#and then running up and down the aisles and doing high knees

[mooifyourecows]

yesterday i got a new haircut and new shoes 🙂 i'm unstoppable basically

[moonstruckme]

Hi!! Could you do a Bodyguard!James Potter x reader where he is guarding her during a high profile event and something happens? With a bit of angst to fluff? If you’re comfortable of course! I hope you have a wonderful day, i’m new to your page and ADORED your bodyguard james. <3

Thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: guns, shooting

bodyguard!James x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You shift your stance a bit and have to bite down on a whimper. 

“I’m going to have to throw these shoes out after this,” you mutter to James. “I’m pretty sure there’s blood pooling around my toes.” 

“You wanna take them off?” he murmurs back, lips barely moving as he keeps his face in a mask of businesslike impassivity. 

You sigh. “I wish.” 

“You could. Just step out of them, no one’s looking over here.” 

It’s true. Every camera in the chamber is pointed to where your mom stands on the podium, her right hand raised as she takes her oath. As much as you hate coming to these things, you can’t ignore the kernel of pride shining behind your sternum. She’s waited so long for this day, dealt with so much opposition, and now she’s finally going to be able to enact some real change. You can keep up appearances for her. 

“I’d better not risk it,” you tell James. “With my luck, the second I do—” 

You’re on the ground before you even register the sound of glass shattering. James’ grip on your shoulder is harsh, almost painful, but the noise that follows has enough adrenaline spiking your bloodstream to forget about that. The loud, rapid popping of gunfire fills the chamber. 

James’ hand moves to clasp around your elbow, but you tear away from him, headed in the opposite direction. The podium is empty. Where’s your mom? Did they get her already? Is she hurt? Did she—

You’re not fast enough to outpace James, definitely not limping around in your heels, and he gets an arm around your waist, hauling you away from the center aisle. You can’t tell where the gunfire is coming from—who has the guns?—but he pushes your head down before you can look. A low buzzing burrows into your ears. You try again to go to where you last saw your mom, but James yanks you back to his side, a cutting “Stop” hissing past his lips. Any other time, a tone like that would have you stilling like a frightened bunny, but you know he’s not the danger here. 

When you don’t listen, he lifts you off the ground. The crowd is swarming, frantic and disorganized, but James maneuvers through it expertly, running down the hall until he finds an unlocked door. The bathroom door swings open for you, and James sets you down quickly, locking it before you have a second to recover. 

You lunge for the door anyway, only for twin bands to wrap around your middle. They pin your arms to your sides and press you securely to James’ front. 

“Stop. Stop it.” His tone is as hard as his grip, dispassionate to your struggling. “You cannot fight me when you’re in danger, understand?” 

“They’re not here for me,” you plead. Your voice is scratchy with desperation. 

“No, but I am. I’m here for you.” His hold tightens, but now it’s less a restraint than a comfort. You can feel his heavy breaths tickling past your ear. “Your mom has her own detail, okay? She made it out before we did, they probably have her somewhere safe.” 

Now you can hear your breathing too. Short, stilted pants that wheeze in and out of you. You think you might be shaking. 

“That’s enough,” James says gently, starting to lower you both to the ground. Your knees give easily, relinquishing your weight to his hold until he settles you both on the tiled floor. “That’s enough, alright? Can I let you go now?” 

You’re not sure you want him to anymore, but you nod. He slips out from behind you, checking the lock on the bathroom door and then removing his gun from the holster at his hip. The sight of it makes your trembling worsen. He checks something with it while murmuring to the people on the other end of his earpiece, convoluted jargon you’ve long since ceased paying attention to. 

“She’s fine,” he says after a minute. “Your mom. They got her into an office, and now we’re all just waiting for security to clear the building before we can go.” 

You drop your head to your knees, relief like a tidal wave washing over you. You hear James’ footsteps move back toward you before his big hand lands on your head. It smooths down your hair as he squats next to you. When you glance at his gun balanced on his knee, he catches the look. 

“I have to keep this out for now,” he says, looking you in your eyes like he’s making a promise, “but the safety’s staying on unless someone tries to come in here. Okay?” 

“Yeah.” You nod, still trying to get your breathing under control. 

James strokes your head again, his touch weighty and reassuring. The noise outside of the bathroom seems to be lessening, but you’re not sure how much sound is blocked by the door. There could be shooting still happening just past it, people hurt or dying in the halls. 

“I’m sorry for fighting you so hard,” you say quietly. 

James blows out a breath. “I get it,” he admits. “In those situations, it’s natural to freak out and head toward the person you want to keep safe.” He flashes you a little smile. “I’m lucky it’s already my job to do that.” You grimace back, but his expression grows serious again when he says, “You just have to keep your head, though, you know? The whole reason you and your mom have protection is to make sure someone else is already looking out for you. You don’t need to worry about her, you just need to trust me.” 

You look at him. His body is still taut, ready for a fight if one comes to him, but his expression is gentle. It’s easy to forget it’s his job to take care of you when he seems to do it so naturally. Caring emanates from James like it’s the core component of his soul. 

“I do trust you,” you tell him. 

His mouth slants, expression unbearably fond. “I know, sweetheart. We’ll work on those instincts, okay? I get that it’s not an easy adjustment to make.” 

“Have you ever had to do that? Run away from the person you cared about the most?” 

He shakes his head. “Like I said, I’m lucky. I always get to run towards you.”

[allgoodnamesrgoneee]

Kylian Mbappe imagine where you arrive your honeymoon destination, you finally do it for the first time [it's your first time]. Kylian works tirelessly to achieve a new addition to the family. You feel the symptoms while still on the trip, and once you get home, it's positive.

Honeymoon

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — You get pregnant on your honeymoon

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Husband!Kylian Mbappé x Wife!you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 3.6k

Warnings! NSFW! SMUT (18+), unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving), soft sex, breeding kink, fluff, first time, soft Kylian, unexpected pregnancy,

Bali is a dream.

The weather, the view—everything is perfect.

You and your new husband have been waiting for this moment for what feels like forever, and it finally happened. you're married. It's just the two of you. And you're ready to start our new lives together.

Actually, maybe you weren't ready.

After all, you've never had sex before. And you were so nervous. It was obvious to you that Kylian was dying to be with you since the moment you got together, but you didn't want to rush things. And he never pressured you. Choosing to wait with you. Even if he was not a virgin.

You loved him so much for that. How he always puts you first. Taking care of you. Making sure you're comfortable and safe. The only time he ever seemed impatient was when he talked about having children with you. It made you laugh because it's something he wanted for years before you met. And you wanted it too. But you both agreed on waiting. Until the time was right.

Didn't make you less nervous, though. It was a little bit scary. But at the same time, you wanted this more than anything.

The whole ceremony was a blur. You couldn't stop thinking about tonight. But it was lovely—everything you ever dreamed it would be. Kylian made sure of that. You walked down the aisle to your new husband in your beautiful white gown. You both said your vows in front of a few people who were close to you and then exchanged rings.

You couldn't believe it. You were actually married. To your best friend and soulmate, Kylian. You've known each other since high school, before he left for Monaco. Then, when he came back to Paris for PSG, you guys met up again and fell in love. Have been for two years now.

"Hi," you hear him whisper softly into your ear as he wraps his arms around you from behind, as he places a soft kiss on your neck. "How are you feeling?" he asks you.

You blush a little, turning your head to face him. "I'm feeling great," you answer him, smiling. "I can't believe I'm your wife now." You say, feeling a little shy.

He chuckles a little. "Me neither, it feels good to finally call you mine." He replies, breath tickling your neck. You could hear the smile on his voice. You love him so much. "Do you want to go upstairs? It's getting late." He adds, running his hand down your arm, sending shivers through your body. He knew that was the one spot on your body that made you feel weak in the knees. And he took full advantage of it.

"I think I would like that," you reply quietly, turning your head to look at him. He was looking down at you, his eyes so soft. They always looked that way when he looked at you. So loving and adoring. He always made you feel like the luckiest girl on the planet. And you truly felt like you were.

He kissed you softly, then grabbed your hand. "Let's go then," he says softly, leading you up the stairs.

He led you to your room. It was absolutely beautiful. The balcony had the most amazing view of the ocean, and the moonlight lit everything up beautifully. It was a beautiful night.

You stood there for a minute, just looking out the window. Trying to take everything in. The moment was surreal.

You felt a gentle hand on your back, then he slipped his arm around your waist, pulling you to him. You relaxed into him, your back pressed to his chest. He rested his head on your shoulder, letting out a small sigh.

"I've waited for this moment for so long," he says softly, his lips brushing against your ear. "I can't believe I finally get to have you."

You feel your cheeks flush. "You already have me," you whisper back. "But I can't wait for this part."

He smiled. "Good, because I'm going to give you the best night of your life," he says confidently. "I promise."

You believe him. He never breaks his promises.

He spun you around to face him. His eyes were intense as he looked at you. Then he grabbed your face with both hands, his fingers weaving through your hair. You felt his soft lips press against yours, sending a wave of lust through your body. You've kissed many times before, but this felt different. This felt more passionate, like he was finally letting go. You let him deepen the kiss, your hands coming up to run down his arms. You both moaned into the kiss, the anticipation of what was coming next making you both eager.

He pulled back, his hands moving down your body until they were resting on your waist. "I want you so badly," he whispers against your lips. "I've never wanted anything more."

"I want you too," you reply breathlessly. Eyes locked on his. They were dark, pupils dilated to the max as he looked down at you.

He groans, pulling you into a hug. "I love you so much," he says softly into your ear. You could hear the need in his voice. He wanted you. And he wanted you now.

"I love you too," you reply, wrapping your arms around his waist.

He pulls back, then grabs your hand. "Come on," he says, leading you over to the bed. He sat down on it, looking up at you.

You stood there for a moment, not sure what to do next.

He held out his arms for you. "Come here," he says softly. "Let me help you."

You walk over to him, then climb on the bed, straddling his lap. You could feel his hardness press against you as soon as you did.

"Jesus, baby," he says softly, running his hands down your back. "You feel amazing already."

You could feel your cheeks flush. "Thank you," you reply shyly.

He smiled, then leaned in to kiss you again. He let out a low groan as you started grinding against him. It felt good. Really good. You've done this before with him, but it felt more intense this time.

He pulled back from the kiss, his hands coming up to cup your face. "Are you ready? You know we don't have to do this tonight if you're not ready." He says softly, looking at you intently.

You smile a little. "I'm ready," you say confidently.

He nods, then lays back on the bed, taking you with him. You sit on top of him, his hands coming up to play with your breasts over your dress. It felt amazing, but you were eager to get undressed.

You grab the hem of your dress and pull it up, lifting it off your body. You throw it to the side, then look back at him.

His eyes were wide as he looked at you. You were completely naked. Your pale pink nipples were hard and pointing straight at him. "Damn," he says softly. "You're beautiful."

You blush a little. "Thanks," you reply.

He sat up, pulling you into a kiss. His hands coming up to play with your breasts again. You let out a small moan as he pinched your nipples. He was good at that. He knew exactly how to touch you.

"Take off your clothes," you whisper against his lips.

He smiled, then sat up, taking you with him. He stood up, pulling you into another kiss as he did. Then he broke it, looking down at you. "Sit on the bed," he says softly. You do as he says, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He smiles, then kneels down in front of you. "Spread your legs," he says softly. You spread them apart, watching as he leans in to kiss the inside of your thigh. He kisses up your thigh until he reaches your pussy, then he lets out a soft groan. "Fuck, you're so fucking wet already," he says, running his fingers through your folds. You let out a small moan as you feel him rub your clit.

You've done this before too, but knowing where it would lead made it feel better. He was touching you differently than he usually did. Like he had less control over himself. You've learned over the years that when he eats you out, it takes him a little bit to get warmed up. But not today, he was ready to go. And you were loving it.

He looks at you one more time, then dives in. His tongue flicking over your clit, making you moan loudly. You grip the sheets, trying not to buck your hips. It feels amazing. He holds you still, his hands gripping your hips, keeping them in place as he keeps licking you. It's like he can't get enough of your taste. You've heard him talk about it before. He loves your taste.

He keeps eating you out, sucking on your clit, making you moan even louder. It feels so good. He's so good at this. You can feel yourself building up, it's going to be a big one. "Kylian, I'm gonna cum," you moan out.

He growls against your clit, then sucks harder on it. That's all it takes for you to fall over the edge, cumming on his tongue. He keeps licking you through your orgasm, making you moan even louder. You've never felt anything so good in your life. It's like you're floating.

When you're done, he pulls back, then looks up at you, a soft smile on his face. You're breathing hard. Your whole body relaxed.

He leans in to kiss you softly. "That was amazing," he says softly. You can taste yourself on his tongue.

He gets up then, pulling you up with him. He leads you over to the bed again, then pushes you down onto it. You watch as he pulls off his clothes, revealing his hard cock. He's always been big, but he looks bigger today. Maybe you're just really horny. Or maybe he really does look bigger.

He climbs on the bed, crawling towards you. He stops when he's hovering over you, his cock brushing against your pussy. You can feel his precum dripping onto you.

"I'm going to take it slow, okay?" he says softly, looking at you.

You nod, then lean up to kiss him. "I'll be fine," you say softly. You trust him.

He smiles, then leans in to kiss you again. His cock nudges at your entrance, slowly pushing its way inside of you. It hurts. You wince. He stops.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly, looking down at you. He was holding himself up with one arm, the other resting beside your head.

You nod, then kiss him softly. "Keep going," you say.

He nods, then continues to push inside of you. It feels like a knife is being dragged through your insides as he stretches you open. But at the same time it feels good.

When he's all the way inside of you, he lets out a long moan. "Fuck," he says softly. "You feel amazing. So tight, bébé." He kisses you again.

You smile through the pain, a tear falling down your cheek, then kiss him back. "You feel amazing too," you reply.

He chuckles softly. "I'm going to move now," he says softly.

You nod, then wrap your legs around his waist. "Go ahead," you reply.

He nods, then pulls back slowly. He looks down at your pussy as he does. Watching his cock slide out of you. He lets out a long moan as he does. "Putain, that's amazing," he says softly. "Look at you. Taking my cock so well."

He pulls out completely, then pushes back inside of you. You wince again, but it doesn't hurt as much as it did the first time. It still feels good. Really good. You start to moan as he begins thrusting inside of you slowly. It still hurts a little, but it feels good at the same time. He's so deep inside of you, his cock brushing against your cervix with each thrust.

"Jesus," he says softly. "You're so warm, baby." His thrusts start to speed up a little bit. You're moaning with each one. You've never felt anything like this before. It's so intense.

You start grinding back against him, taking him even deeper. You both moan at the feeling. You're getting closer, you can feel it. He's also getting closer, his thrusts getting faster. You can hear how wet you are. The sound of your pussy taking his cock with each thrust. It's so erotic.

He leans down to kiss you. "you're so beautiful," he says softly against your lips. "I'm going to fuck you full," he says. "I want to fill you up with my cum. Give you a baby, baby."

You blush a little, but it makes you even more turned on. The thought of him filling you up with his seed. Planting a baby inside of you. It feels primal, animalistic. And it makes you feel so good. You're getting even closer now. You're both moaning loudly now.

"I want you too," you reply breathlessly. "Fill me up, please." You plead.

He lets out a loud growl, then picks up speed, fucking you even harder. "Fucking hell, baby. You're so fucking tight," he says breathlessly. "I'm going to cum soon. Are you close?"

You nod, then kiss him again. "Yes," you reply breathlessly. "Please, cum inside me."

He lets out a loud groan, then speeds up even more. His thrusts become erratic as he loses control of himself. You can feel him tense up above you, his cock swelling inside of you. You're almost there too.

You feel him reach down between your legs, his finger finding your clit, rubbing it roughly. That's all it takes to send you over the edge, your orgasm washing over you like a wave. It's so intense that you scream out in pleasure. Your pussy clenching around his cock, squeezing it tightly.

He lets out a loud growl, his hips jerking against you as he fills you up with his cum. You can feel his hot seed flooding your insides. It feels amazing.

You both moan loudly, his body shivering above you as he cums. You feel him fill you up completely, your pussy overflowing with his cum.

When he's done, he collapses on top of you, his breathing hard. You're both sweaty. Your whole body relaxed. You feel amazing.

He looks down at you, then smiles softly. "That was amazing," he says softly."I'm sorry if it hurt." He adds.

You shake your head. "It's fine," you say softly. "I'm fine."

He nods, then leans down to kiss you. "I love you," he says softly against your lips.

"I love you too," you reply.

You lay there for a while, wrapped in each others arms. You both feel so relaxed. He's still inside of you, his cum leaking out of your pussy and onto the bed.

He pulls out after a few minutes, making you both moan at the feeling. He pulls out completely, then rolls off you. He looks down at your pussy, then lets out a low groan. "Putain, bébé," he says softly. "Look at you. You're such a mess." He says, his hand coming up to rub your pussy. "My cum is all over you." He adds.

You blush a little at the feeling. His fingers are covered in his cum as he plays with your pussy. You're so sensitive that you start to moan as soon as he touches your clit.

"Kylian," you moan out.

He chuckles softly, then leans down to kiss your stomach. "I feel like I just got you pregnant," he say softly. "You look so good right now." He says, his voice filled with lust. The way his cum is dripping out of your pussy and onto the bed. He's still hard, his cock still covered in his cum.

You watch as he mounts you again. He looks down at you, his eyes dark with lust. "I want to do it again," he says softly. "I want to fuck you while my cum is still inside of you." He adds.

You nod, then kiss him softly. "Do it," you reply breathlessly.

