostly nice, save for some comments, and spent a few hundred at most - which was still more then usual when mingling with the average folk. And he was your age, at least.

“Hello there.” He said, a low smirk on his face as he spread his legs slightly.

“Hey Trav.” You greeted, putting your best seductive face on.

By now you already knew what works for him, as well as all the tips and tricks that’d make him drop a few extra bills. A couple of his friends cheered over to him, though he payed them no mind.

“Good day?” He asked to make the time flow nicely and as little awkward for him as possible.

“It was. And you?” You asked. And no, you did not have a good day. Not that he actually wanted to hear about it.

“Yeah, it was fine. Work’s been crazy though.”

“Don’t I know it.” You humored, hands tracing his shoulders as your waist met his on your way down. He slipped a 50 into your bra.

Finally, you felt like something was going your way, even if it meant subcontiously manipulating a dude.

“You look especially good tonight. New set?” The guy under you pondered, nodding to your clothes.

“Something like that.” You replied teasingly, finishing the dance off with a finall roll of your hips. From Travis, you gathered 150$. Not too shabby.

“See ya. You know, one day you gotta give me that number.” He said, making you internally roll your eyes. Externally you just scoffed, giving him a small wave before walking off.

“Y/N!” Misty, a server called out to you.

“Yeah?” You replied, the girl always annoyed you, though truth to be told you were already agitated.

“There’s a Charlotte Matthews asking for you.” She said once she set down a shaker of shots on someone’s table.

“Who’s that?” You asked, a puzzled expression on your face.

“I don’t know, some girl. Just go see her, she’s in the VIP.” Misty called out, disappearing before you could protest.

Not that you really wanted to, anyway. She’s a girl, and she’s in the premium space so she might be the easiest customer you’d have all night.

Unfortonately in your working haze you didn’t stop to think what specific nickname could be taken out of “Charlotte.” At least not until you saw her sitting at the bar with a bored expression.

“What is it?” You barked, walking over and standing next to her barstool.

“Excuse me? I should be asking you that.” Lottie said, turning to face you.

"How do you figure that?" You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Because you- look, I don't know why you ran away or why you ignored me but I'd like to." She said, sounding awfully sincere.

"I felt like it." You retorted childishly

"Right. Just how I felt like getting a dance from that tall girl." Lottie said

"Jade's beautiful." You replied right away. Your tone had a facetious bite to it.

"She is. But you're my favorite." She stated, eyes boring into yours. "Did I see you with Travis Martinez?"

"Yeah...why?"

"Well he's an asshole." She said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"They all are. He's still a customer." You replied, patience wearing thin.

"Seriously, he cheated on my friend." Lottie stated with a small grimace

“Lottie, what do you want? Another dance?" You asked in a flat tone, dismissing the former topic.

"An explanation." The girl shot back, though in the same moment you heard a man call your name.

"I have to go deal with actual customers." You called out before walking off.

"Wait!" She yelled, grabbing you by the arm. "He a regular?" Lottie asked, pointing to him. “What’s he usually pay you?” She asked once you nodded.

You were a little stunned by the question. "Like...a couple hundred?"

"I'll double it. Just let me have one conversation." Lot said in a pleading tone.

"Fine." You relented, mostly to get her off your back.

You led Lottie outside to your usual smoking spot, the infamous “Blacklight” sign casting a red glow over her gorgeous face. She put her jacket over your half naked form, stepping closer. 

“I can’t stop thinking about what happened. Especially not after the other day.” She spoke softly. 

Oh yeah- the other day. The other day, you agreed to meet the girl Jackie was dating, and she so happened to be Lottie’s best friend. Who had to bring her along. Her visit today wasn’t all that unexpected when you think about it. 

~

It was a beautiful day, sitting outside in a coffee shop next to a small park, waiting for your friends. You made it first since you had some errands to run close by. 

“Y/N!” Jackie shouted, clutching Shauna’s arm. Setting your drink down, you have her a small wave, the sweet smile on your face disappearing once you saw who was behind her. 

“Hey, I’m Lottie. Not sure if you remember, but you danced for me a couple weeks ago.” She said, visiably nervous while extending her hand for a handshake. In order to let things run smoothly you took it, squeezing it harder then need be. 

She sat right next to you, and you didn’t dare turn your head. It was bad enough that you didn’t expect her presence in the least, and now you were meant to entertain it? Yeah right.