He moans, then pushes back inside of you.

*********

The next few days are no different. He fucks you every night, sometimes more than once a night. You've lost count of how many times you've gone at it. And you know he wants to keep going. You're both so horny, you can't help yourselves. He's always touching you, and you're always touching him. You're in paradise, and you can't imagine anything better.

You feel the first symptoms when you're halfway through your trip. You wake up in the morning feeling really nauseous. You rush to the bathroom and puke your guts out. He comes in to check on you, and you feel your cheeks flush. You've never puked in front of him before. It's embarrassing. But he just rubs your back, then holds you in his arms while you finish puking. Then he carries you to bed, and makes you breakfast in bed.

The next one, while you're at the beach. Your boobs hurt, like they always do when you're about to get your period. But you've never been regular, and you've never felt this bad before. It makes you feel a little sick.

And then when you're having dinner. You can't stop yawning. You've always been tired, but it's never been this bad. It's like you can't stop sleeping.

You don't say anything, just wanting to enjoy the rest of your trip. You also don't want to jinx it. So you don't say anything. But you can't help but wonder if you might be pregnant.

You get back home, and he's been going at it non-stop. He's so horny. You can't help but think that he's going to make you pregnant. It feels so good every time he does. You're always moaning, your pussy taking his cock so well. He loves it. He's always moaning about how good you feel, how tight your pussy is. You're getting closer, you can feel it. He's going to make you pregnant for sure.

And then your period doesn't come.

You stand in the bathroom, staring at the little white stick in your hands. You're nervous. Even though he talks about having kids when you're having sex, you're not sure if it's something he actually wants. Yes you discussed it before but you don't know how serious he was. Especially with how his career is going right now.

You're scared as you hold the stick in your hands. This is it. This is when you find out. Now all you have to do is pee. That's it. It's that simple. You're a grown adult, but you can't help but feel like a little kid right now. Like you're about to get in trouble.

You take a deep breath, then pull down your pants. You sit down on the toilet, then lift the stick up. It takes two minutes. And then you see it. The second line comes up almost instantly.

Your heart drops as you see it. You're pregnant. Holy shit. You're pregnant. You can't believe it. You thought you would be, but it's still crazy. You're pregnant. With a baby. Oh my god.

You sit there for a minute, staring at the test. You can't believe it. This is real life now. You're a grown up. You have to make adult decisions. This is scary.

Then you hear him calling you from outside the door. "Trésor, you okay?" he says softly. "You've been in there for a while."

You jump up quickly, then pull your pants back up. You open the door, holding the stick behind your back.

"Yeah," you say with a teary smile. "I'm fine."

He steps inside the bathroom, then pulls you into a hug. "Are you okay?" he asks softly.

You nod, then hold up the test. "I'm pregnant," you say softly.

His face goes blank as he looks down at it. You can't tell what he's thinking. He doesn't move for a second. You're worried, you're scared. Does he not want it?

Then you see him break out into a huge smile. "Oh my god," he says softly, his voice full of emotion. "I did it," he says, his voice filled with pride. "I got you pregnant," he adds. "I fucking did it," he repeats. He picks you up, spinning you around in a circle. You can't help but laugh at him.

He puts you back down, then pulls you into a hug. "I'm so happy," he says softly. "I can't believe it." He pulls back, then looks at you with a huge smile. "I'm going to be a dad," he says softly. "And you're going to be a mom," he adds.

You nod, feeling your cheeks flush. "I know," you say softly.

He pulls you into a kiss, picking you up off the ground again. "I love you so much," he says softly against your lips. "You're going to be an amazing mom," he adds.

He picks you up, carrying you to the bed. You lay down next to him, snuggling into his arms. "We're going to be parents," you say softly, breaking the silence that settled over you.

He nods, kissing your forehead. "We are," he replies. "We're going to be parents." He adds.

You both lay there for a minute, just enjoying each other's company. You can't wait for this new chapter in your lives.

He lets out a small groan as he rolls over, pulling you on top of him. "I want to celebrate," he says softly. "I want to make sure you're good and pregnant." He adds, his eyes dark with lust.

Then he takes you.

-Bianca🌻

[captain-hawks]

steady

shinsuke kita x f!reader

a hot summer morning spent picking strawberries in kita's garden leaves you at odds with feelings you've spent years trying to forget.

wc: 2.2k

c: 18+ only, pining, fluff, feels, outdoor sexual activities, dry humping, fingering, see also: emotional smut

a/n: requested by @cheesypuffkins87!

SPICY SLEEPOVER WEEKEND — HEAT WAVE EDITION

“Yer doin’ it wrong.”

Part of the green stalk breaks in half along with the small, red fruit clenched between your fingertips, and you turn to look at the man bent down on one knee in the dirt beside you, his brown eyes focused on yours. 

“I thought you were just a rice farmer,” you tease, the strawberry bobbing as you twirl it by the stem. 

It’s a little strange—crouching down in the middle of Shinsuke Kita’s garden, a wicker basket overflowing with peppers and garlic and onions sitting on the ground nearby. Sweat prickles at your temples despite the light, breezy fabric of your sundress, the summer morning sun hanging bright overhead. 

It’s strange—after all these years. To see the corded muscles that make their way up Kita’s forearms, his skin tan from long days spent tending to his rice field. His hair is still the same soft shade of silver, black underneath, but there’s something less tame about the way he wears it now, the strands mussed like he’s perpetually been running a hand through it.

His smile’s still the same though, a careful, tentative thing, something that always feels like a secret when you earn it.

(The sight of it still makes your heart flip helplessly in your chest, too.)

You were close with Kita at Inarizaki High, close enough that all of your friends just assumed the two of you were dating (though you certainly weren’t). 

You’d confessed to him after your graduation, and he’d let you down as gently as possible, smiling sadly as he reminded you of the acceptance letters to universities overseas that you’d been mulling over for weeks. He couldn’t hold you back.

He’d seen you off at the airport, let his hand linger near your wrist, pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek that nearly brushed the corner of your mouth. 

(You’d replayed the moment over and over in your head the entire flight.)

Now it’s been six years and you’re moving back in with your parents for a little while, and you’d hardly been back in town for twenty-four hours when you found yourself face to face with Kita at the grocery store one morning, every compartmentalized drawer of feelings you’d carefully tucked away over the years crashing open and spilling out onto the bright, shiny linoleum floor beneath your feet.

This thing is, Kita doesn’t do social media.

So as your calls and texts naturally dwindled over time, you found the only glimpses you could get into Kita’s life were the brief times he appeared in posts from other old friends like Aran and the Miya twins. 

And sure, you knew he’d become a rice farmer—Osamu had once posted a particularly flattering video of him in the middle of wiping sweat from his face with the bottom of his shirt out in the fields, your throat going dry at the strip of his abdomen that was exposed in the process. 

(You’d thought about it for weeks.)

But still, you weren’t prepared for the way your heart caught in your throat when you saw him standing there in the middle of the cereal aisle in a white t-shirt and a pair of light wash jeans covered in speckles of paint. 

And you definitely weren’t prepared for the way your name still sounded on his lips—a warm familiarity that made you feel eighteen again.

Now you’re kneeling beside a row of strawberries wondering what your life would look like if you had stayed, if there’d be two chairs instead of one on Kita’s back porch. 

You drop by his house most days now, and there’s something tangible that hangs in the air between the two of you, unfinished business thicker than the late summer humidity and louder than the steady buzz of the cicadas nestled deep in the towering trees. It’s in the brush of your fingertips when he hands you a cup of coffee and the placement of his hand against your lower back when he hugs you goodbye, feather-light and yet deliberate all the same.

It’s in the vase of carefully picked wildflowers he sends you home with for your mother, and the way he won’t take no for an answer when he insists on helping you to get the old sedan in your parents’ garage running again to save you a trip to the local mechanic. 

(It’s in the nearly imperceptible shift in his expression when you tell him you haven’t dated in over a year.)

You’re not sure what he’s waiting for, if he doesn’t realize you’re still head over heels for him after all these years. If he doesn’t know how badly you want to feel the solid wood of his front door digging into your shoulder blades as he presses his body flush against yours and kisses you like you’ve always wanted him to. 

Kita sighs, equal parts fond and exasperated as he removes another strawberry from the plant with ease. “Ya might as well let me set up that garden for your mom.”

Balking with faux indignation, you grab a larger berry with much more success this time. “Are you doubting my green thumb?”

The corner of his lips quirks up, just a little. “We’re way past doubt, I think.”

Frowning, you stick out your tongue at him before bringing the strawberry to your lips and taking a slow, deliberate bite out of it, maintaining eye contact with him all the while. Kita’s throat bobs as he watches your eyes flutter closed for just a moment at the sweet, ripe flavor, and you can feel the sticky juice trail down your chin.

When your eyes open, there’s a hand on your wrist stopping you from taking another bite, Kita’s callused fingers resting against your pulse point. 

Idly, you wonder if he can feel just how hard your heart is beating as he holds your gaze while he leans in, taking the last bite of the fruit while it’s still in your hand, his lips brushing over your fingertips in the process.

He’s still staring at you as he wipes the back of his hand across his lips. “‘m not a strong enough man for this,” he exhales.

The skirt of your dress ripples in the breeze. “For what?”

Kita reaches out, slowly, and drags his thumb through the juice still on your chin, curving upward toward the corner of your mouth. “To watch you walk away again.”

Somewhere in the distance, the sound of tires on pavement echoes out across the fields. A bird shrieks. The wind chimes at the edge of Kita’s porch whisper and sway.

“Do you want me to stay?” you ask him.

The night.

The day after.

Until you lose count.

Until the well-worn footpath to the garden is carved out for two.

“Yes,” Kita rasps without hesitation, “C’mere.” His eyes are bright with something as you lean forward while he sits back, until his hands are clasping your hips and you realize he’s tugging you into his lap.

Straddling him, you let your arms loop around his shoulders, and his eyes fall shut for a moment as you let your thumb scrape against the nape of his neck, his skin warm to the touch from the relentless sun. When his brown eyes open back up again, they track a path to your lips as he brings a hand up to cup your jaw.

“Shoulda done this a long time ago,” he murmurs, tracing the curve of your bottom lip with a careful reverence that makes your heart ache.

And then his lips are on yours.

Kita’s lips are soft, far softer than you ever could have imagined, but they’re also more greedy, more demanding than you ever could have hoped. Years of want and regret and desire mold the shape of his mouth on yours, the slick slide of his tongue against the seam of your lips, the tightening of his fingers against your hip bone at the breathy little sound that leaves you as he deepens it. 

When you break for air, it’s almost regretful, the separation of your lips as both of your chests heave, his brown eyes a shade darker, pupils blown wide. With one hand splayed across the small of your back, Kita’s mouth traces a path along the curve of your jaw, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against the sensitive place just behind your earlobe. You whimper as his tongue laves over the spot, your body arching into him, and his hand slides up higher against your spine, pulling you impossibly closer still.

“Shinsuke,” you accidentally gasp out while his lips are blazing hot and wet down the side of your neck, and he groans, tightening his grip on you as his teeth sink into the space between your shoulder and neck.

He exhales against your skin, rough and a little unsteady, his breath hot and damp. “Say it again.”

It was rare for you to use Kita’s given name—you were always afraid of the intimate weight of it on your tongue (it weighed enough in your heart, after all). 

And you’ve yet to use it now, not since you’ve returned, the syllables firmly, stubbornly trapped in purgatory behind your teeth.

“Please,” he breathes out, still waiting.

Your heart thunders in your chest as you crumble for him and whisper, “Shinsuke.”

Kita’s mouth comes crashing back into yours, engulfing your lips in a hunger that leaves you dizzy as his tongue tangles with your own, your body writhing against him as he tugs at your hips.

A searing wave of pleasure rips through your chest as your hips fully align with the movement, your cunt dragging against the erection tented at the front of his pants. Kita cups the back of your head, kissing you deeper as his other hand slides to your ass, dragging you against him.

You gasp into his mouth, your cotton underwear the only thing separating your folds from the friction of his pants with the way the skirt of your dress is rucked up around your thighs. Rocking against him, you whine as you try to chase the rising and falling tides of pleasure dancing over your nerve endings with each roll of your hips.

“Ya sound so pretty like this,” he murmurs against your mouth, a hand sliding beneath your dress to trace the waistband of your panties.

“Touch me, Shinsuke,” you beg.

His eyes meet yours as your mouths part, a trail of saliva snapping between your lips, and he cups your mound through your underwear. “Like this?” he asks, brows raised, his middle finger pressing against your slit, no doubt feeling the way the material’s already soaked through with your arousal.

You clock the moment he realizes how wet you are, his jaw ticking as he swallows.

Bucking a little in his grip, you exhale. “More than that.”

Kita takes his lower lip between his teeth, hooking a finger in your panties to pull them aside, and you watch the muscle at the side of his neck flex as he drags one finger through your dripping folds. “This all for me?” he asks.

You want to laugh.

You want to cry.

You want Kita to carry you inside and take you to bed, to fuck you until you can’t think straight. To make love to you until you lose track of where you end and he begins.

You nod, carding your fingers through the hair at the back of his head, and Kita lets out a satisfied hum before plunging a finger inside of you. 

There’s a dizzying rhythm to it, the way Kita rocks you in his lap as he massages your inner walls, one finger quickly becoming two. His voice is gravelly as he murmurs soft words against your lips, telling you how much he loves how wet you are, how good your cunt feels on his fingers, and the coil in your gut wraps tighter with each exhale, each plunge, each stroke. 

There’s something so deliberate in how Kita fucks you with his fingers, like he’s already mapped you out, as if he knows how to scrape up every dredge of pleasure boiling in your veins, how to orchestrate every moan and whimper he eases up your throat and past your kiss-swollen lips. 

And when you shudder and keen for him, he groans, like the mere idea of how fucking sensitive you are for him is a phantom stroke against his throbbing, untouched cock.

“Come for me,” he instructs you in a low, steady tone, his gaze burning into yours.

He drags his thumb across your clit and curls his fingers inside of you, and you see stars as your climax punches through you, every muscle in your body tensing with the hot, gushing damn of pleasure that comes unbound from your very core.

Kita’s patient as you ride out the aftershocks, kissing you softly while you shudder and whimper and gasp for air, holding you close as you try to catch your breath, letting your forehead drop against his shoulder.

When you finally look up at him, there’s a sparkle of amusement in his eyes as he muses, “I really was gonna take ya for dinner first, at least.”

Brushing your fingers through the mussed strands of hair over his forehead, you reply, “I’m also a fan of breakfast in bed.”

He smiles. “Think I can manage that.”

[sp0o0kylights]

No Upside-Down AU

"It's called the Creel House."

Steve groaned. Then groaned again when Dustin produced a binder full of papers, many sticking out at odd angles. He dropped it down on the counter, the thing making an audible "thunk!" 

Robin shot a look over her shoulder from where she stood, restocking the kids cartoon aisle. 

Steve had a feeling he should have volunteered to do it instead. 

"It's Halloween, Steve.” Dustin snarked, rolling his eyes dramatically. “ We're too old to go trick or treating!"

Ah yup, there was that incoming headache, the same one he got whenever Dustin stormed in with a half baked idea. 

At least this one didn’t involve tramping around tunnels and stumbling over a pack of feral dogs. 

"So you jump right from collecting candy to, what, conducting a fricken seance in a haunted house?" Steve retorted, running a hand through his hair. 

A part of him wanted to pull it, but his parents had rid him of that habit long ago. 

Dustin scoffed. "We're not conducting a seance.” He said, like that was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. “We're gonna do science experiments." 

"On ghosts!” 

“Come on, Steve!” Dustin whined, his voice pitching up in the way it did when he might not get his way. That meant he’d probably already told his poor mother Steve was involved, just like he always did. 

Not that Steve couldn’t completely blame him for doing it. 

Between Will Byers getting abducted, found, thought dead, and miraculously coming back to life in the morgue, the Starcourt Mall Fire (caused by Russian experiments if you believed the rumors but what Steve personally knew to be about fifteen different OHSA violations) and the damn feral pack of rabid dogs, the parents of Hawkin’s found themselves suddenly needing to keep a much closer eye on their children.

Claudia Henderson was no exception. 

(And maybe a part of him liked Claudia. The way she tried so hard to provide for Dustin, making the most she could of his fathers absence.Steve knew they weren’t divorced, but he also never personally met the guy, and well. 

At least Claudia was still there. 

At least she was trying.) 

“Okay. Let’s say I agree to play ghost masters  for a night.” Steve said, mispronouncing Ghostbusters on purpose and enjoying the immediately shrieked correction it got him. 

“Why on earth would anyone be willing to let a bunch of teenagers into their house for the night?”

It still killed him that the kids were technically teenagers. Had been, for a hot minute.

They were even high school freshmen now and wasn’t that a trip?

Soon one of them (Steve had his bets on Max) was going to start pestering him to learn how to drive and the very thought made him want to get on his knees in front of his Beemer to beg forgiveness. 

“I promise we have permission, Steve.” Dustin pleaded, rolling the word promise across his tongue in that whined, over exaggerated way kids forever used against their older siblings.

 “We crossed our i’s and dotted our t’s on this one! It’s just an evening in a house, having fun. That’s it.” 

Steve sighed, running a hand down his face when Dustin busted out the puppy dog eyes.

“If you assholes--” He started, and winced when Dustin immediately let out a victory cry. 

Fists punched the air, Dustin jumping about as he yelled; “Yes! Steve, thank you!” 

“I didn’t say I was going to go yet!” Steve yelled after him as Dustin spun about, shouting that he was going to go tell the Party over his shoulder. 