Why would Jackie do this? Were all three of them playing dumb or did they really not tell Shauna about your little get together a while back? Was it all a fucking scheme? Sure enough, you iced Jackie out for days after. 

Well you did talk to the girl after a bit, and she went on a rant about how perfect you were for each other if you would give the poor girl a chance. It just made you angrier at them.

~

“Oh the other day? When the two of you fucking cornered me?” You spat, standing quite close too. How did she even have the guts to bring it up?

“I’m sorry we did that, look if it’s worth anything, Shauna was furious at the both of us.” Lottie said apologetically

“She didn’t know?” You asked, quite surprised. 

“No, she never would’ve went with it…look, I know it was shitty of me but I needed to see you. Even if I pissed you off like crazy.” She confessed, looking anywhere but your eyes. 

“Well you did piss me off. But it was kind of…romantic?” You said, unsure. 

Your mind was utterly at war. Here was this girl, standing before you, begging for your forgiveness and a chance. And the thing is, it wasn’t just any girl. It was the most perfect one you encountered yet.

God, how you wanted to wipe that cute grin off her face. And God, how you hated yourself for actually not wanting to do it at all. She looked illuminating, really. Both in the moonlight and sunlight, you learned as of late. 

“I don’t know why you just ditched. I wish you didn’t. I made you a really good latte.” She spoke up again, making your own lips travel upwards. 

“You’re dumb.” You said quietly, your chests brushing against one another. 

“Maybe I am. Fucking crazy too.��� She whispered, practically against your lips. 

It was as if a switch flipped in you. In this moment, staring into her eyes, you couldn’t help but realize that all this time, you let your insecurities hold you back. An amazing oppertunity presented itself to you, and you best believe you weren’t gonna pass it up because of your addled brain.

It seemed as if neither of you could take it anymore. Your lips crashed into one another, bodies rocking together in a desperate, long awaited dance. Was it cliche to fall for a girl you met three times? Yes. But it was different with Lottie and you. You both had a fire, a passion inside you that sparked for one another. 

She really did spend a month thinking about a stunning girl that whispered sweet nothings to her when her orgasm crashed over her body. You were no better. 

Who even cares? You’re young, you should mess around with someone as risky as her. 

“Go out with me. Please? Give me a proper chance” Lottie panted, still holding onto one of your cheeks. 

“Okay…yeah, take me out.” You nodded, looking up at her. 

-----------------------------

Standing in front of your bathroom mirror, double checking your makeup in the reflection, you finished up getting ready for her to take you out for the third time.

The last flowers she got you barely plummeted, however you knew they'd get replaced by the ones she'd bring tonight. The shirt you wore hugged your body deliciously, making all your best features pop. It was fun, leaving a lot to the imagination even though she already kissed every inch of your bare skin.

A ring at your door made you jump slightly, tough you rushed over as soon as you heard it. You really were acting like a horny teenager.

"Hi. You look...wow." Lottie said chuckling, inevitably handing you a fresh bouquet of lilies.

"You're not too bad either. Come on, the reservation is soon." You said, exiting the place hurriedly.

The drive over was filled by a comfortable silence and your hand in hers, but once you wined and dined, there was no way for you to shut up.

It was like this every time. By date number three, you'd think all the secrets were spilled, still, with Lottie, there was always something interesting to talk about.

She wouldn't let you pay either, role playing as a true gentleman.

One of the most prominent things while you did this was a rule: no sex until you became official. Really, the both of you just wanted to ensure that this goes fucking right, it'd be silly to lose such a person over a misunderstanding like before, which is why you got dizzy as a few words escaped her mouth while she walked you to your door, hand on the small of your back.

"Will you be my girlfriend?" Lottie asked, admittedly after four glasses of wine.

Stopping in your tracks as you unlocked your apartment and turned to her.

"Are you serious?" You inquired softly, taking a step towards her.

"You don't want to? That's okay I just-" She started, a slightly hurt expression on her face.

"Lottie, yes, a million times, yes." You cut her off.

The charge between you changed drastically, and her face gave away a lot as she pushed you door open with a devilish grin.

You followed her inside, smiling to yourself as well. It was almost cute, how she was so giddy when you said yes. There was no doubt to what was about to happen, and you felt a wave of arousal and contentment hit you. That was it, you were locked in with her. You finally got the happy ending you always dreamed of, at least for a moment.

————————————

“Babe! I got chinese and that book you told me about yesterday!” Lottie called out, entering your shared penthouse.

Yes, it had been a year or so since you started dating, and you recently decided to move in together as well. You still worked, but only part time and focued on your studies while Lottie’s guilt ridden dad took care of the both of you. However when you did go in, your beautiful girlfriend was always there to support you.

You even got a kitten named Ziggy. She was only three months old but loved to play around, and was getting used to her surroundings since you picked her up from the street.

“Hey sweetheart!” She greeted her, scratching behind her ears as she sat the food down on the coffee table.

Lottie climbed atop of you while you were under a blanket, watching a show you didn’t pay much attention to.

“I missed you.” You said, kissing the top of her head.

“Missed you too. Jackie and Shauna will be here in a few by the way, they just went to get snacks.” She murmured into your chest.

“Oh good, I was wondering where they were.” You replied, knowing the plan was to have a movie night with the two.

“Think Jackie will make us see some romcom or cheesy flick again?” The girl joked (mostly), breathing you in.

“Probably.” You chimed, rubbing her back.

“We’re here!”

“And we’re watching The Notebook!”

A couple hours after, the four of you were splayed across the couch, laughing about unimportant topics while munching on takeout that got cold, passing the kitty around to cuddle.

At this moment, you realized just how truly happy you are. Here you were with your best friends and the love of your life, no real worries or burdens, simply existing after an interesting period of your life - a fun, lively one that provided you with everything you now knew. Still, it was an almost closed chapter, and you were okay with that.

That contentment? Definitely lasted more then a moment.

[loveanddeepdick]

gummy dummy ᯓᡣ𐭩

childhood bff!yuta okkotsu x f!reader || part 2 to gummy bear fic

warnings: none! there’s no real plot it’s just short dabbles of domestic fluff + suggestive at some parts. yuta is a bit of a perv (he steals your panties and just loooves watching you) >.<

summary: it’s been months after you and yuta had reunited and after you two became official after the long night of pent up sex. he moved in with you which only made sense and you two became intertwined again in each others lives. but how have you two been doing?

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

“yuuu!!” you called out to him from the kitchen of your shared apartment, “help me open this jar!!”.

thankfully, he helped you unpack your belongings into the apartment, moving his things in shortly after as well. however, his small secret was that he made the jars extra, extra tight. knowing your little corporate job didn’t require you to be physically strong so he took advantage of it, being there to open every jar, every container, and every bottle. he just found it cute.

“coming, gummy bear” he called out, his calm voice drawing closer as his soft footsteps approached, pressing into your back as he enveloped you. “need help again?”.

you nodded as you watched him open the jar with easy, smiling happily as you took it from him. sending him off to go back to whatever he was doing with a kiss.

“thanks, yu!”

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

you noticed after a while, your panties had gone missing one by one. well, there was only one culprit; your quiet and calm boyfriend who you already knew was a pervert deep down.

you knew he had them, you just had no clue where he put them. you searched everywhere, his sock drawer, under the bed, in the bathroom, cabinets, everything. then you had a small lightbulb moment. you knew he kept a box in his closet, full of memories of you two when you were younger. it was full of trinkets, letters, photos, everything. you opened it with a victorious grin which grew to annoyance. what a pervert!!!

“yuta okkotsu! get your ass in here right!! now!!” you called out to him from your shared bedroom. he quickly rushed in, knowing you only used his full name in serious situations. he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you standing, hand on your hip, the other one holding the box which was supposed to hold only nostalgic memories, filled with your used, dirty panties.

“care to explain, hm?”

he smiled sheepishly, knowing he was in for a ride when you grabbed him by his wrist, pulling him onto the bed.

“gummy bear, please go easy on me.. i couldn’t help it!”

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

saying your parents were overjoyed when you revealed that not only were you back in touch with yuta, but dating him as well, was a big understatement. they begged you two to come visit so you did.

you brought him back to your childhood home and he was greeted by open arms by your parents, bombarding him with questions of where he’d been, how we even met again, and doting on him for how handsome he’d grown to be.

“you’ve grown into a fine, young man!” you dad proudly chided, patting his back as he led him inside.