Robin snickered at him behind the kid, which Steve immediately caught. 

“Don’t laugh too soon Buckley.” He threatened, pointing at her. “You’re coming too.” 

“Oh really?” She shot back, as Dustin flew out of Family Video, making a beeline for his bike. “How do you figure you’re going to get me involved in this one?” 

“Because you owe me for driving you to that bar in Indianapolis.” 

It was a gay bar, one Steve had heard about when one of his father’s shitty secretaries once again forgot to put the phone on hold when “trying” to transfer Steve’s call. 

(She had absolutely nothing nice to say about the bar, which was a solid recommendation in and of itself in Steve's book.) 

Not that he truly needed the ammunition. Robin was his best friend, and they loved each other-- a sappy little number he would gladly pull out if it meant he didn’t have to herd the brat pack around by himself on Halloween. 

Robin sighed dramatically, staring at the ceiling. 

“Fuck you Steve, fine.” She huffed, giving in.

“You would never.” He taunted, and then did his own stupid little mimicry of Dustin’s victory dance, just to make her laugh. 

Smiled wide when it worked. 

At least if things went sideways again, she'd be right by his side.

xXx 

“I don't recall the Creel House being a giant mansion on top of a hill.” 

Steve said it accusingly, standing at the meeting spot on Halloween, kids in costumes floating about them as they clogged up the sidewalk. 

Nancy Wheeler pursed her lips, arms crossing tightly across her chest. 

(Steve had no idea how they’d gotten her to come and frankly, hadn’t asked.) 

"It's not." She agreed.

Her eyes narrowed, zeroing in on her brother with a look that younger siblings the world over knew by heart. "And that is absolutely not the Creel House." 

"We mixed up the names, so what?” Mike waived a hand, as if by doing so he could flick away his sister’s irritation. “It's a haunted house we have permission to hang out in, on Halloween." 

“If it’s not the Creel house then how exactly do we know it’s haunted?” Jonathan muttered, hands clutching his camera. 

(Steve did know how he got involved, if Nancy was here.

Not that he mentioned that either.) 

Steve nodded in agreement, putting his hands on his hips as the kids grouped before them. 

"How exactly, did you get permission for us to stay the night again?" Robin huffed, staring up at a place that looked like it came straight out of one of Munson’s horror movies. 

“I dunno, Eddie got it.” Lucas said with a shrug, and got a collective groan from the older teens for his efforts. 

“I’m not getting arrested again.” Robin said, spinning on her heel to face Steve, eyes wide.

 “I know you guys get arrested by the Chief of Police like, every other day, but some of us do actually want to get into college and frankly, the whole experience sucked.”

“Only Steve and Jonathan have been arrested.” Nancy corrected, face now thoroughly pinched in annoyance. 

“The rest of us were just detained. That said,” She added quickly, as Mike and Dustin both went to speak at once, “Robin’s right. We learned our lesson from Starcourt, didn’t we? We are not breaking into places we are not meant to be.” 

She sounded like she was quoting something.

Knowing Nancy, she probably was. 

“Eddie has definitely been arrested.” Robin protested. 

Nancy, forever stuck on a technicality, shot her a look. “Not in the incident I know you’re referencing.”

“Yeah, ‘cause he ran.” Lucas grumbled. 

“There is no shame in running boys and girls.” The man himself said loudly, leaping out of the bushes to land right in the middle of their little huddle. “Especially from the law.” 

“Eddie!” the kids shrieked as one, their annoyance at his prior abandonment immediately replaced by all his little Hellfire Club minions trying to tackle him. 

Max and El shared a private look, the only two of the children to not swamp the metalhead, and collapsed into shared giggles. 

Freshmen. Steve thought with a groan, as Eddie dramatically fell down, playing out a very overacted death scene. God help us all. 

“Harrington, call off your brats!” Eddie howled, the tail end interrupted by a cackle of laughter as Mike and Dustin tickled him. 

“We talked about this Munson.” Steve yelled back. “When you rile them up, they’re your kids, not mine, and you get to deal with them.”  

“Damn. Down my minions, down!” Eddie tried, and got tickled harder for his efforts. 

They all wrestled for a bit more before the boys relented, Mike and Dustin red in the face with laughter while Lucas, their own budding basketball star and thus the only one to even think of exercising, helped up a panting Will. 

“Eddie, not that I trust you, because we both know I don’t,” Robin started, as Eddie jumped to his feet. “But how exactly do we have permission to be in that house?”

“I’m wounded Buckley, truly.” Eddie said, a hand going to cover his heart. He staggered backwards, head shaking as though injured. “Here I thought you were one of my best friends.”

Nancy sighed loudly, rolling both her eyes and her head back while Jonathan hid a smile behind his camera. 

“You are one of my best friends you asshole,” Robin fired back. “Which is exactly why I don’t trust you! I know you too well!” 

Eddie laughed at that. “Fair.” He reached into his pocket, bringing out  a set of keys. “I’m house-sitting the place for the weekend.” 

“Someone trusted you to watch a house like that?” Nancy said slowly, before being nudged hard by Robin. 

She winced. “I mean-”

“I know what you mean, Wheeler.” Eddie said, taking the comment in stride. “It belongs to one of the executives at the plant my uncle works at. Their first house sitter dropped out last minute and they needed someone to watch their dog.”

Here, Eddie made a face. “He has one of those crusty white things that gets seizures or some shit, the guy said his wife wouldn’t go anywhere unless she knew the dog was okay.” 

“So you're allowed to be in there then.” Nancy said tartly. “I am sure they wouldn’t appreciate-”

“You are underestimating how last minute this was.” Eddie cut her off with a twirl, keys swinging out so that they flashed dramatically. “He said, and I quote,” 

The metalhead’s voice abruptly adopted an accent that sounded like a trucker and an English  butler had a weird, upper class baby. 

“I don’t care what you do in this house tonight, Munson, as long as you don’t break anything, kill anybody, and clean it up after yourself. And for fucks sake, keep the damn dog alive.” 

Taken aback, all Nancy could do was blink. 

“This dude sounds awesome.” Dustin said, impressed. The other boys murmured their agreement, once again slowly swarming Eddie. 

Like puppies, they were.

Overexcited, hormone ridden, accident prone, trouble finding puppies. 

“Pretty sure the guy was implying I could throw a party, so forgive me if I think inviting a bunch of children, their siblings, a bank geek and their overprotective mother” that was aimed at Steve, “over for a night of trying to communicate with the deceased isn't going to be a problem.”

“Like you would throw a party anyways.” Steve snorted, the sound ugly. 

“Wow, is this gang up on Eddie night? I could damn well throw a better party than you, Steve Harrington.” Eddie raised his eyebrows, taunting. 

King Steve was of course, a boy long left in the past, but a part of him, that competitive part who was very good at keg stands, rose to the challenge. 

“Is that so?” He said, standing up from his “mother hen slouch” as Eddie himself called it, to his full height. He took a step forward, made sure it radiated some of that past swagger he’d been so known for. “I’ll take that bet.” 

“Can you guys have a pissing match later?” Robin asked, ignoring the way Nancy winced at her choice of words. 

“Yeah!” Mike shouted, abruptly snatching the keys from Eddie’s waving hand and ignoring the shorter teen’s outraged “Hey!” 

“Come on, let’s go already!” He huffed, racing off. 

“Why did that asshole have to grow so tall?” Eddie complained, as the younger teens flew past him. Even Max and El took off, though they at least paused to shrug at Steve with twin smiles before they ran past. 

“I seriously hope this really is ok Eddie.” Robin said, worrying her lip anxiously as the older teens started the climb up to the front door, a trek that somehow took two different sets of steep stairs. “I meant it about getting arrested.”

“Chill Robs.” The metalhead assured her, knocking his shoulder into hers as he and Steve flanked her sides, Jonathan and Nancy trailing behind. 

“El’s here, so it’s not like good ol’ Chief Hopper doesn’t know what we’re doing.” 

“He knew what we were doing last time.” 

“No, he knew whatever lie Mike told him so he could sneak El around. That’s why the kid’s on his shit list.” Eddie corrected.

Robin sighed, defeated. “God you can be just as annoying as Nance, you know that?”

“Excuse me?” Nancy said, from behind, eyes popping wide and startelement. 

Jonathan hid his chuckle into a cough when she shot him a furious glance but Steve, now two years past being her ex, had no issues letting her see his amusement. 

“Sorry Nancy, but she’s not wrong.” He called teasingly. “You gotta get that need to correct people under control.” 

Then bolted past his friends as Nancy spat out his full name like a curse, offended, before quickening her pace to catch him. 

Laughing, Eddie and Robin took up the chase, leaving Jonathan to shake his head. 

“I am not running with this camera!” He yelled at them, cradling his baby and following at a far more sedate pace. 

“Your fault if we lock you out!” Steve called back, but the threat was empty. 

He and Jonathan had fixed their shit, those same two years ago. They were good now, even close, sometimes.

Not as close as he was to Eddie and Robin, but close enough to hang out with the kids on Halloween and enjoy it.  

‘A family.’ Eddie had called it, while he and Steve recovered in the hospital not even six full months ago, from a shenanigan neither of them talked about in front of Robin for fear she’d put them right back in the ER. 

‘We found ourselves a proper family. Good for holidays and everything.’ 

He’d had a stupid little grin on his face when he’d said it. 

‘How about next time we don’t almost die finding one.’ Steve had countered, and  then grinned smugly when Eddie’s protest just ended up making his injuries hurt. 

“You’re both dumb.” Jonathan had said at the time, their sole witness and ride out of there, soft smile he almost never let out on his face. 

“Screw you Byers, you were in California for this one!” Steve complained, and well, it had devolved into silly, amusing arguments from there but the point was still the same.

A family they were, the whole lot of them. 

xXx 

“Oh my god this place is huge.” Robin muttered, spinning about in the entryway. 

“That’s capitalism for ya, baby.” 

“We should split up, that way we can find the perfect room.” Dustin announced, shuffling his bulging backpack up as it once again tried to drag him to the floor. 

“You weren’t serious about the ghost stuff, were you?” Steve groaned.

He didn’t know why he did--Dustin never joked about this kind of shit. 

“We have an opportunity, Steven. I’m not wasting it!” 

“Fine then. Go run around like a lunatic and find me when you found your stupid perfect room.” 

“Weren’t you the one bitching about splitting up last time?” Eddie teased, playfully poking at Dustin’s back and trying to get him off balance. 

“Yeah, in an actual situation.” Steve countered, as the kids paired off, Lucas and Mike losing their preferred partners to each other, the girls not looking sorry for it. “Not playing pretend.” 

“Is that what we’re doing? Playing pretend?” Eddie moved his head so that for the briefest of seconds, his nose ghosted right past Steve’s cheek. 

Steve, more than used to Eddie having no personal space, didn’t even flinch. 

“With the whole summoning ghosts bit? Absolutely.” He clarified with his own secretive smile.  

Because Munson often spoke in riddles, had dual meanings to every word-and for once Steve had started to catch on.

Had even started to play around back. 

It may have taken him a hot minute to do so, but sitting on the knowledge that there was a chance Eddie Munson was actually, seriously, intentionally flirting with him had made the world rearrange itself a bit. 

Steve honestly wasn’t certain he was comfortable with what it meant in regards to himself--but he knew he found Eddie hot. 

More than that--they were like two halves of something, working and bouncing off each other in a way only those who were very close could. 

(“Two halves of a whole idiot.” Robin had said when Steve had first broached the topic.

Steve had licked a finger and stuck it in her ear in retaliation.) 

The guy part, Steve found once he’d thought on it, didn’t bother him as much as it once would have. What made him hesitate wasn’t that, or even how quickly his discovery had led to him having fucking wet dreams of Eddie Munson.

No, it was everything else.

Namely, the dad he’d already disappointed, but also all the other crap that came with living in a small town, and being relied upon by a lot of parents as their kids' de facto elder sibling. 

If Steve came out, openly came out…

People had been shitty enough to Eddie, in high school. Steve had even been one of those shitty people. He knew how they thought, what they could and would do. 

Egging, graffiti, getting your ass kicked in an allyway, and barred from establishments was all just the start of it, for someone who hadn’t even admitted to being gay. 

He’d about convinced himself to ignore it. He liked girls anyway, was one of the lucky ones, as Robin loved to put it, whose brain and general being didn’t care too much about his partner’s gender. 

“It at least gives you a shot to fall in love with the person you’re “supposed” to.” She’d said, drunk off her ass and wobbly as she made air quotes with her hands. 

Steve couldn’t blame her for it. Not now, when he finally understood the consequences of dating that other person. 

The one you weren’t supposed to. 

Then came that damn bar in Indianapolis. The bartender with the earring who’d shot him an appreciative glance and Steve hadn’t even had to think about it-he’d just, winked. 

Ended up with a free drink.

Made out a little at the back of the bar on the guy’s break and sure, it hadn’t gone farther than that but it was enough.

 To know.

To want. 

How Robin hadn’t caught him on that one was a miracle, but he didn’t want to ruin things. A part of him knew she was graduating soon-her, Nancy, Jonathan and Eddie, if they could finally drag him through Mrs. Click’s class. 

 They could all move, if they wanted to, after that.  

He was happy to follow them wherever they wanted to go, and knew the first three were trying to get into the same colleges. He also knew he wouldn’t have problems dragging Eddie along for the ride. 

If anything the guy was itching to get out faster than any of them. 

Laughter suddenly rang down the halls, interrupting him from his too loud thoughts. 

Steve smiled at it, knowing he damn well couldn’t abandon the kids. 

“You alright?” Jonathan asked, his voice too quiet as always, having come up on Steve’s left side. 

The guy just didn’t relax anymore unless he was high. 

Steve made a mental note to ask Eddie if he’d brought anything after the kids had managed to go to sleep-or at the very least, tire themselves out enough to be corralled in one room. Then the adults could go have their fun. 

Something he knew Jonathan desperately needed. 

“Yeah, just thinking.” Steve said back. 

“I didn’t know you could do that.” Jonathan responded, then cracked a smile when Steve playfully threw his shoulder at him. 

“Earth to Harrington!” Eddie called, and Steve blinked, because the guy had suddenly teleported from right near him to across the sprawling entryway entirely. “If you and Johnny Boy are done talking, I say we to go explore the basement. Together.” 

Eddie clapped his hands, to emphasize the last word. 

Jonathan shook his head, but Steve just sent his friend a conspiratorial wink, before putting on the most harassed sitcom-husband voice he could, yelling back “Coming, honey!” 

Eddie, who had started to turn, almost tripped at the words, long legs tangling together and getting an honest to god laugh out of Jonathan. 

Steve snickered right along with him, before trotting over to save his idiot friend from himself. 

“Come on Munson, let’s go be the stupid people who die first in all the horror movies.” He said, opening the door and trotting down the rickety, wooden steps. 

A pressure at his back, Munson crowding him as he followed. 

“If we wanna be the people who die first, then we have to sneak away to have sex.” Eddie murmured, hair ticking the back of Steve’s neck.

Steve grinned as the sound of the basement door swinging shut followed. 

The sudden silence and lack of light was just the courage he needed to blurt out, “Well if that’s on the table, then I’d absolutely rather die like that.” 

The breath Eddie sucked in was a high he could ride for days, Steve decided, as he carefully made it to the bottom of the stairs. went about feeling for the lights.

Being flirted with by Eddie was one thing but flirting back?

Steve had never been on a better power trip.

[starboyshoyo]

Wedding Bells

Characters: Riddle, Deuce, Epel, Silver x fem!reader (seperately)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Genre: fluff, romance

Proposals and weddings with your beloved!

Riddle Rosehearts

Married life with Riddle comes in stages. It’s extremely difficult at times, especially in the beginning, and easier in others. You’d better be ready to take your vows seriously, because Riddle certainly will- even before you’re actually married. Especially the ‘for better or for worse’ part. He’ll outright refuse to hold a wedding until he can be financially and emotionally independent from his mother, refusing to subject you to her tyranny.

One way or another, Riddle will gain his freedom, either from gradually taking back control or from being disowned. Without the shadow of his mother hovering over him, he’ll decide to follow a path of higher education to law school. It’ll be a tough time period for you as a couple. Riddle is always busy studying and working hard, hoping to earn his degree early. He’ll attempt to help with house chores when you move in together, but he never learned practical home skills when he was younger. The combination of teaching him how to manage a household in addition to his school workload means that for a time, you will be doing most of the home duties.

The wedding discussion also has to be put on hold for a while. Your fiance is a perfectionist and refuses to hold anything but the perfect ceremony for you, with the most beautiful ring he can get his hands on. After graduating law school and landing a job, he’ll save up for the ring of your dreams.

He’ll propose after a romantic evening at home, under a full moon at midnight. Not everything went the way he thought it would- the ring was the wrong size (“What do you mean, fingers have sizes? I thought only shoes had that.”) and he burned the food at one point, but the two of you spent year waiting for this moment. Just seeing your eyes light up in disbelief and happiness when he finally gets down on one knee makes everything worth it.

Riddle will ask you to take the Rosehearts last name. He likes the idea of being joined, in life and in legal matters. Having his last name makes him feel like he’s truly your provider and protector. Plus, he’s just a hopeless romantic and wants to hear you being called Mrs. Rosehearts. He won’t complain if you don’t want to, though. Tradition is important to Riddle, but he respects your wishes much more.

The ceremony is small- held at an indoor venue in a courthouse, with just a few attendees. The Heartslabyul graduates will help set everything up, and catering is taken care of, courtesy of the Clover family. Riddle couldn’t be happier when he sees you walk down the aisle, escorted by Ace and Deuce. Deuce will give him a nod before stepping back, while Ace’s gaze will linger on Riddle’s a bit. The message is clear: take care of her, or else.

Deuce Spade

The moment Deuce realized he was in love with you was the moment he knew he wanted to marry you. You are Deuce’s first and only love, and the only person he’ll ever need. The two of you are engaged just after graduation- he proposed on the spot without being prepared. He just saw you running towards him in your cap, diploma in hand and gown fluttering in the wind behind you, and blurted out, Will you marry me?

This was not how he planned the proposal at all, and he apologizes profusely when he realized he didn’t even get down on one knee or give you a ring. In the last week or so of school, he’ll practically be living in NRC’s metal workshop, learning to bend and hammer out a ring for you. And with Crewel’s help and a bit of luck, he’ll even create a small gemstone himself, to add to the ring.

He’ll definitely marry you soon after the ring is done. Like Riddle, you and Deuce have a small, private ceremony. Crowley was generous enough to let you hold it on NRC’s campus, with Ramshackle as the venue. The run-down, homely dorm you stayed in during your high school days was also the place you spent the most time with your best friend, so it’s only fitting you’d marry him there too!

While Riddle, Cater, and Trey agree to be Deuce’s groomsmen, Ace actually requests to be a bridesman instead! He says it’s because “this is the last time he’ll ever get you to choose his side over Loosey Deucey.” He’ll definitely send pictures of your day out to Deuce, rubbing it in his face that Ace got to have a self-care day with you while Deuce didn’t. Deuce can’t be too mad, though. After all, it’s him you’re marrying, not Ace :)

Deuce would actually discuss name changes with you before the wedding. He actually likes the idea of taking your name. He would feel very close to you by being connected to you by name. But he also likes the idea of you being a Spade because it’s like he’s bringing you into the family!

You’ll most likely move in with your husband and his mother for a year before moving to a small house nearby. Ms. Spade absolutely loves you, and dotes on you when Deuce is out working for the day. She’ll try to help you with your own work as well, especially if you’re working remotely or working from home a lot.

When Deuce is home, he’ll spend as much time with you as possible. There’s a lot of sleepy cuddling and long naps in your shared room. Even if he’s busy, he’ll help you and his mother with chores. Grocery runs are his favorites, because it gives him time to go out on a pseudo-date with you.

When on the couch together, Deuce loves placing your hands side by side, looking at the rings on both of your hands and thinking about how lucky he is. He can’t believe that you’re with him now, forever.

Once you finally get your own place, Ace will try to ask for a key. Deuce will give him one, and then change the locks just to mess with him.

Epel Felmier

Epel didn’t even think about marrying you until the two of you moved back to Harveston. The townsfolk don’t have much news to talk about, so a lot of the gossip will be diverted to you and Epel. Every time you go out, expect to have at least three elderly residents asking when your wedding will be! Most of the time, you’ll laugh it off and assure them that you’re happy. But it’s happened so much that Epel begins thinking about it.

He brings it up to you one day in the orchard, lying in the grass with his legs propped up on a tree. This is the first time you’ve discussed marriage, and you come to an agreement- if your relationship in Harveston works out, in a year or two you’ll get married. It’s a simple plan, but people can’t help but notice Epel has a spring in his step now when he talks about his new fiancée.

With his degree in magical chemistry and background as a farmer in Harveston, Epel will always be financially stable. He is one of the few young people in the town and the older residents welcome the help with labor. With extra income from occasional jobs Vil will call in with, you guys are set! You have plenty of time to spend with Epel every day. It’s quite the pleasant life.

Your marriage to Epel will take place in the town hall. Every Harveston resident will attend, as well as many of your friends from your days at Night Raven College. The village elders insisted on doing everything themselves- making food, catering, helping with clothing and ceremony. It’s been decades since they were last able to prepare for a wedding party!

Originally, the gathering was planned to be relatively small, with just friends, family, and locals. But word got out that the Vil Schoenheit would be attending the event in place of the Bride’s father, and security had to be hired. Not only that, but the presence of nobles like Kalim, Leona, and Malleus garnered attention as well. Harveston’s economy got a big boost just from your wedding alone.

Much to Vil’s chagrin, you had hired Neige to be the live performance during your first dance with your new husband. He’ll complain about it for years, even if you reassure him that you would have asked him if he didn’t already have a part in the wedding party.

Epel is secretly smug that so many people are seeing you marry him. You’re his now! He’s yours! Take that, world! Everyone knows you’re Mrs. Felmier now. Speaking of that, Epel wants you to take his last name. He really wants you to be his in that way. He might pout a bit if you refuse but ultimately he accepts your decision. Either way, you’re his wife now! Nobody else’s!

Silver

Two matching silver bands on yours and Silver’s ring fingers are the only indicator to the outside world that you got married in secret, on a humid summer evening before your final year at NRC. Worried about Lilia getting on in years and not being able to see his son’s special day, Silver asked you to marry him in a quiet, extremely private ceremony. Only Lilia, Malleus, and Sebek were present but Silver tried so hard to make it romantic. He promises that once you’re older, you can do it again, properly.

The ring exchange was overseen by Malleus, who had power for every official duty in Briar Valley. For Silver’s own band, he requested the gem on his magical pen to be turned into the centerpiece for his wedding ring. That way, he’ll never be without you or his magic now.

As the only humans in Briar Valley, you and Silver still need protection. Silver would never leave his job as Malleus’s guard either, so you’ll be living in the Thorn Fairy’s Castle for now. As a wedding present, Malleus had a new wing of the castle built just for you and your new husband, complete with a tower. It’s spacious and supposed to provide more privacy for newlyweds, but Lilia has a bad habit of barging into the rooms anyways, gushing about how his little boy is all grown up. If you need a place for more private affairs, the cottage out back might be a better location.

When you return to NRC for your final year, the rings on yours and your husband’s hands aren’t hidden. No one seems to notice, though. Not even the observant ones like Azul and Jamil. If they do, they probably assume that the rings are promise rings. Silver doesn’t bother to correct them- he’s wary of telling people already, lest someone target you for it. Stolen kisses in empty corridors are good enough… for now.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[lividstar]

🪐 — ♡ FROM SATURN TO MARS

៚ wc: 24.2k

៚ angst, fluff but not really, astronomer!san x stargazer!reader, star-crossed lovers, right person, wrong time, san is literally “☝️🤓” personified but it’s alright because he’s a sweetheart

៚ warnings: mentions of suic!de

៚ playlist !

៚ Life has always felt like a constant struggle for you, burdened by the weight of a terminal illness that looms over every moment. The concept of finding peace, of unwinding, seems as foreign as the distant stars. Each attempt to embrace the fleeting joys of life feels like an effort wasted, as the ever-present shadow of your inevitable end dims any flicker of hope. Despite countless reassurances that it’s worth trying to find solace, the reality is that the pain and fear remain ablaze. Living each day with the knowledge of your limited time, you’ve tried to hold onto the present, to ignite a spark of hope in the face of despair. But unlike others who find motivation in the idea of living life to the fullest, the idea only brings you more anguish. Every attempt to seek positivity feels hollow and unreachable when every breath is a reminder of what you're losing. Little did you know how much your world would change when you meet Choi San, an aspiring astronomer who just happens to be a boy full of wonders—ones you’ve always believed have already ceased to exist.

Dreams come in different forms and can mean a lot of things.

Dreams can be a fleeting memory playing throughout your unconsciousness, and it could be a reminder of what once was—a moment from your childhood wherein your feet are dragging you at a fast pace around the playground, crumbs of the sand slowly invading your shoes as you turn your head behind to check if the distance between you and your playmate is closing further, flashing them a teasing look with a huge smile on your face—ending just before the moment you trip on your own feet and wail over a dark bruise on your knee.

It could also convey a wish that you yearn to come true, a thread high up in the air that you desperately want to have a grasp of and pull down on your level. It could be an ambition that you want to achieve, an activity you wish to participate in in the near future, a famous attraction you dream of visiting one day—simply put, saying you have a dream could convey different implications.

But amidst its vast sea of meanings, we all, at some point, have, or have had a dream in common: to live a life different from our own.

Maybe it hits you when you’re standing on the second highest pillar of the podium, holding your silver medal while the one at the very top shamelessly dangles their gold prize with a bouquet in their hands. Maybe it hits you when you pass by a section of a mall featuring expensive artifacts and seeing people your age walk through the aisles so easily as if it’s not a new thing to them. Maybe it hits you when you look in the mirror after scrolling past the page of an influencer considered by the masses as the embodiment of beauty.

Or maybe it hits you every single time you realize you’re alone in the battle against you and the fate of your life.

You were born with a shadow hanging over your life, a rare, incurable illness that marked you from your very first breath. From the moment you entered the world, doctors surrounded you with words like “degenerative,” “terminal,” and “limited time,” their clinical detachment doing little to soften the blow. For your parents, it was a devastating revelation, turning what should have been a joyous occasion into a lifelong struggle against an invisible enemy.

As a child, you didn’t fully understand the weight of your condition. You grew up watching other children run and play, while you sat on the sidelines, your body betraying you in ways their carefree laughter could never comprehend. Frequent hospital visits and endless medical tests became the norm, each one a stark reminder of the battle raging within you. The disease, a silent thief, slowly sapped your strength and vitality, leaving you more fragile with each passing year.

Your family wrapped you in love and support, their concern palpable in every gentle touch and soft-spoken word. Yet, despite their efforts, the isolation was inescapable. Friends drifted away, unable to understand your world of limitations and restrictions. The future that once seemed bright and boundless was now a narrow path, shadowed by the inevitability of your illness.

Growing up, you learned to withdraw yourself from the world, seeking refuge in the confines of your room. The outside world, with its boundless energy and endless possibilities, felt like a mocking contrast to your shrinking existence. Even the well-meaning efforts of your family to uplift your spirits felt like hollow gestures, incapable of penetrating the thick fog of despair that seems to love embracing you. Optimism now seems pathetic for you to have—like a distant memory, a relic of a past life now unreachable.

“Have you heard about the upcoming meteor shower next week?” Your father’s voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts, drawing your attention back to the present. You glance up from the book you’re reading, curiosity piqued.

“Oh...?” You manage to respond, the word hanging in the air like a broken bridge between your world and theirs.

“I saw it on today’s news headline. Thought I’d break the news to you since you love those kinds of things,” he says, passing by the couch where you sat and ruffling your hair lightly.

That’s right.

The night sky, vast and unending, was your sanctuary. In the quiet hours when the world is quiet in a deep slumber, you’d find a profound sense of peace under its sprawling canopy. The stars, scattered like shimmering diamonds across the pitch black sky, spoke to you in a language that exceeds even the deepest of words. You felt a kinship with these distant suns, their light traveling across the eons to reach you, a solitary observer. Their constancy provided a stark contrast to the unpredictable ebb and flow of your life. While your body betrayed you, the stars remained steadfast, their glow unchanging and eternal. It was this constancy that you clung to, a fading glimmer of hope in your darkest hours.

Each night, you would sit by the window, wrapped in a blanket, eyes scanning the heavens for familiar patterns and new discoveries. The cool night air would brush against your skin, a gentle reminder of the world beyond your room, while the silence enveloped you in a cocoon of temporary peace.

During these moments, you’d feel a connection to something greater than yourself. The stars were not just distant balls of burning gas; they were ancient, ethereal, and eternal. They had witnessed the birth and death of galaxies, the rise and fall of civilizations. In their presence, your own life, with all its pain and brevity, seemed part of a larger image you could never be able to picture. You were all but a small thread in its grand design, and in a way, you’ve grown to find comfort in that knowledge.

The moon, in its phases, has become a symbol of your journey. Waxing and waning, it mirrored your own cycles of hope and despair. When it was full, you felt a surge of strength, a fleeting belief that perhaps you could overcome the odds. When it was new, you were reminded of the darkness that loomed, but also of the promise that light would return.

In the solitude of these nights, you allowed yourself to dream. Not of a future filled with pain and uncertainty, but of other worlds and possibilities. You imagined traveling among the stars, free from the confines of your ailing body. You pictured yourself as an explorer, charting the galaxies, uncovering the secrets of the universe. These dreams, though unrealistic, gave you a sense of purpose, a brief escape from the harsh reality you faced.

Your mother joins in on the conversation, momentarily placing the knife down on the cutting board as she peeked in the living room from where she stood in the kitchen. “I know an observatory somewhere in this town. If you want, I could take you there. It would be beautiful—the place would provide you a clear view of the night sky.” She smiles, waiting for your nod of agreement.

And when it didn’t come as she anticipated, she decided to walk around the kitchen corner, making a beeline to where you sat on the couch with a pillow placed on top of your crossed legs. The cushion beside you sinks as she occupies it, reaching for your hand settled down on the pillow to caress the back of it gently with her mildly calloused fingers.

“We don’t know for sure when the next meteor shower will occur, and… there’s not much time left,” your mother whispers hesitantly, and despite being certain that you’ve already gone numb, the look in her eyes initiates a crack in your heart.

“I know you hate the thought of going outside, but I don’t want you to miss out on this opportunity. Remember when you used to bug me everyday to make a meteor shower happen after I read a book about it to you?” she brings up a distant memory, and you find yourself traveling back in time to recall it.

Back then, when you were just a carefree child with no worries, still unaware of the cruelty that resides in the real world, you genuinely believed your mother was powerful enough to be capable of making a meteor shower occur.

Since you’ve always held fondness of the stars and so much so of your mother, you always saw her as some sort of a hero of high authority, sometimes even calling her ‘Deity of the Stars’ and making poorly drawn colored sketches of her in what you liked to call her hero suit. You swore it was realistic and highly possible back then, but now, you could no longer see it as anything more than a ridiculous superficial thought.

“Yeah, I don’t know why I did that…” you trailed off blankly, erupting a soft fit of laughter from your mother.

“Well, you were young. It was bound to happen. But anyway,” she shifted in her seat, holding your hand just a little tighter now. “Stargazing became your favorite thing to do after finding out about meteor showers, so… I think it would be nice to revisit a fragment of your childhood, won’t it?”

You stared into the void of nothingness, momentarily zoning out to consider your mother’s words. She was right, so right you couldn’t even bring yourself to be pessimistic and wish she wasn’t.

“I just… I want you to at least feel happiness again while we still have time left, and watching the meteor shower would be a good kick-start for that,” she said, and you gently tighten your grasp on her hand as well. If only you could yearn for your own happiness as much as she does for you.

Finally, you looked right into her eyes. “Okay,” you nod, the single word carrying the weight of your acceptance.

Your mother’s face lights up with a mixture of relief and sadness. “Great! Great, I… I can’t wait to take you there,” she beams with a shaky voice, and despite the wide smile on her lips, there were still tears falling down her eyes. She looks away as she attempts to wipe them out, and it shatters your heart even more.

Taking the pillow off your lap and placing it on the empty spot on your other side, you lean forward to engulf her in a heartfelt embrace, and she doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around you as well. She buries her face in your neck, the fabric of your shirt muffling her sobs of joy. You swore you had already gone numb, but this time, you feel a stray tear slowly fall down the skin of your face.

If you couldn’t bring yourself to experience the wonders of life for your own sake, then you’d do it for your parents.

—

The night before the meteor shower enveloped you in an eerie stillness, as if the world itself was holding its breath. You found yourself once again at the window, gazing out at the vast, star-speckled sky. The room was bathed in the faint glow of moonlight, casting a dim, silvery glow over everything. Outside, the symphony of crickets serenaded the night, their rhythmic chirping mingling with the soft hum of your room’s air conditioner. Occasionally, the rustling of your blanket as you shifted ever so slightly, trying to battle the cold evening air, broke the quiet atmosphere.

Whenever you’d find yourself in this scenario, looking up at the stars as their light glimmered and pierced through the inky darkness, a profound sense of calm would usually settle over you. The night sky had always been your refuge, a place where you could escape the harsh reality of your existence.

But tonight… tonight was different.

A heavy gloom began to seep into your thoughts, spreading through you like the thick ink of a quill spreading through a blank white paper. The beauty of the stars, which once brought solace, now seemed to mock your suffering. A wave of despair crashed over you, and your mind wandered to the inevitable end that awaited you.

The thought of your impending death hung over you like a dark cloud, casting a pall over the fleeting moments of joy you managed to grasp. It felt so unfair—so profoundly unjust—that your life had to be this way. You had dreams, aspirations, and desires just like anyone else, but they were perpetually out of reach, caged by the bars of your illness.

Why does it have to be this way? Why was such a cruel fate destined to be bound to you? It’s not like you asked to be born with such a disease—it’s not like you asked to be born. Everything that has ever happened to you your entire life has been against your will. For all the years you’ve spent in this world, you weren’t living—you were surviving.

You sighed, a deep, weary sound that seemed to echo in the silence of your room. The stars twinkled back at you, distant and untouchable. Your heart ached with the weight of your reality. How could you ever feel genuine happiness knowing that every moment was borrowed, that every smile was tinged with the bitterness of impermanence? The thought of letting go of everything you held dear gnawed at you relentlessly. It was a cruel joke, this life of yours, filled with fleeting moments of beauty overshadowed by an ever-present sense of doom.

Your thoughts then drifted to your parents. The sacrifices they had made, the countless nights they spent worrying about you, and the mountains of medical bills they had to pay—all of it weighed heavily on your conscience. You felt like a burden, an anchor dragging them down into an abyss of despair and financial ruin.