“oh, yuta, you look so different! your hairs so long! i am just so happy it’s you coming back to our home and not this rowdy girl’s stupid guys she kept bringing home!” your mom sent you a playful glare back. you saw yuta slightly tense up at the mention of it, but you rubbed his arm in a comforting manner, easing him again.

you four were all sitting in the living room, listening to yuta run through the past couple years, telling them about his trip to africa when your mom accidentally let her thoughts slip out,

“so! when are you giving us a grandbaby?”, your mom smiled.

yuta nearly fainted.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗦 - nine, finale charles leclerc  x  fem! driver! reader ( angst/fluff ) series summary . . . after mysteriously waking up in an era that you don't belong in, you learn that you have amnesia and that your memories from the last few years have been misplaced somewhere in a memory dump. you're challenged with living in the future in a foreign body and life, especially with a husband who used to be your enemy. forgetting truly is troublesome

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests ) ( previous )

You rubbed your eyes as you sat up, taking in the faint morning light slipping through the hotel curtains. For a moment, you just sat there, the room bathed in soft hues of dawn, until the headache hit, sharp and insistent. And then came the dream, clawing its way back to the forefront of your mind.

You gulped, reaching for the remote and turning up the volume on the TV. Tears pricked your eyes as Andrew Garfield’s Spider-Man swung across the screen, flipping and twisting with ease. The sound was loud, visually chaotic, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the echoes of your father’s shouting in your mind—the sharp, cutting words from the other room. Your one chance at securing a sponsor, and you’d landed a disappointing fourth. “ARE YOU HAPPY WITH THIS, BECAUSE I AM VERY HAPPY!” The door slammed, your father standing in the doorway, face flushed with anger. “What was I even thinking? You’re just a stupid girl.”

The memory made your stomach churn. That night, after the shouting subsided, you’d made the impulsive decision to sneak out. You remembered sitting on the curb of a random street in Nice, head leaning against your forearms, the flickering streetlight the only sign of life on the deserted road.

You could’ve stayed there for hours if it hadn’t been for the stranger who found you. “Hey.” A soft voice pulled you from the haze of tears. You wiped your face quickly, squinting up at the blurry figure. “Bad day, huh?” He sat down beside you without hesitation. Your voice was thick as you sniffled. “You had a bad day too?” “Very bad.” His accent was faint, but it lingered, and you almost recognized it. “What happened to you?” A deep sigh escaped you as you relived the earlier disaster. “I haven’t been performing well. My team’s about to drop me… My dad was right. I’m just a stupid girl.” “I beg to differ,” he said simply, turning his head to look at you. “When I look at you, I see this strong woman who defies odds, someone who’s capable of more than she realizes. Someone amazing.” You blinked, unsure how to process his words. Who was this stranger sitting on the curb, offering hope to someone like you? “What’s your name?” “Carl,” he lied smoothly.

The memory dissolved as you shuffled to the edge of the bed, your thoughts tumbling over each other. Before you could get too far, a warm arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into the comfort of a familiar hold.

Charles.

He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his breath soft against your skin. The guilt and shame swirling in your chest began to quiet as his soft snores filled the silence.

You could piece together fragments of the past now. Some things still didn’t make sense, gaps that felt like jagged edges, but you could guess at the whole. Still, a pressing question lingered: where was Yn?

Not the version lying in bed. Not the Yn who was stuck between a stranger and a memory. The Yn who baked cookies, laughed at Charles’ terrible jokes, and offered warmth to those around her.

Charles groaned as he stirred, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. You turned to face him, watching as he ran a hand through his hair, his injured wrist moving carefully.

He caught you staring and gave you a tired smile, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“It’s not bad,” he mumbled, noticing the concern in your gaze. “Just hard to move my wrist.”

You helped him with his shirt, your hands brushing against his skin as you guided his injured arm through the sleeve.

“What did the doctor say?”

“Nothing’s broken. A week, maybe, and I’ll be fine,” he replied, bending to pick up a sock, only for you to intercept it first.

“You don’t need to do that,” he murmured, his voice softer now.

You didn’t answer, focusing instead on tidying the scattered clothes, trying to make order from the chaos. Charles watched you, his chest tightening as he noticed the tension in your shoulders.

When you pulled out his sling, he stopped you. “I don’t need it,” he said, resting his hand gently on yours.

“But—”

“I’m fine.”

The dam broke. Tears filled your eyes faster than you could stop them. Everything felt heavy, messy, and impossible to fix. You didn’t know how to move forward, let alone how to heal.

Charles saw it all—the guilt, the frustration, the exhaustion. Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as the sobs overtook you. He rubbed your back, whispering reassurances.

“You’re just a girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You don’t have to do everything. Let’s go home to Monaco, hm?”

You nodded against his chest, the idea of home, of slowing down and stepping back, washing over you like a balm.

“Let’s go home.”

“Stop running. You’ll slip and fall,” Charles called out, his voice edged with exasperation as you and Arthur tore around the yacht like children, completely ignoring his warnings.

The sun was high, its rays glinting off the waves and casting a golden hue over everything. The salty sea breeze tugged at your hair and stung your lips, the occasional spray of water catching you off guard. It was peaceful, yet alive with your laughter and Arthur’s playful taunts.

Charles stood at the helm, watching the chaos unfold as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Despite his best efforts to appear annoyed, a warm, quiet happiness spread through him. It had been a week since the Hungarian Grand Prix, and returning home to Monaco had done wonders for you. Seeing you laugh—really laugh—again was more than he could’ve hoped for.

Arthur had been a constant presence during this time, filling the role of both brother-in-law and much-needed friend. He had a knack for getting you to loosen up, coaxing you into moments of carefree joy. And for that, Charles was endlessly grateful.

“Wait, wait! No! I surrender!” you shrieked, skidding to a stop as Arthur lunged for you.

But it was too late.

Charles folded his arms, a small smirk tugging at his lips as Arthur tackled you clean off the deck. The loud splash was accompanied by your squeal of protest, quickly followed by laughter as the two of you resurfaced, both soaked to the bone.

“Charles!” you called, splashing toward the yacht as Arthur closed in behind you. “Help—Art, stop!”

Charles crouched by the edge, effortlessly pulling you up by your arms. You landed on the deck with a wet thud, water dripping from your hair and clothes.

“Oh, my eyes,” you groaned, blinking furiously as you tried to rub the sting of salt water away.

Arthur hauled himself up next, grinning smugly as he leaned on the edge of the boat. “Victory,” he declared, crossing his arms triumphantly.

Charles chuckled under his breath as he gently tilted your face toward him, inspecting your eyes for any hidden sand or debris. His touch was careful, his gaze soft.

“Ass,” you huffed, directing a half-hearted kick at Arthur.

“Me? An ass?” Arthur laughed, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he scooped up a handful of water and splashed it right back at you.

This time, Charles wasn’t spared.

A pause hung in the air as the eldest Leclerc pursed his lips, his expression unreadable. Slowly, deliberately, he peeled off his shirt, folding it neatly before setting it aside.

You and Arthur shared a panicked glance.

“Run,” you whispered.

And then you both bolted—well, swam—away from the yacht as fast as you could, the sound of Charles hitting the water with a splash echoing behind you.

Laughter bubbled up uncontrollably as the three of you turned the sea into your personal battleground, the water a blur of splashes and yelps. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt free.

“Stay still please,” Charles gently tightens the lace up  on the back of your dress. You giggled as his fingers brushed against your skin, ticking you. 

“Charl,” You curled away on instinct, making the brunette chuckle and pull you back in his chest from the strings, tying a little bow.

You didn’t get a chance to pull away because Charles wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closeer and pressing a long kiss to your cheek. You giggled, closing your eyes. Little affectionate gestures like these always made you feel warm and yellow. 

When Charles pulled from the hug, he gently brushed his fingers through your hair. “Up or down?” He asked, looking through the vanity table. “I don’t think up is a choice anymore because its so short.”

“We’re going to be late!” You heard Aurther shout, his quick footsteps echoing in the apartment. “We’re gonna- Oh, mon Dieu.” [my god] The boy groaned as he pushed the door open. “Charles, nous n'allons pas rencontrer le prince.“ [we're not going to meet the prince] The young blond scolded.

You furrowed your brows, taking a step towards the mirror, turning to see how the dress looked from behind. You couldn’t help but smile, admiring the simple black dress, the stringed corset being the cherry on top.

“I have good taste, hm?” Charles smirked as he stood behind you.

“At times,” you tease. Your husband made a small noise in fake hurt as he moved your hair to gently hook the apm necklace around your neck.

The night air in Monaco carried a crisp elegance, the kind that only came with events of this caliber. The soft hum of conversation filled the venue, blending seamlessly with the distant waves crashing against the harbor. The blue carpet stretched out ahead, illuminated by flashing lights and the eager calls of the paparazzi.