You leaned your forehead against the cool glass of the window, the weight of your guilt pressing down on you like a physical burden. It was a familiar feeling, one that had become an unwelcome companion over the years. The self-blame gnawed at you relentlessly, a persistent whisper in the back of your mind, telling you that you were the cause of all this pain.

This is all your fault.

This is all your fault.

This is all your fault.

Your thoughts eventually spiraled into a darker territory. If only you could just die sooner, you mused bitterly, then your parents wouldn’t have to endure this endless cycle of hope and despair. They could finally be free from the financial strain, the emotional turmoil, the constant fear of losing you. You envisioned them laughing together, their faces free from the lines of worry that had become so deeply etched into their features. They deserved that happiness, and you felt like you were stealing it from them.

It was so, so unfair on their behalf. All they ever wanted was to have a happy family—and then you let out your first breath and ruined everything.

The guilt was suffocating. It wrapped around your heart like a snake to its victim, squeezing tighter with each passing moment. You felt like a burden, a weight that your family had to carry, dragging them down with you into the bottom of the pit. The treatments, the surgeries, the endless doctor visits—they all felt like futile attempts to hold back the inevitable. And with each one, you saw the toll it took on your parents, the way their shoulders sagged a little more, their smiles became a little more forced.

You hated yourself for it. You hated that you were the cause of their suffering. You hated that you couldn’t be the healthy, carefree child they deserved. The resentment you felt towards your own body was a constant undercurrent, a bitter poison that tainted every moment of your life. How could you ever bring yourself to feel happy when your very existence seemed to be the source of so much pain?

The stars outside your window blurred as tears filled your eyes. You blinked them away, but they kept coming, hot and insistent. The enormity of your guilt was overwhelming, an ocean that would haunt you almost every single day. You wished, more than anything, that you could be someone else—someone who could bring joy instead of sorrow, hope instead of despair.

But you weren’t. You were trapped in this failing body, watching as your parents’ lives were consumed by your illness. The knowledge that you were the cause of their suffering was a wound that never healed, a constant ache that you carried with you every day. And it made the prospect of finding happiness feel impossible, a distant dream that you could never reach.

You clenched your fists, the frustration and anger boiling up inside you. Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t you be normal, healthy, free? The unfairness of it all was like a knife twisting in your gut, sharp and fresh as it draws blood from your insides. You didn’t ask for this life, this body, this fate. And yet, you were the one who had to live it, the one who had to endure it all because it’s the only thing you can do.

You longed desperately for a sign, something to tell you that there was a reason to keep going. You searched the night sky for it, hoping that maybe the stars, your silent companions, would offer you some form of guidance or comfort. But they remained silent, providing no answers to the questions that have been disturbing your mind.

Oftentimes, you found yourself wondering why you were still holding on. Why not just let go, end the suffering now? The thought of slipping away, of finding peace in the nothingness, was a tempting escape. What was the point of all this suffering? Why continue to drag yourself through each day when the end was inevitable and so painfully near?

But then, once more, you thought of your parents. The image of their faces, worn with worry and exhaustion, flashed before your eyes. They have sacrificed so much for you—time, money, their own happiness—all in the hope of giving you a chance at life. You couldn’t bear the thought of their sacrifices being in vain. You couldn’t stand the idea of their grief and guilt if you gave up now.

It was this thought, more than anything else, that kept your will to stay in this world going. You didn’t want their efforts to be wasted, didn’t want the countless hours spent in hospitals and the endless piles of medical bills to be for nothing. Their love for you was evident in every exhausted smile, every gentle touch, every whispered word of encouragement. You couldn’t repay them by giving up.

You needed a sign, something to break through the darkness and give you a reason to keep going. You needed to believe that there was more to life than this endless suffering, that there was still something worth fighting for. But each day that passed without such a sign left you feeling more hopeless, more resigned to your fate.

The thought of the upcoming meteor shower lingered in your mind. Perhaps, just perhaps, it would provide the solace you so desperately craved. Maybe standing beneath the falling stars would bring you a sense of peace, a glimpse of the beauty that still existed in the world despite your pain.

Maybe there, you’d find the sign you’ve been helplessly looking for, a reason to hold on for just a little longer.

—

You wake up in the afternoon, the sunlight passing softly through your bedroom curtains, painting gentle shadows on the walls. Stretching, you slowly make your way to the living room, drawn by the sounds of clinking pots and the savory aroma wafting from the kitchen. As you enter, you see your parents in the kitchen, working together as they prepare what seems to be an extravagant feast.

“Mom? Dad?” you call out, your voice slightly raspy from sleep.

They turn their heads toward you, their faces lighting up with warm smiles. But their expressions quickly shift to concern as they notice your puffy eyes, the lingering evidence of last night’s tears.

“What’s wrong?�� you ask, trying to mask your emotions.

Your father steps out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He walks over to you, his eyes filled with gentle worry. “Were you crying last night?” he asks softly, his voice a tender blend of concern and love.

You shake your head quickly, turning his words down. “No, no, I’m fine. I just… overslept, that’s probably why my eyes are puffy.” The lie feels heavy on your tongue, but you can’t bear to add to their worries.

Your father doesn’t push further, though it’s clear he doesn’t believe you. Instead, he switches the topic, his tone turning lighter. “We’re cooking up quite a feast today. Your mom got a little carried away, I think,” he says with a chuckle.

You glance over at the kitchen, the counters filled with various ingredients and dishes in different stages of preparation. “What’s all this for?” you ask, puzzled.

Your mother turns from the stove, her face bright with a mixture of excitement and something deeper, something sadder. “Today’s a big day for you, since you’ll be going out tonight,” she says, her eyes shining. “We couldn’t help but get a little excited and maybe go a bit overboard.”

You furrow your brow, confused. “Why? I know there’s a meteor shower, but what’s so special about me watching it?”

Your parents exchange a glance, a silent conversation passing between them, filled with unspoken words and shared sorrow. Your mother turns off the stove and walks over to you, her expression softening with a bittersweet smile. She reaches out and takes your hands in hers, leading you to the couch where the three of you sit down together.

“Honey,” she begins, her voice gentle but firm, “we know how hard things have been for you. And we know how much you love the stars. This meteor shower… it’s not just any event. It’s something special, something that we hope will bring you a bit of joy, even if just for a moment.”

Your father nods, his eyes glistening with emotions. “We wanted to make today special for you because… because we love you. We want you to have something to hold onto, a memory that’s beautiful and bright, like the stars you love so much.”

Your mother squeezes your hands, her eyes searching yours. “You’ve been so strong, so brave. We see how much you’re hurting, and we just want to give you a piece of happiness, something that can shine through the darkness.”

Tears well up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. “But… why go through all this trouble?” you ask, your voice slightly shaking.

Your mother flashes you a gentle smile. “Because you, my dear, mean the world to us. If doing all this could potentially be a way to help you find the light inside of you, then it’s not something we’ll deem troublesome at all.”

Your father wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a comforting embrace. “You’re not alone in this, sweetheart. We’re here with you, every step of the way. And tonight, we want to share the magic of the stars with you, to remind you that there’s still beauty and wonder in the world, no matter how hard things get.”

The weight of their words settles over you, a mixture of overwhelming love and a deep, aching sadness. You feel their sincerity, their desire to give you something beautiful, something that transcends the pain. And in that moment, you realize that this night, this meteor shower, is more than just an event. It’s a symbol of their unending love, their hope, and their determination to make your life a little brighter, even if only for a short while.

When you’re all finally seated at the dining table, the array of dishes laid out before you, there’s a tangible air of celebration mixed with a touch of melancholy. The scents of home-cooked food fill the room, and your parents’ faces are illuminated by the soft, warm glow of the overhead light.

As you begin to eat, the conversation flows naturally at first, revolving around the familiar comfort of family and the minutiae of daily life. But soon, your parents gently steer the discussion toward the evening ahead.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” your father asks, his tone light and casual, though his eyes are watchful.

You look up from your plate, feeling the weight of their expectations. “Just watching the meteor shower, I guess,” you say before turning your attention back on slicing the steak laid out in front of you, your voice steady but devoid of enthusiasm.

Your mother leans forward slightly, a hopeful smile on her face. “Maybe after we watch the meteor shower, we could stop by that new fast-food restaurant that opened last month. I hear their milkshakes are amazing.”

You offer a small, polite smile in return, shaking your head. “I think I’ll stick to just watching the meteor shower tonight.”

There’s a brief silence, the only sounds coming from the clinking of silverware against plates and the faint hum of the refrigerator. Your parents exchange a glance, their faces reflecting a mix of disappointment and understanding.

Your father tries again, his voice gentle. “Or we could swing by the mall for a little while. They’ve decorated for the season, and it might be nice to walk around, maybe do some window shopping.”

You feel the sincerity in his words, the genuine desire to make your evening special. But for now, the thought of venturing beyond the observatory, of facing the bustling energy of the outside world, feels overwhelming.

“Thanks, Dad,” you reply, your tone soft but firm. “But really, just the meteor shower is enough for me.”

Your mother reaches across the table, her hand covering yours. “We understand,” she says, her voice filled with a mixture of love and sorrow. “Baby steps, right?”

You nod, grateful for her understanding. “Yeah… baby steps.”

They continue to eat, the conversation shifting back to more mundane topics, but the undercurrent of their hopes for you lingers in the air. They don’t press further, recognizing that perhaps tonight, simply watching the meteor shower is as much as you can manage. Their sadness is evident, but it’s tempered by their acceptance, their willingness to let you take things at your own pace.

When the night falls, the air is filled with a sense of anticipation as the three of you prepare for the journey to the observatory. You find yourself in your room, standing before the wardrobe that holds the outdoor clothes your parents have bought for you throughout the years. Clothes that, for the most part, have only seen the light of day during hospital visits for your monthly checkups.

You reach for a long, dirty white dress adorned with a delicate pattern of tiny roses. It’s simple, yet beautiful—a piece that speaks to the girl you wish you could be, one full of dreams and wonder. You pair it with a dark red knitted cardigan, the warm hue adding a touch of vibrancy to your outfit. A pair of shoes, carefully chosen to match, complete your ensemble.

Deciding to fix yourself up a little, you apply a light amount of makeup. As you gaze at your reflection in the mirror, you’re struck by a strange mix of emotions. There’s a hint of the person you could have been, the life you might have led.

As if on cue, there’s a soft knock on your door. “Are you finished preparing?” your mother’s voice calls from the hallway.

“You can come in,” you reply, turning to face the door. And when she enters, she’s nearly brought to tears at the sight of you.

“You look so beautiful,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. She crosses the room in a few quick strides, enveloping you in a warm, heartfelt embrace. Though you’re confused by the intensity of her reaction, you hug her back, your arms wrapping around her with equal tenderness.

When she finally pulls away, she cups your face in her hands, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m so, so, so proud of you,” she says, her voice trembling with sincerity.

You offer her a small, genuine smile, your hands reaching up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Thanks, Mom.”

Together, you make your way downstairs. Your father is waiting on the couch, his eyes lighting up when he sees you. “You look amazing,” he says, his voice filled with genuine awe. He stands and wraps you in a hug as well, his embrace warm and reassuring.

They really do love you dearly, and it makes your heart swell with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. It’s moments like these that remind you of the depth of their love, their unwavering support despite the countless hardships they have to face.

Soon, you’re all in your father’s car, the engine purring as you set off towards the observatory. The drive is serene, the world outside bathed in the soft glow of streetlights and the distant shimmer of stars. Your parents, sensing your nervousness, try to distract you with gentle conversation.

“Did you know that the observatory was built over a hundred years ago?” your dad asks, his tone light and engaging. “It’s seen countless meteor showers and celestial events. It’s almost like it has a history of its own.”

“Really?” you reply, your curiosity piqued. “That’s interesting.”

Your mom chimes in, her voice soft and soothing. “I read somewhere that watching a meteor shower is supposed to bring good luck. Maybe tonight will bring something special for all of us.”

You nod, giving her a small smile. Their efforts to lighten your mood are not lost on you, and though the anxiety still lingers, you feel a bit more at ease.

As the car winds its way through the darkened roads, you find yourself staring out the window, the stars above a silent reminder of the night ahead. You cling to the hope that this evening, beneath the vast expanse of the sky, something will shift—perhaps the night will end with you finally having a reason to hold on just a little longer.

When you finally arrive, you see the observatory perched in the middle of a grassy field atop a hill. The area around it is alive with people setting up blankets, reclining lawn chairs, and chatting as they wait for the meteor shower to begin. Some have chosen to stay inside the observatory, where telescopes and guided explanations promise a closer look at the sky.

You and your parents head towards the observatory, but something inside you makes you hesitate. The idea of watching the meteor shower while lying on the grass, feeling the earth beneath you and the sky above, seems more intimate and appealing.

“I think I’d like to watch it from here,” you tell your parents, glancing at the open field.

They exchange a look of concern. “Are you sure?” your father asks, hesitation evident in his voice.

You nod, offering a reassuring smile. “Yeah. You two should go inside. I’ll be fine out here. Baby steps, right?”

Your mother looks at you for a long moment, and a heartwarming smile finds its way to her lips. She was so, so proud of you. “Alright. We’ll be inside if you need us. Just come find us when you’re ready.”

“I will,” you promise, and with that, they head towards the observatory.

You spread out a blanket on the grass and sit down, the night air cool against your skin. Around you, groups of friends, families, and couples chatter excitedly. You can hear the hum of their conversations, the occasional burst of laughter, and the low murmur of anticipation. Despite the crowds, you feel a profound sense of solitude.

The meteor shower begins, and you crane your neck, squinting at the sky, but you can’t see anything. Frustration starts to build, knotting in your chest. Just as you’re about to give up, a voice speaks from behind you.

“You might want to use a telescope for that.”

You turn around, startled. Standing behind you is a fairly attractive young man. He’s wearing a white shirt with a flannel over it and black pants, framed glasses perched on his nose. His presence is unexpected but you don’t speak against it nevertheless, and he gives you a warm, easy smile.

“Here,” he says, sitting down beside you and handing you a small telescope.

You take it hesitantly, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. “Uh… thank you,” you mumble awkwardly—understandably so as you don’t exactly know how to talk to anyone who isn’t your family or your doctor, bringing the telescope to your eye. As you adjust the focus, the sky bursts into clarity, and you see a streak of light arc across the darkness—a meteor.

“Wow,” you whisper, unable to tear your gaze away.

The young man chuckles softly beside you. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

For a while, the two of you sit in companionable silence, watching the sky. Each meteor that blazes across the heavens feels like a small miracle, a moment of beauty in a world that often seems so harsh and unkind.

He breaks the silence, his voice gentle and filled with enthusiasm. “You know, this year’s meteor shower is part of the Perseids. They’re actually debris left behind by the comet Swift-Tuttle, which orbits the sun every 133 years. The meteors you’re seeing tonight are fragments of that comet burning up in Earth’s atmosphere.”

You put down the telescope for a moment and look at him, intrigued but unsure how to respond. His knowledge and passion are evident, and you don’t want to interrupt or discourage him. Fortunately, he seems to notice your silence and continues, his excitement growing as he speaks.

“It’s one of the most spectacular meteor showers because the particles hit the atmosphere at over 133,000 miles per hour, creating these bright, fast streaks of light. And on a good night, like tonight, you can see up to a hundred meteors per hour.”

Wanting to add your own contribution to the conversation so you wouldn’t seem like you’re just putting up with him, you say, “You seem to know a lot about astronomy.”

He laughs, his eyes crinkling into crescents. He shyly rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I’m an aspiring astronomer, so…”

“Really?” You react to the unexpected newfound knowledge about this stranger with genuine surprise, your interest being genuinely piqued.

“Yeah,” he says, his smile widening. “Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been obsessed with the night sky. There’s just something about the vastness of space, the mystery of it all, that makes me feel... connected, I guess. Like, there’s so much more out there, you know?”

“I’ve always loved the stars too,” you admit quietly, almost as if sharing a secret. “They make me feel... less alone.”

His eyes soften and you’re not sure how you were able to see it happening clearly even though your surroundings are dim and the reflection of the distant lights cover the lens of his glasses—not to mention the strands of his hair at the very front framing his face, and he nods. “Exactly. It’s like looking at the stars makes everything else seem smaller, less overwhelming.”

Feeling an unexpected sense of ease, you shift slightly to face him a little more, curiosity bubbling up inside you. “Do you know any interesting facts about astronomy?” you ask, your voice tinged with genuine interest.

It was refreshing hearing him talk so passionately about this year’s meteor shower, telling you about facts you were certain not even a quarter of the people in here—save for the astronomers—know of, and you’re not sure why, but it made you want to hear him share his knowledge with you more.

He looks at you, momentarily puzzled. “Like... anything? Anything at all?”

You nod eagerly. “Yeah. I mean… I love stargazing, but I don’t really know much about astronomy itself. I just think the night sky is comforting and looks pretty.”

A warm smile spreads across his face, and he seems delighted by your interest. “Well, where to start?” He takes a moment to think. “Did you know that the Sun, our own star, produces the energy equivalent of 100 billion nuclear bombs every second through nuclear fusion in its core? Or that neutron stars, which are the remnants of supernovae, can spin up to 500 times per second? They're incredibly dense—a single teaspoon of neutron star material would weigh about a billion tons!”

He was practically beaming while sharing the facts about astronomy he knows of, and it drives your curiosity—despite being unsure if it’s directed to any further knowledge from him or to the young man himself—even further.

“That’s insane," you say in genuine astonishment. “How do neutron stars spin so fast? And… how can something be that dense? I can’t even imagine it.”