Charles adjusted his cufflinks, glancing over at you with an encouraging smile. "Come with me?" he asked, offering his hand as he motioned toward the photographers.

You hesitated, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. The attention was overwhelming, suffocating even. The thought of standing beneath the harsh lights, cameras capturing your every move, sent a familiar wave of nervousness creeping up your spine.

Charles’ smile didn’t falter, but he recognized the apprehension in your eyes. With a soft squeeze of your hand, he nodded in understanding. "Alright, I’ll go first."

You exhaled, watching as he stepped onto the blue carpet with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times. He carried himself with effortless charm, stopping to pose, his signature grin lighting up the night.

Arthur, standing beside you, rolled his eyes playfully before nudging your side. "Come on, Yn," he murmured, a teasing lilt in his voice. "You can’t leave him standing there alone."

You barely had time to protest before Arthur gently but firmly pulled you forward, guiding you toward Charles. Your heart pounded as the flashing lights intensified, the murmurs growing louder. But then—Charles turned.

The moment he saw you, his eyes lit up, a genuine warmth overtaking his face. Without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you effortlessly to his side. His touch was reassuring, grounding. The camera shutters clicked wildly as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, the affectionate gesture sending a warmth through your chest.

Arthur stood on Charles' other side, smirking at the entire ordeal. "See? Not so bad."

You glanced up at Charles, whose expression held nothing but adoration. His grip around you was firm yet gentle, as if reassuring you that you belonged here. The nerves that once gnawed at your insides melted away, replaced by the comfort of knowing you weren’t alone.

Later that night, the party had faded into quiet solitude. The soft hum of the city outside the window blended with the occasional rustle of Kiki, your cat, shifting in her plush bed near the piano. You sat cross-legged on the floor beside her, absentmindedly strumming the guitar, fingers finding chords as if led by muscle memory rather than thought.

The tune was simple, familiar, yet just out of reach. Your brows furrowed slightly as you tried to place it, but the moment of frustration didn’t last long.

Charles, freshly changed into his pyjamas, wandered into the room, his gaze drawn to you. A fond smile tugged at his lips as he stepped toward the piano, lowering himself onto the bench. Without a word, he pressed a few keys—soft, deliberate notes that matched the melody you had been struggling with.

The moment the chords aligned, something in you shifted. It was subtle at first, like a thread being pulled from deep within. Then, like a calm but sudden wave, your memories clicked back into place.

Your fingers instinctively moved over the strings, syncing effortlessly with Charles' playing. It felt natural, like slipping into a warm embrace, the two of you falling into an unspoken rhythm. The song—your song—came back to you, not just as a melody, but as a feeling.

Your chest tightened, but not with fear. It was warmth, familiarity, the realization that you were still you—just a different version, a fusion of then and now.

Charles glanced over, sensing the change in your expression. His fingers stilled on the keys, his green eyes searching yours with quiet hope. "Yn?"

You met his gaze, and for the first time since the accident, you felt whole. "I'm here."

Charles exhaled, his shoulders relaxing as he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. "You never left."

voice notes 🔊 . . . ( finally got around to rewriting the ending )

[bluesunss]

Hairless cat Choi Su-bong x F!Reader

summary: you come home to a surprise you hadn’t expected for Valentine’s (I know it’s super late read a/n)

warnings: absolutely none pure fluff

a/n: this comes from my fanfiction The final act of love posted on wattpad, it was the Valentine Day’s special ♡ you can consider it a one-shot, and I admit it’s a month late for Valentine’s but the fandom needs some fluff so here it is :) Su-bong is a softie here because reader and he were past friends, a while before he even got into substances

anyways enjoy!

The moment you take off your shoes, you sense that something is off. "Su-bong?..."

Silence. You carefully place your heels by the entrance, step inside, and search for your husband and your cat.

"Su-bong!"

Still nothing. A silence far too deliberate. Feeling your way forward, you move toward the bathroom - ground zero for most domestic disasters. The door is slightly ajar, and a sliver of light escapes from within.

"Strawbie! Come here! Please, your mother is going to kill me if she finds out-"

"If I find out what?" You push the door open, and a small gasp escapes your lips.

In the bathtub, Strawberry is vigorously gnawing on Su-bong's frog-shaped wallet, and... she's nearly bald. Then, your gaze shifts to Su-bong. His hair is a vibrant shade of pink, wet, clinging to his forehead.