His eyes light up, clearly pleased by your genuine interest. “Neutron stars are fascinating, right? Their rapid rotation is due to the conservation of angular momentum. When the core of a massive star collapses in a supernova, it retains its angular momentum but its radius shrinks dramatically, causing it to spin much faster—kind of like how a figure skater spins faster when they pull their arms in.”

“And the density?” you press, leaning in slightly.

“Well,” he continues, “neutron stars are composed almost entirely of neutrons, which are packed so closely together that their density becomes astronomical. It’s mind-blowing to think about, but it’s because all the empty space between atoms gets eliminated, leaving just the neutrons packed together.”

His passion for astronomy is contagious, and as he explains the wonders of neutron stars, you can’t help but be impressed by his vast knowledge. You find yourself wondering just how long and often he studies, as it’s a fascinating sight to see someone so dedicated to their passion. In a way, you envy that trait—it’s something you’ve longed for in your own life.

“Neutron stars are just one example,” he continues speaking, oblivious to your internal musings. “The universe is full of these mind-boggling phenomena that challenge our understanding of physics and reality.”

You watch him, noting the excitement in his voice, the way his eyes sparkle as he speaks. It’s clear that he lives and breathes this subject, and his enthusiasm is infectious. There’s something comforting about his dedication, a reminder that there are people out there who are deeply connected to their passions.

His eyes twinkle with curiosity as he asks, “Do you have any favorite constellations in particular?” You tilt your head, wondering where this is going. “Why do you ask?”

He grins. “I want to see if I have any interesting facts about it. I’ve read a lot about constellations, so I’m curious if I can tell you something new about your favorite.” You think for a moment before replying, “Orion. I’ve always liked Orion.”

His face lights up. “Orion, the Hunter! That's a great choice. Did you know that the stars in Orion's Belt—Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka—are all blue supergiants? They’re incredibly hot and massive, much more so than our Sun.”

He continues, “Betelgeuse, the red supergiant that marks one of Orion’s shoulders, is fascinating too. It’s so large that if it were placed in the center of our solar system, its surface would extend beyond the orbit of Mars. Betelgeuse is also a semiregular variable star, meaning its brightness changes over time. Astronomers think it could go supernova anytime within the next million years, which in cosmic terms is pretty soon.”

He then dived deeper into the lore and facts about Orion, his enthusiasm evident. “Then there’s Rigel, Orion’s other shoulder star. It’s a blue supergiant about 870 light-years away from us. It’s one of the brightest stars in our sky, around 120,000 times more luminous than the Sun. But it’s not just one star—Rigel is actually a star system with at least three components, possibly even more. There’s Rigel A, the supergiant, and a pair of smaller stars that orbit around it.”

You listen intently, drawn in by his enthusiasm. As he continues to talk, you can’t help but be captivated by the depth of his knowledge. He speaks with such passion and ease, and you wonder just how long and often he must study astronomy to know so much. It’s a stark contrast to your own experiences, where your illness has often overshadowed any pursuit of hobbies or interests.

“Another fascinating thing is that Orion’s Belt aligns almost perfectly with the pyramids of Giza in Egypt. This alignment has sparked numerous theories and legends about ancient civilizations and their connection to the stars. Some believe the pyramids were built to mirror the constellation, symbolizing a connection between Earth and the heavens,” he says, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping as if sharing a secret.

You find yourself thinking about how amazing it is to see someone so deeply invested in something. His eyes light up with every new fact he shares, his excitement palpable. It makes you feel a twinge of envy; you wish you could have such a passion, something that drives you and fills you with purpose.

“And there’s more,” he continues, “The Horsehead Nebula, which is part of the Orion Molecular Cloud Complex, is a dark nebula located just south of Alnitak, the leftmost star in Orion’s Belt. It's named for its distinctive shape, which looks like the head of a horse. It’s a fascinating area of space where new stars are being born.”

You listen, mesmerized not just by the information but by the boy himself. There’s something inspiring about his dedication and the way he finds joy in the cosmos. For a moment, your own struggles seem distant, replaced by a curiosity and a desire to know more.

“Wow, I had no idea there was so much to Orion,” you say, genuinely impressed. He smiles, his eyes still twinkling. “There’s always more to learn and discover. That’s what I love about astronomy—it constantly reminds me how vast and mysterious our universe is.”

Just as you practically feel that he’s about to steer the conversation towards you and ask if there’s anything you’re passionate about, you’re quick on your feet to beat him to it, “Why do you want to become an astronomer? Why are you so dedicated to it?”

He pauses, his expression softening as he considers your question. “It’s a long story,” he begins, his eyes flickering to the stars above. “But the short version is, I’ve always been fascinated by the night sky. When I was a kid, my parents got me a telescope for my birthday. I remember the first time I saw the rings of Saturn—I was completely hooked.”

You watch him closely, noticing the way his features light up with each word. There’s a deep-seated passion in his voice, a genuine love for the subject he spoke of.

“My grandfather was a big influence too,” he continues. “He used to take me out to this old observatory near our house. We’d spend hours there, just looking at the stars and talking about the universe. He’d tell me stories about constellations and the myths behind them. Those moments felt magical, and they sparked a curiosity in me that never went away.”

He glances at you, a small, wistful smile appearing on his lips. “As I grew older, I realized that astronomy wasn’t just about looking at pretty stars. It’s about understanding our place in the universe, exploring the unknown, and constantly challenging what we think we know. There’s so much out there that we haven’t discovered yet, and that’s what drives me. The idea that, no matter how much we learn, there’s always more to uncover.”

You nod slowly, captivated by his words. It’s clear that his dedication to astronomy isn’t just about the science; it’s about the wonder and endless possibilities the universe holds.

“And I guess,” he adds, his voice softer, “it’s also a way to keep that connection with my grandfather alive. Every time I look through a telescope, it feels like he’s there with me, sharing that moment."

“That’s incredible,” you say, your voice filled with genuine admiration. “It’s amazing how something like a childhood gift can shape your entire life.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and comforting. “Yeah, it’s funny how life works out sometimes. Well… what about you? Do you have anything you’re passionate about?”

You hesitate, looking down at the grass, the weight of your own struggles pressing on your shoulders. “There’s nothing in particular that I hold any sort of passion for,” you admit hesitantly. “It just feels pointless. There’s not enough time for me to explore anything, and even if I did, it would all go to waste in the end anyway. So, I never really bothered to try.”

The young man listens intently, his expression thoughtful. “I understand,” he begins, choosing his words carefully. “It’s easy to get overwhelmed by the idea of how things might end, especially when you feel like you have limited time. But sometimes, it’s not about the end result; it’s about the moments in between. Focusing on what’s happening right now, what’s right in front of you, can make all the difference."

You let out a small sigh, feeling a mix of frustration and sadness. He doesn’t understand at all—but he’s not at fault for that. “That’s easier said than done.”

He nods in agreement. “Well, you’re right. It is easier said than done. But, hey, there’s always a first time for everything, and this could be one of those times. Starting small can make it more manageable.”

“But what’s the point in doing all that, anyway?” you ask, a hint of resignation in your voice.

He leans in slightly, his gaze warm and full of hope—a stark contrast to yours that are devoid of emotion. “The point is to find those little moments of joy and meaning, even if they seem insignificant. Maybe it starts with something as simple as taking a walk in the park, trying out a new flavor of your favorite food, or experimenting with a different style than what you're used to. These small steps can lead to new experiences and, who knows, maybe even a newfound passion.”

He continues speaking, “It’s about creating moments that matter to you, no matter how small they might seem. And maybe, over time, those moments will add up to something bigger, something meaningful.”

You look at him and, without much emotion, remark, “You seem to be a really sentimental and optimistic person.”

He blushes slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I try to see the bright side in everything. It’s not always easy, but I believe there’s always something good, even in the toughest situations.”

Is there?

You hesitate, then ask, “But what if you come across a situation where it’s impossible to see the bright side? What would you do then?”

His smile falters for a moment, and he looks thoughtful. “That’s a tough question,” he admits. “I think, in those moments, it’s about finding any sliver of hope you can, no matter how small. Sometimes, it’s not about seeing the bright side immediately but about holding on until things start to make sense. It might mean leaning on others for support, finding strength in small victories, or just surviving one day at a time.”

You glance down, digesting his words. They resonate with you more deeply than you expected. Though he doesn’t know it, he is describing your life—the struggle, the search for any small piece of hope.

He continues, his voice softer. “There are times when the world seems overwhelmingly dark, and in those times, it’s okay to acknowledge that it’s hard. But I believe there’s always a way forward, even if it’s just a tiny step at a time.”

“But what if you can’t find any sliver of hope because there’s none in the first place?” you ask, your voice tinted with a mix of frustration and resignation.

He pauses, as if he’s beginning to sense the weight of your words. “Are you… speaking from a personal perspective?” he asks gently, afraid to hit any sore spot.

You look down at the grass, avoiding his gaze. The silence stretches, and he takes it as a sign to answer.

“Well, sometimes, it feels like there’s no hope at all,” he begins carefully. “I’ve had moments like that, where everything seems bleak. When that happens, I try to remember that feelings are temporary, even the worst ones. It might not seem like it now, but change is the only constant. If you can’t find hope in your current situation, maybe it can come from something small, something outside of the immediate struggle.”

He shifted slightly closer, playing with the lace of his shoe while he sat cross-legged. “It might be a smile from a stranger, a kind word from a friend, or even a moment like this, where you’re sharing your thoughts with someone. Those tiny moments of connection can sometimes provide the sliver of hope we need to keep going.”

You remain silent, processing his words. He continues, “And if you can’t see any hope right now, that’s okay. Sometimes, we have to lean on others to help us find it. You don’t have to carry the burden alone. There are people who care about you and want to help.”

“Do you think there’s hope left for those with a doomed fate?” you ask, your voice coming out as a whisper, filled with an unspoken plea for reassurance.

He falls silent for a moment, contemplating your question. “Hope is a complicated thing,” he begins slowly. “Even in the darkest of times, hope can be the smallest of lights. It’s not always about finding a way to change your fate, but rather finding a way to live despite it.”

He looks up at the sky, his eyes reflecting the faint glow of the stars. “I believe that even when someone’s fate seems doomed, there can still be moments of beauty, connection, and meaning. Those moments might not change the outcome, but they can change the experience of the journey. It’s about making the most of the time you have, no matter how limited it may be. It can be as simple as watching a meteor shower with someone who cares, or as profound as realizing that your life, however brief, has touched others in ways you might never fully understand.”

You listen, his words weaving through the heavy fog of your thoughts. His sincerity offers a glimmer of comfort, a reminder that even in a seemingly hopeless situation, there can still be a reason to hold on, even if just for a little while longer.

Suddenly, your conversation with him is interrupted by the distant call of your mother. Both of you glance back towards the source of the voice. The realization hits you that it’s time to go home. You turn back to him, a slight reluctance in your eyes.

“It’s getting late. I should probably head home,” you say, standing up and brushing the grass off your dress. The cool night air feels heavier now, carrying with it a sense of the evening coming to an end. “You should too.”

He remains seated, his eyes fixed on you with a warm smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he replies, but makes no immediate move to get up. There’s a quiet understanding in his gaze, an acknowledgment of the fleeting yet meaningful connection you’ve shared.

You both wave goodbye, and you add, “Thanks… for talking to me. It was nice meeting you.”

“It was nice meeting you too,” he says while smiling, still seated, watching you walk away, his eyes following your every step.

As you approach your parents, their broad smiles greet you, filled with a mix of curiosity and pride. “What’s the matter?” you ask with genuine curiosity.

“Did you make a new friend?” your mother inquires, her eyes sparkling with hope and a touch of relief.

At the mention of the young man, you glance back towards where you left him. He’s now engrossed in his telescope, scanning the night sky with the same passion that drew you to him in the first place. You turn back to your parents with a nonchalant shrug. “I’m not really sure.”

Your father places a gentle hand on your shoulder, his grip warm and reassuring. “We’re proud of you for trying to talk to someone new,” he says, his voice filled with encouragement.

Your mother nods in agreement, her smile soft and understanding. “It’s a big step, and we’re just glad you took it.”

On the ride home, the car is filled with a comfortable silence, the kind that allows thoughts to flow freely. You find yourself replaying the stranger’s words over and over in your mind. His perspective on life, his deep passion for astronomy, and his hopeful outlook seem to carve out a small but significant space in your heart. His advice to focus on the present rather than the daunting future lingers, a beacon of light in your often dark and uncertain world.

As the car rolls through the quiet streets, you glance out the window at the night sky. The stars seem a bit brighter now, each one a reminder of the infinite possibilities that exist, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

Suddenly, a realization hits you, pulling you out of your reverie. You didn’t get to ask him what his name was. A pang of regret settles in your chest, mingling with the residual warmth of the evening. You wonder if you’ll ever see him again, or if this brief encounter will remain just a fleeting, albeit impactful, memory.

For the first time in a long while, you feel a tiny flicker of something akin to hope. It’s fragile and tentative, but it’s there, nestled in the corner of your mind, whispering that maybe, just maybe, there’s more to life than the bleakness you’ve grown accustomed to.

For once, the shooting stars have heard your wish to be given a sign to keep going.

—

A few days later, you find yourself under that dark cloud of sadness again. It always strikes at the most unexpected times—like now, while you’re in the shower. The water droplets sprinkling from the showerhead feel more like a deluge, and you can’t shake the sensation of being drowned by your own thoughts. The sadness, always lurking in the background, engulfs you completely. You turn off the shower, the silence of the room only amplifying the roar of your thoughts. Leaning against the tiled walls, you tilt your head back, as if trying to prevent the tears from falling. Just as the dam is about to break, a voice echoes in your mind—his voice, almost as if on cue.

“I believe that even when someone’s fate seems doomed, there can still be moments of beauty, connection, and meaning. Those moments might not change the outcome, but they can change the experience of the journey. It’s about making the most of the time you have, no matter how limited it may be.”

His words cut through the darkness, offering a glimmer of light. Making the most of your time... no matter how limited it may be. You remember him mentioning the small steps you can take: going on a walk, trying out new things. An idea starts to form, slowly but surely.

After finishing your shower, you head to your room. A staring contest with your closet ensues as you ponder what would be appropriate for a day at the park. Once you settle on something comfortable yet presentable and finish fixing yourself up, you walk to the living room, where only your father was found as your mother was away for work. The sight of you fully dressed up surprises him—in a good way.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks, trying to mask his astonishment.

Shyly, you respond, “Can you drive me to the park?”

Your father’s eyes widen in surprise, and you can see he’s holding back tears. His voice choked with emotion, happily agreeing. “Of course! I mean, of course, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

His pride and happiness is palpable, and for the first time in a long while, you feel a small sense of accomplishment. It’s a tiny step, but it’s the beginning of something new. As you walk towards the door with your father, the young man’s words continue to echo in your mind.

On the drive to the park, you gaze out the window, watching the world pass by. The trees blur together, and the sky stretches out infinitely, offering a sense of calm. The hum of the car is soothing, and for a moment, you let yourself be enveloped by the tranquility.

Your father, hands steady on the wheel, breaks the silence with a gentle question. “What made you want to go to the park today?”

Turning to him, you muster a small smile, so faint it could barely be seen. “Just... making the most out of the time I have left,” you shrug.

Your father glances at you, his eyes softening with a mix of pride and sadness. He doesn’t say anything, but his expression speaks volumes. He’s grateful to see you taking steps, no matter how small, towards finding some semblance of joy or normalcy.

As the car continues down the road, the significance of this simple outing begins to settle in. It’s not just a trip to the park; it’s a step towards living, towards reclaiming moments that were lost in the shadow of illness and despair.

When you finally arrive at the park, you take a deep breath, ready to embrace whatever this new experience might bring. For now, you’re just a girl, standing in a park, making the most of the time she has, and that’s enough.

Your father gives you a reassuring smile. “Make sure you message me when you’re ready to be picked up, okay?” You nod, trying to mirror his smile. “I will.”

He waves goodbye as you step out of the car, and suddenly, you’re alone. Taking small steps, the outside world feels almost unfamiliar. People are everywhere—couples, friends, families. Pets chase each other around, vendors sell a variety of foods, and the trees provide a gentle, comforting breeze.

You stroll through the park, slowly taking in your surroundings. Every step is cautious because this isn’t exactly familiar territory. But you remind yourself—baby steps. This is a new experience, and you deserve to cut yourself some slack.

Lost in your thoughts, you wander through the park, hardly noticing as the density of people around you gradually increases. The noise rises, a symphony of chatter, laughter, and footsteps, becoming more unbearable with each step you take. It’s as if the sound waves themselves are pressing against your skin, squeezing tighter with each passing second.

Suddenly, the environment feels overwhelmingly loud. Anxiety hits you like a tidal wave, swift and unrelenting as you begin to realize what you wish had just gone over your head: you are alone in a place you’ve never stepped foot on before.

Your heart races, pounding in your chest with such force that you fear it might explode. Every noise seems amplified, and every glance from a passerby feels like a spotlight trained on you. The world around you blurs and narrows into a tunnel vision where only the threat of being watched remains clear.

Your breaths become shallow, rapid, and each inhale feels like it barely reaches your lungs. You place a trembling hand on your chest, trying to ground yourself, but it only seems to make the panic more palpable. Your throat tightens, making it hard to swallow, and a cold sweat breaks out on your forehead. Tears well up, stinging your eyes as the sense of doom takes hold.

Your legs feel unsteady, almost as if they might give out beneath you at any moment. The crowd seems to close in, the once little groups of people now a suffocating mass. The world around you distorts, sounds warping into an unintelligible hum. You feel disconnected from your body, as if you’re watching yourself from a distance, helpless to stop the panic that courses through you.

Just as you begin to take a step back, desperate to escape, you collide with something solid. It’s a person’s back, and when you turn, you see the broad figure of a man wearing a black fitted turtleneck. You’re about to flee, but he turns, his expression initially one of surprise.

“Oh, sorry—”

Then recognition dawns on both your faces. It’s the young man from the observatory. He sees the panic in your eyes, the hand clutching at your heart, the tears threatening to spill over. His face softens, concern replacing surprise, and he steps closer, his presence grounding in the midst of your chaos.

“Hey, are you okay?” His voice is a lifeline.

You can’t trust yourself to speak, so you just shake your head, eyes wide and pleading. For a moment, you catch a glimpse of the expression you held on your reflection on the lens of his glasses, and it drives you into despair even further.

He cautiously steps even closer, his voice low and soothing. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You're safe. Just breathe with me, alright? In and out.”

He starts to breathe slowly and deeply, demonstrating for you. At first, it’s hard to match his calm rhythm, but focusing on his steady breaths helps. Gradually, your own breathing slows, deepens, the frantic pounding in your chest easing slightly.

He keeps his gaze locked on yours, his voice a constant, comforting murmur. “You’re doing great. Just keep breathing.”

The world begins to settle back into place. The noise recedes, and the faces in the crowd become less threatening. Your breaths come easier, the tightness in your chest loosening its grip. Tears that were on the brink of falling retreat, leaving your eyes wet but no longer overflowing.

His eyes remain warm, filled with genuine concern. “Do you want to sit down for a bit?” he suggests, certain that you needed a little more time to calm down. You hesitate for a moment, then nod in agreement.

He leads you to a nearby bench, his presence bringing a somewhat calming aura as he sits beside you. He tries to engage you in small talk, attempting to distract you from your overwhelming thoughts. “So, what brings you to the park today?” he asks gently.

You fiddle with your fingers on your lap, grateful for the normalcy of the question and the fact that he seems to be trying to distract you from your thoughts.

“I followed your advice from that night at the observatory,” you explain. “You talked about making the most of the time I have left by trying out new things. I remembered that and decided to come here.”

He looks genuinely surprised. “Really? I didn’t expect you to remember that, let alone follow it.”

You offer a small nod. “This morning, I was feeling down, and your words just came to me. That’s when I decided to come here. But I wasn’t expecting it to be so… hard. I’ve barely been here thirty minutes and I already had an anxiety attack.”

His expression softens with understanding. “It’s completely normal to feel that way. Huge crowds can be really overwhelming, especially if you’re not used to them.”

He pauses, sensing there’s more to your anxiety but refrains from pressing further. Instead, he offers a supportive presence, hoping you’ll share only what you’re comfortable with. To his surprise, you continue.

“I’ve never been to the park before,” you admit, your voice a whisper. “I’ve been mostly isolated my entire life.”

His curiosity is piqued, but he respects your boundaries. He nods, his eyes reflecting empathy. “That must be really tough,” he says softly. “I can’t even imagine.”

There’s a moment of silence, comfortable and filled with unspoken understanding. For once, you don’t feel the need to fill the conversation—just his presence was enough.

“You know,” he begins, looking out at the park with a contemplative expression, “the first time I went to a new place by myself, I felt pretty overwhelmed too. It was nowhere near what you’re going through, but I get a bit of what it’s like to be surrounded by so much and feel so alone.”

You appreciate his effort to relate, to connect. It’s a small comfort, but it matters. “Thank you,” you say quietly. “For being here, and… for understanding.”

He smiles, the kind that reaches his eyes and warms you from the inside. “Anytime. And remember, everyone starts small. You’re doing great just by being here.”

Silence fills the air for a few seconds, allowing the tranquility of the park to envelop you both. Then, a thought surfaces, nudging you gently. “You know…” you begin, turning slightly towards him, “I still don’t know your name.”

His face lights up with a shy smile. “Oh, right. I guess I forgot to introduce myself properly. My name is San. Choi San.”

“San,” you repeat, letting the name roll off your lips. “Like the mountain.”

He laughs, a soft and endearing sound. “Yeah, exactly like the mountain. You’re not the first to make that connection,” he says with a grin, a hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks.

The wind rustles the leaves in the trees, carrying with it the distant sounds of laughter and conversation. You sit there, feeling a strange mix of relief and curiosity. San’s enthusiasm for life and his kindness provide a stark contrast to the isolation and fear that have been your constant companions.

“San,” you say again, more to yourself than to him, feeling the name claim a place for itself in your mind. There’s something grounding about it, something that makes you feel a little more connected to the world around you.

In an attempt to keep the discussion going and to distract yourself from what happened earlier, you decide to ask him what he asked you earlier.

"So, what brings you to the park today?" you inquire, your curiosity genuine.

San leans back slightly, looking around as if the park itself might answer. “I often come here to clear my head or unwind, especially when I'm going through something. It’s like a little sanctuary for me. Being out here helps me calm down and gather my thoughts.”

You wish you weren’t so afraid of being by yourself in huge crowds. If only you could do the same as San, finding solace in a place like this without feeling overwhelmed.

“What do you like about the park? Why does it bring you comfort?” you ask, and he smiles, a faraway look in his eyes.

“There’s something about the openness of it all. The way the trees rustle, the sound of children laughing, the way the sunlight filters through the leaves. It’s grounding. It reminds me that there’s more to life than the stress and the noise. It’s a place where I can just be.”

“You really seem to have a deep connection with a lot of things. First, astronomy, and now, nature,” you remark, a hint of admiration in your voice.

San nods, his eyes reflecting the sunlight filtering through the trees. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. It’s always been a place where I can reset and remind myself of the bigger picture. For me, nature has this way of putting everything into perspective.”

It was a fascinating sight to see, in a way. Spending all your hours within the confines of your home and being imprisoned by your own fate for pretty much all the years you’ve spent in this world has proved to be something that had imprinted a huge impact in the way you live, because even seeing passion being radiated by people is enough to elicit genuine surprise from you.

So this is what being in a world outside of yours is like.

So this is what seeing things in a perspective different from the one you’re holding is like.

So this is what not being you is like.

You look around, trying to see the park through his eyes. “I wish I could feel that way. Most of the time, I just feel... overwhelmed.”

San looks at you with understanding. “It’s okay to feel that way. Everyone has their own journey. What matters is that you’re trying. Coming here today was a big step, and it’s a good start.”

You nod, feeling a bit reassured. “Thank you. I guess I just have to take it one step at a time, huh?”

“Exactly,” San agrees, his voice encouraging. “And remember, it’s okay to take breaks and ask for help when you need it. You’re not alone.”

His words resonate with you, and for the first time in a while, you feel a glimmer of hope. It’s small, but it’s there, nevertheless. “Maybe I’ll try to come here more often, see if it helps.”

San smiles warmly. “I think that’s a great idea. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll find as much peace here as I do.”

You sit in comfortable silence for a while, watching the park come to life around you. The chaos that felt suffocating earlier now seems a bit more manageable, with San’s presence providing comfort.

As the conversation winds down, you feel a sense of gratitude. “Thank you, San. For everything. I didn’t think talking to a stranger could make such a difference.”

San chuckles softly. “Sometimes, a fresh perspective is all we need. And, well, we’re not really strangers anymore, are we?”

You offer him a small smile, feeling a connection forming. “I guess not.”

As the sun begins to set, casting a warm orange glow over the park, you look at San and say, “I should probably ask my father to come pick me up.”

San nods, stretching a bit after adjusting his glasses. “Yeah, I should head home too. My cat is probably wondering where I am.”

Your curiosity is piqued despite your earlier intention to leave. “Oh, you have a cat?” you ask.

“Yeah,” San replies with a smile. “Her name is Byeol, she’s a Siamese cat.” He pulls out his phone and shows you a picture of her. Byeol is a strikingly beautiful cat with piercing blue eyes and a sleek, cream-colored coat accented with darker points on her ears, face, paws, and tail.

“She’s adorable,” you say, admiring the photo. “She looks like a princess.”

San beams with pride. “Right? She’s a handful sometimes, but I wouldn’t trade her for anything. She’s always there when I need her, even if she’s just curling up next to me while I read.”

Just as you’re both caught up in talking about Byeol, you see your father's car pulling up. The sight of him brings you back to reality, reminding you of the time. You turn to San, feeling a bit rushed. “I should go. It was nice talking to you again, San.”

San waves with a smile, a hint of déjà vu in his eyes as he watches you walk away. “Same here. Take care.”

You walk towards your father’s car, your thoughts swirling with the day’s events. As you settle into the passenger seat, your father starts driving and asks, “So, how was your day at the park?”

You decide not to mention your anxiety attack, not wanting to worry him. “Today gave me a piece of a new perspective in life,” you say instead.

Your father glances at you, curiosity etched on his face. “What do you mean by that?”

You glance out the window, gathering your thoughts. “Do you remember the boy from the observatory?”

He nods. “Yes, is he the boy you were sitting with on the bench?”

“Yeah,” You confirm. “We crossed paths again today by accident.”

“Did you spend time together?” your father asks, his interest clearly piqued.

“Well, kind of,” you reply, thinking back to your conversations with San. “We just sat on a bench and talked about things. Nothing special, really. But it felt different. I felt different.”

Your father seems intrigued. “Is that where you got this ‘new perspective’ from?”

“Maybe,” you admit, a small smile forming on your lips. “He has this way of seeing the world that makes it seem... less daunting. More manageable. He talked about finding beauty and meaning even in difficult circumstances, and it just made sense to me.”

Your father looks at you, pride and relief evident in his eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. Sometimes, all it takes is a different viewpoint to make things seem better. And it sounds like this boy has a good influence on you.”

You nod, looking out the window as the scenery passes by. The streets, houses, and trees blend into a comforting blur. You can’t help but think about how much San’s words and presence have impacted you in such a short time. His optimism and the way he embraced life, even with its uncertainties, had struck a chord within you.

At the same time, your curiosity about him couldn’t help but wander around further.

—

Last night, sleep came with a weighty heart, knowing all too well what awaited today. The bright red marker on the calendar hung by your door, circling the dreaded date, was an ever-present reminder of your reality.

Your monthly checkup.

It was never just a routine visit for you. Each trip to the hospital was a stark reminder of the inevitable. The sterile smell of antiseptic, the chill of the air-conditioned rooms, the cold, clinical atmosphere—everything about the hospital filled you with dread. The monthly checkups were less about monitoring your health and more about confronting the slow, inescapable decline. You loathed the look of concern on your parents’ faces, the hushed conversations with your doctor, the heavy sighs and the sympathetic nods. You knew your health was deteriorating, and each visit confirmed what you already feared. And that was what you hated most.

Now, as you sit in the car with your father driving, your mother’s absence due to work commitments is painfully felt. The air is thick with unspoken fears and desperate hopes for some glimmer of good news, though deep down, you all know it’s a futile wish. The treatments, the surgeries—they were all temporary measures, patches over a wound that couldn’t truly heal.

Today, however, feels different.

For the first time, the thought of bad news brings a strange, new fear. Typically, you had accepted your fate with a resigned indifference. What has changed now? Why do you suddenly care so much about the results?

The answer isn’t clear, but you suspect it has something to do with the recent days at the park, the unexpected encounter with San, and his earnest words about finding beauty and meaning in the limited time one has. His encouragement to live, even if it’s just a little bit, seems to have ignited a spark within you—a spark you can’t ignore.

As you watch the scenery blur past, your mind drifts back to those moments at the park. The seed of hope he planted now feels fragile but growing. The hospital looms ahead, an unwelcoming fortress, and you feel your heart tighten as you pull into the parking lot. Your father’s grip on the steering wheel is firm, his knuckles white. He looks at you, offering a strained smile.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice betraying the calm demeanor he tries to project. You nod, though your stomach churns with anxiety. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Together, you walk into the hospital, the familiar antiseptic smell hitting you immediately. The nurse at the reception desk recognizes you and gives a sympathetic nod before leading you to the examination room. You sit on the crinkling paper of the exam table, your father standing beside you, his hand a steadying presence on your shoulder. The doctor enters, clipboard in hand, and offers a professional but warm smile.

“How are we feeling today?” she asks, her tone gentle. “Alright,” you reply, though it feels like a lie that even you can’t bring yourself to believe.

The checkup begins, each procedure a familiar invasion. Your mind is a whirlwind, each step a reminder of your reality. When it’s over, the doctor looks at you with a mix of pity and professionalism before asking your father to step outside. You know what this means. It’s never a good sign when they need to talk privately.

Left alone, the silence is heavy and suffocating. You glance around the room, trying to focus on anything but the conversation happening outside. The sterile instruments, the educational posters on the walls—they all seem like cruel jokes.

Minutes stretch on like hours until your father finally returns. His face is pale, eyes red-rimmed, but he forces a smile. “Let’s head home,” he said softly.

You nodded, feeling your heart sink. Another bad report, another reminder of the inevitable. As you and your father headed toward the exit, a familiar figure caught your eye by the reception desk. He turned his head slightly, and your suspicions were confirmed.

San.

Why was he here? Visiting an ill family member? A friend, perhaps? Or... was he the patient himself?

Before you could delve deeper into your thoughts, your father’s voice pulled you back to reality. “Let’s head home," he repeated gently, and despite your curiosity, you turned your attention away from San and followed your father outside.

On the ride home, the atmosphere in the car was heavy with unspoken dread. You sat in the passenger seat, your eyes fixed on the passing scenery, but your mind was elsewhere, trapped in a whirlpool of anxiety and fear. The hum of the engine and the rhythmic thud of the tires on the asphalt were the only sounds, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside you.

Your father’s silence was louder than any words. His grip on the steering wheel was tight as if desperately trying to hold himself together, and you could see the pain etched in his features. You mustered the courage to ask, your voice coming off as a whisper, “Dad, what did she say?”

He hesitated, and for a moment, you saw the facade he tried so hard to maintain begin to crumble. His eyes welled up with tears, his breath hitching as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. “You… you have a month left to live,” he said slowly, his voice breaking, each word hitting you like a sledgehammer.

Time stopped.

The world held its breath.

And so did you.

The world outside the car ceased to exist, reduced to a blur of colors and shapes. The weight of his words pressed down on you, suffocating and inescapable. A month. Just one month left. Four weeks. Thirty days. The enormity of it was paralyzing.

Your mind went blank, your father’s quiet sobs becoming a distant, muffled sound. You stared at your lap, your hands clenched into fists, knuckles turning white. Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps, as if the very air around you had turned to lead.

No, no, no. This can’t be. This can’t be.

“I’m so, so sorry, darling…” your father whispered, his voice choked with emotion. The raw pain in his words shattered the fragile dam holding back your tears, and you felt your heart splinter into a thousand pieces.

When you pulled into the driveway, the house loomed ahead, a familiar sight now tainted with a sense of finality. Your mother stood by the door, her face a mask of worry and sorrow. She had been crying; her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks streaked with dried tears. It seems as if your father had already informed her about it right after his conversation with your doctor. As you stepped out of the car, the last vestiges of your composure crumbled.

You ran to her, needing the comfort of her embrace. She opened her arms wide, gathering you into a tight hug. You buried your face in her shoulder, the sobs wracking your body as she held you close, her chin resting on your forehead. One hand gently rubbed your back in soothing circles, while the other cradled your head, fingers tangled in your hair.

“It’s going to be alright,” she murmured, her voice trembling. But you both knew it was a lie. There was no alright, no miracle waiting around the corner. Just the cruel march of time, slipping away faster than you could grasp.

Inside the house, the usual warmth felt hollow, a stark reminder of the fleeting moments you had left. The living room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage. Your father’s footsteps echoed in the hallway as he followed you in, his presence a silent testament to the shared grief weighing down on your family.

You slumped onto the couch, the weight of the news pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. Your mother sat beside you, her arm around your shoulders, offering silent support. Your father joined you, sitting on the other side, his hand resting gently on yours.

“We’ll get through this,” he said softly, though his voice betrayed the uncertainty in his heart. You nodded, but the words felt empty, a hollow echo in the face of an unforgiving reality.

The room fell into a heavy silence, each of you lost in your thoughts. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, an unwelcome reminder of the time slipping away. You wished you could stop it, freeze this moment and hold on to the fragile threads of hope that still lingered.

But deep down, you knew the truth. Your time was running out, and there was nothing you could do to change it.

When night falls, you find yourself in a familiar situation, sitting on your bed while gazing at the stars outside. Somehow, they still provide a sense of comfort, even if it’s slowly starting to dim. An hour ago, when you went to your room to “sleep,” you heard the muffled cries of your parents the moment you shut the door behind you. Instead of heading to your bed, you stayed there by the door, ear pressed against it, listening to their helpless sobs.

The sound was unbearable. It wasn’t just the sadness in their voices; it was the raw, visceral pain, the sense of impending loss. It cut through you like a knife. You couldn’t handle hearing them cry. You couldn’t handle making their suffering even worse.

You had to rid yourself of them before it got worse on their behalf.

So here you are now. Minutes ago, you were just stargazing, but now, half your figure is outside your window. Carefully, you sneak out of your room, making sure to avoid any noise as you slip past the gates. You look back at your home once more, and your heart shatters. You hold back your sobs, then you make a run for it, not daring to look back.

Your bare feet pound against the ground, the sharp edges of the tiny stones biting into your skin. Each step hurts, but you keep running. The pain is nothing compared to the torment in your heart. Nothing else is on your mind but to run, run, run.