"My cat! Oh, heavens, what have you done!"

Pushing him aside, you leap toward Strawberry, only to notice the scattered paintbrushes, smears of dye, an overturned paint can, and loose coins spilling from the open wallet all in the messy bathtub.

Your husband sits on a small stool, looking utterly embarrassed, carefully avoiding your gaze.

"Su-bong?" You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for him to acknowledge you.

"Yes?" He grins sheepishly, finally lifting his head.

"What have you done?"

He fidgets with the ring on his left hand.

"Well... Since it's Valentine's Day, I thought I'd give Strawberry a little makeover. She really likes the neighbor's cat, so I figured if I dyed her pink, she'd look like a big, fluffy cotton candy, and he would immediately fall in love. I mean, she would be so cute! But... her fur is too fine, and..."

He gestures toward his own hair, then toward your now nearly furless cat.

"So, on human hair, it works fine. But on her... well, I might have shaved off a good three centimeters of fur. Ahem."

You try to hold back, but laughter wells up inside you. The memory of all his past antics rushes back.

"HAHAHAHA!" You burst out laughing, clutching your sides. "Oh Lord, you kill me."

Letting go of your handbag, you collapse onto the floor in fits of laughter. Curious, Strawberry hops out of the tub and into your arms.

"Oh, my sweet girl. Your father ruined you for your poor Valentine's date, didn't he? What am I going to do with him?"

You cradle her against your chest as she nibbles at your collar before hopping down and strutting into the living room. Standing up, you dust off your skirt, then sit cross-legged, smiling at your man.

"Pink suits you."

At that, Su-bong dramatically falls off his stool and pulls you into his arms.

"Argh. I think I might have a love attack," he faints jokingly. "You're too perfect."

Laughing, you try to push his face away, but he holds you tight.

"Oh, darling, this doesn't mean I'm not upset. Our cat is about to meet her suitor without her glorious coat."

His grip tightens, and he kisses you sloppily.

"I'd love you even if you were bald."

You push him away again, but he only kisses you harder.

"We need to get out of the bathroom!" you scold. "I just got home, and I want to shower."

"I have to help. You can't wash your shoulders without me."

"Ah, ah, ah. Hands off, mister. You'll have to make up for this tonight."

Feigning deep sorrow, he sighs dramatically, then gives up, leaving the bathroom with one last pitiful glance. But you shake your head.

"Nope. Out. And fix my beautiful cat before her date."

"Your wish is my command, señorita."

He vanishes, and you finally step into the shower. Once clean, you head to the bedroom, slipping into a short, flowing pink dress before drying your hair. Su-bong knocks, and when you let him in, he's holding Strawberry, who is desperately trying to claw her way free. She leaps to the floor, landing gracefully despite her extra weight, then proudly struts around in a tiny pink robe of questionable fabric, complete with a feathered scarf. You chuckle.

"She's adorable."

But Su-bong has completely forgotten about the cat. His eyes are fixed on you - your long, bare legs, the way pink complements your skin, the hairdryer still in your hand. He strides to the bed, already undoing the buttons of his shirt.

"Hey, you- I just got home from work, I-"

He doesn't listen. He steps toward you, nudging you onto the plush burgundy bedspread, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist.

"May I claim my Valentine's gift early?"

"Impatient boy!" You attempt to push his face away but he grins and bites your fingers. "And what about my gift?"

"I have many for you. And the first one... needs to be given now."

Strawberry grimaces, lets out an indignant meow, and scurries away.

ʚɞ

Later, as you and Su-bong sit at the dinner table, wrapping paper strewn everywhere - a year-long nail salon voucher, a necklace and flowers for you - a hair salon voucher, new rings and a watch for him, you hear distant meowing. Curious, you both move to the terrace, the source of the sound.

And there, in the moonlit grass, is Strawberry, rolling playfully with the neighbor's cat. At one point, she purrs, and he curls around her, letting her snuggle into his embrace. You watch them drift off to sleep together.

But the funniest part? Strawberry's ridiculous outfit has vanished. The neighbor's cat loved her just the way she was.

Su-bong squeezes your hand, brings it to his mouth and presses a kiss on it, before resting his head on your shoulder.

"The moon is beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

The moonlight casts a silver glow over the freshly cut grass. The air is crisp yet gentle.

"Really beautiful."

Hope you enjoyed ;)