The night was cold, the chill air stinging your face as you eventually found yourself standing on the edge of the cliff. Tears streamed down your cheeks, mingling with the sweat from your frantic run. The city lights below twinkled like distant stars, mocking the darkness that had enveloped your heart. Each breath was a struggle, each sob a dagger in your chest

You thought of your parents, the look of devastation in their eyes when the doctor had delivered the news. You thought of the pain you had caused them, the weight of their sorrow pressing down on you like a physical force. How could you continue to be the source of their suffering?

Your mind raced with thoughts of escape, of ending the agony for everyone involved. You imagined the relief on their faces when they no longer had to watch you fade away. It seemed like the only way to free them from this nightmare.

As you stood there, teetering on the edge, you closed your eyes, ready to take the final step. But before you could, a strong hand grabbed your wrist, yanking you back from the brink. You gasped, eyes flying open, and found yourself pulled into the firm embrace of a familiar figure.

San’s arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly. His chest heaved with the exertion of his run to catch you, his breath hot against your ear. “What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice a mix of fear and desperation.

You couldn’t find the words to respond, your body trembling uncontrollably. He didn’t let go, his grip tightening as if afraid you might slip away. The reality of what you had almost done hit you like a tidal wave, and the sobs you had been holding back broke free, wracking your body.

San slowly took steps back, ensuring you were safely away from the edge of the cliff. You clung to him, sobbing into his chest. “There’s no point, San,” you cried, your voice broken. “There’s no point in living. I can’t. I can’t do this anymore—please, I just... I need to end it all...”

San’s heart ached at your words. He tightened his hold on you, trying to infuse his strength into your frail, trembling body. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here,” he whispered, his voice soothing, attempting to anchor you in the present. “Let’s sit down, okay?”

He gently guided you to sit down, and you didn’t protest, your soul and body too numb to resist. He sat beside you, keeping a firm arm around your shoulders, rubbing your back in slow, calming circles. The silence between you was thick with emotion, but he was patient, waiting for you to find your voice.

After a few minutes, you took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, San,” you whisper, and he leans in closer because he can’t hear you. “I don’t think I can still find it in me to believe in the existence of hope anymore.”

He looked at you with concern. “What’s wrong? What do you mean by that?”

You turned to him, your eyes filled with unshed tears. “I have a month left.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “A month left? What do you mean?”

With a deep breath, you revealed the truth. “I’m diagnosed with a terminal disease, San. I’m cursed.”

San’s eyes widened in shock. “What? No, that can’t be...” His voice trailed off, the weight of your words settling in.

“I’ve known for my entire life,” you continued, your voice trembling. “But today, the doctor told my parents that I only have a month left to live. I don’t know how to keep going, knowing that my time is so limited.”

“I’ve always felt different, San. Since birth, I’ve been living with this disease, and it feels like I’m on borrowed time. Every single day, I wake up knowing that my life is on a countdown, and it’s exhausting. I can’t let myself be happy because I’m terrified that if I do, it’ll be snatched away from me. It’s like there’s this invisible barrier between me and the rest of the world. I see people finding joy in the simplest things, and I can’t. I just can’t.”

San’s eyes are filled with empathy and sorrow as he listens, his hand never leaving your shoulder. You take a deep breath and continue, the words coming faster now, as if a dam inside you has finally broken.

“I feel like such a burden to my parents. They don’t say it, but I know. Every hospital visit, every new medication, every surgery—it’s like I’m a constant reminder of the life they could have had without me. I’ve seen the fear and worry in their eyes every time we talk to the doctors. It’s like a knife twisting in my heart every single time. I hate seeing them suffer because of me. I hate that my existence is a source of pain for them.”

Your voice trembles with the weight of your emotions, but you push on, needing to get it all out.

“I can’t do normal things like everyone else. I’ve missed out on so much because of this illness. School, friends, just going out and having fun—none of that has ever been normal for me. I’ve been isolated for most of my life, and it’s so lonely. I watch from the sidelines as life goes on without me, and it hurts… it hurts so much.”

Tears begin to flow freely down your cheeks, and you don’t bother wiping them away. San’s grip on your shoulder tightens, offering silent support.

“I feel guilty for wanting to be happy. Every time I see my parents smile, I feel like I’m taking that away from them because of my condition. I feel like I’m stealing their chance at a normal, happy life. I wish I could just disappear and take all their pain with me. I wish I could give them a break from all this suffering. So, that’s why I…”

You pause to catch your breath, the weight of your words pressing down on you. San remains silent, his eyes never leaving yours, his presence grounding you. The sobs come harder now, your body shaking with the force of your emotions. San pulls you closer, wrapping you in a warm, comforting embrace. His presence feels like a lifeline.

“I’ve tried so hard to be strong, to put on a brave face for them. But it's getting harder and harder. I’m so tired, San. I’m so, so tired. And the worst part is, I feel like I don’t even have the right to be tired. There are so many people who have it worse than me, and I feel guilty for feeling this way. But I can’t help it. I’m scared. I’m so scared.”

Your voice cracks, and you finally let go, crying freely into San’s arms. He holds you tighter, his hand gently rubbing your back in soothing circles.

“I just want to be normal. I want to live a life without fear, without pain. I want to be able to laugh without worrying about what comes next. But I can’t. And it’s killing me inside.”

San holds you as your sobs shake his chest, waiting until your breaths slow and the storm of your emotions begins to calm. He doesn’t rush to speak; he knows there are no quick fixes for what you're going through. When he does finally speak, his voice is soft and raw with emotion.

“I don’t have any magic words to make this better,” he begins. “I can’t pretend to understand the depth of what you’re going through. No one can, except you. What you’re feeling is valid, and it’s okay to be angry, sad, and scared. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle in. “Oftentimes, life is incredibly unfair. It’s okay to acknowledge that. You’ve been dealt a really tough hand, and it’s not right or fair. But... you’re still here, aren’t you? And that means something. I’m proud of you for it.”

San’s grip on you tightens slightly, a gesture of reassurance. “You’ve been carrying this burden for so long, feeling like you have to be strong for everyone else. But you don’t have to do it alone. It’s okay to let people in, to let them help you carry the weight. Your parents, they love you, alright? They don’t see you as a burden. They see you as their precious child, someone they’d do anything for. They’re suffering because they can’t take away your pain, not because you’re causing it.”

You unconsciously nuzzle into his embrace a little more, the low vibrations from his chest as he spoke sending warmth throughout your troubled soul. “I know it’s hard to believe in hope right now. And maybe that’s not what you need at this moment. Maybe what you need is to just let yourself go. To let yourself feel everything you’re feeling without judgment. To let yourself grieve for the life you’ve missed and the dreams you feel slipping away. That’s okay. It’s okay to mourn those losses.”

San’s eyes meet yours, filled with sincerity and care. “You’ve been fighting so hard, and it’s okay to admit that you’re tired. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to be vulnerable. You’re human, and humans aren’t meant to carry these kinds of burdens alone.”

He lets the silence stretch, allowing his words to sink in. “If there’s one thing I want you to remember, it’s that your life has a meaning. Not because of what you can or can’t do, but because of who you are. The way you’ve touched the lives of those around you, the strength you’ve shown just by getting through each day—those things matter. You matter.”

You look at him through tear-blurred eyes, his words striking chords deep within your heart. “But what if I can’t keep going?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

San’s expression softens even further, and in his eyes, you see a reflection of the determination and care you’ve been too exhausted to summon for yourself. “Then we take it one day at a time. One moment at a time. And when it gets too hard, we lean on each other. I’ll be here, as much as you need me to be. We’ll face this together, okay? You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

We.

You pull back slightly, meeting San’s eyes with a questioning look. “Why are you so adamant about giving me these sincere, deep words? Why do you care so much about making me feel validated?”

A hint of sadness flickers in his eyes. “Because I know how it feels to watch something in your life slowly fade away, unable to do anything about it. It’s not the same as what you’re going through, but I get the gist of it.”

You tilt your head, curiosity piqued. “What do you mean by that?”

San lets out a soft sigh, gathering his thoughts. “Have I ever told you what else I was passionate about before I fully shifted my focus to astronomy?” he asks. You shake your head silently, eager to hear more.

“Well, besides my fascination with the stars, I used to love playing the piano. Not a single day went by without me playing it. During the day, I’d spend hours at the piano, and at night, I’d lose myself in the sky. Music was everything to me. I loved the way each note could convey a world of emotions, how a simple melody could touch hearts and tell stories.”

San’s eyes light up with the memory, a small smile forming on his lips. “There was something magical about the way my fingers danced across the keys, creating harmonies that felt like they were coming straight from my soul. The piano was my escape, my sanctuary. When I played, the world around me would fade away, and it was just me and the music. I felt connected to something greater, something pure and beautiful.”

You nod, imagining a younger San with a passion for music as vibrant as his love for the stars. “So… why did you drop that passion?” you ask softly.

San's gaze shifts to the distance, his voice taking on a heavy tone. “It’s not easy to hold onto a passion for something you know you’re going to lose the ability to fully experience.”

Confusion clouds your expression, urging him to continue.

He sighs, a heavy breath escaping his lips. “When I was a teenager, I was diagnosed with a condition that would eventually lead to complete deafness. It’s progressive, meaning my hearing would deteriorate gradually over time until it was completely gone. Knowing that, knowing I’d one day lose the ability to hear the music I loved, it broke me. Playing the piano started to feel like a cruel reminder of what I was losing.”

So that’s why you saw him at the hospital by the reception weeks ago.

San’s words hang in the air, each one sinking deep into your heart. The weight of his experience, his loss, mirrors the feelings you’ve been grappling with—you weren’t far different from each other, it turns out.

“I remember the day I found out,” San continues, his voice tainted with a deep sadness. “The doctor sat me down and explained that my hearing would gradually decline until I couldn’t hear anything at all. I was devastated. It felt like my entire world was crumbling around me. The thought of never being able to hear the music that had been such a vital part of my life was unbearable. I cried for days, maybe weeks. I didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to accept that something I loved so much could be taken away from me.”

He pauses, collecting himself. “So then, I stopped playing the piano. Every time I sat down to play, all I could think about was the silence that awaited me. It was too painful to face. I felt like a part of me was dying, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

You look at him, seeing a reflection of your own struggle in his story. “How did you keep going, knowing that?” you ask in a soft tone similar to the one he uses all the time whenever he’s talking to you. “How did you overcome that and stay so… positive?”

San’s smile is bittersweet, filled with a resilience that you find both inspiring and heartbreaking. “By finding new ways to connect with the world. At first, it was incredibly hard. I felt lost and hopeless. But I realized that I couldn’t let my condition define me. I had to find other things that brought me joy and fulfillment. That’s when I turned to the stars. The universe is vast and endless, filled with mysteries and wonders that don’t rely on one sense alone. It gave me hope and a way to cope with my reality.”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours. “I also learned to lean on the people around me. I talked to the people I held close to my heart about my fears and struggles, and their support made a huge difference. I allowed myself to grieve what I was losing, but I also focused on appreciating what I still had. And as time went on, I found a new sense of purpose in helping others who were going through their own battles. Sometimes, just knowing you’re not alone can make all the difference.”

San’s gaze softens, and he takes your hand gently in his. “And to answer your question earlier, the reason why I genuinely want to help you is because I know what it’s like to feel lost and alone. And because I believe that even in the darkest times, there’s still a flicker of light. You deserve to find that light, to feel that hope. And if my words can help you see that, then it’s worth it.”

A flicker of light.

“Do you think you’ll ever reconsider picking up the piano again?” you ask, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

San shrugs lightly, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe someday, but in the meantime, I don’t really want to do that. For now, I’m content with my memories. Besides, I’ve found new passions to focus on.” His tone is casual, but there’s a hint of lingering sadness. In an attempt to lighten the mood, he asks, “Why? Do you have a favorite piece you’d like to hear me play?”

A soft smile appears on your lips as you respond, “My favorite piece is Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2.”

San’s eyes light up with recognition and delight. “Really? That’s also my favorite piece to play back when I was a child,” he says, his smile widening.

Seeing San’s happiness brings you a sense of joy you haven’t felt for pretty much almost your entire life. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you realize that his happiness has a profound impact on your own mood.

Wanting to delve deeper into that positivity, you decide to ask him more about his passion for playing the piano. “Can you tell me more about your time playing the piano?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

He raises an eyebrow, surprised but pleased by your interest. “Are you sure about that?” he asks, a gentle smile on his lips.

You nod eagerly. “Yes, I’m sure. Tell me anything about it. Your favorite memories, your love for music, all about it.”

San’s expression softens, and he takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “Alright,” he begins, his voice carrying a nostalgic tone. “Well, I started playing the piano when I was around five years old. My parents noticed I had a natural inclination towards music, always humming tunes or tapping rhythms with my fingers. So, they got me a small keyboard to play around with, and tell you what—I fell in love with it.”

He pauses, a wistful smile on his face as he recalls the memory. “I remember the first time I played a complete piece. It was ‘Für Elise’ by Beethoven. My hands were so small, barely able to reach all the keys, but the feeling of bringing music to life was incredible.”

You listen intently, drawn into his story. “What other pieces did you love to play?”

San’s eyes light up. “Oh, there were so many. ‘Moonlight Sonata,’ ‘Clair de Lune,’ and of course, ‘Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2.’ Each piece had its own story, its own emotions. Playing them was like telling a tale without words.”

He hums to himself, his expression turning more reflective. “But it wasn’t just about playing the notes correctly. It was about feeling the music, letting it flow through me. There were times I’d lose myself completely, hours passing by without me even noticing.”

His enthusiasm is palpable, and you find yourself smiling. “What’s your favorite memory associated with the piano?” you ask.

San’s smile widens. “There was this one time, during a school recital. I was about ten years old, and I played ‘Rhapsody in Blue’ by Gershwin. It was a challenging piece, but I’d practiced for weeks. When I finished, the applause was deafening. My parents were in the front row, beaming with pride. That moment felt like magic, like I was on top of the world.”

His eyes sparkle with the memory, and you can’t help but feel his joy. “That sounds amazing,” you say softly.

“It was,” he agrees, his tone warm. “Music was my escape, my solace. It was where I could express myself fully, without fear or judgment. Even now, though I can’t play as I used to, those memories bring me comfort.”

You nod, finding yourself feeling gravely touched by his experiences. “Thank you for sharing that with me, San. It means a lot.”

San’s smile is gentle, as always. “And thank you for listening. Revisiting those memories every once in a while helps me remember the beauty in life despite its challenges.”

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you remember something you probably should have asked earlier. “Hey… what were you doing here tonight, anyway?”

He chuckles, looking out at the night sky. “This place is my little escape. It’s another spot I go to when I need to clear my head. The park is great during the day, but this cliff... it has a clear view of the night sky, and you know how much I love astronomy. It’s windy, peaceful, and quiet here. No one else knows about this place—well, except for you now.”

He pauses, then adds with a playful grin, “I guess this is now a place only the two of us know.”

San checks his phone and sees the time: 3 AM. He turns to you, concern evident in his eyes. “It’s getting really late,” he says gently, his voice a soft whisper in the quiet night. “We should probably head home. The streets aren’t really the kindest at this hour. It’s not safe to stay out much longer.”

As his words sink in, reality sets in as well. You suddenly realize you ran here without considering how you would get back home. Embarrassment washes over you, and you look down at your bare feet, feeling foolish. “I... I don’t actually know the way back home. I just ran here without thinking,” you admit, your voice small and filled with regret.

San’s reassuring smile does little to ease your embarrassment, but it does bring some comfort. “I figured as much,” he says, glancing at your bare feet and nightclothes. “Do you know your parents’ phone number?”

“Yeah, why?” you ask, puzzled and a bit hesitant.“I’ll call them for you,” San replies. “You can explain everything to them. It’s safer this way.”

Panic rises within you, your mind racing with the possible reactions your parents might have. “No, no—I can't. They don’t know I ran away. They might be awake, looking for me. I just…” you trail off, your voice carrying a hint of guilt.

Sensing your fear, San places a comforting hand on your shoulder, his touch calming. “It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I know the decision you made wasn’t the best, but it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Your safety is what’s important right now. If your parents are upset, it’ll pass. Their primary concern will be getting you home safely. Trust me.”

His calm demeanor and understanding words slowly convince you. Reluctantly, you take his phone and dial your mother’s number, your hands shaking slightly. Almost immediately, she picks up. “Mom…?”

You can hear the worry in her voice as she asks, “Oh my, oh my—darling! Where are you? Are you okay? Are you safe? Where did you run off to?”

“Mom, please calm down. I’m safe,” you say, trying to soothe her. “I’m about to head home now.”

“Okay, okay… where are you?” she repeats, her voice thick with concern and a touch of desperation. “I’m with San,” you say, hoping the name brings some comfort and reassurance.

“San?” your mother echoes, confused and worried.Your father, who is also listening in, seems to recognize the name. “San, the boy from the observatory and the park?” he asks, his tone shifting from worry to recognition.

San leans in, speaking into the phone with a calm and respectful voice. “Hello, Ma’am, Sir. Yes, it's me. I’m with your daughter, and she’s safe, please don’t worry. I’ll take her home now.”

Your parents express their gratitude, their relief palpable through the phone. “Thank you so much, dear. Please be safe,” your mother says before hanging up, her voice filled with gratitude and relief.

You look at San, a mix of gratitude and confusion on your face. “San, you don’t have to take me home, really. You’ve done more than enough by just being here. I can—”

He cuts you off with a small smile on his lips. “I insist. There’s no way I’ll let you walk home with bare, bruised feet. And you did mention earlier that you don’t even know where this place is, let alone how you got here. So let me, okay? Don’t stress yourself out.”

You find yourself in awe with how he was able to shut your mild stubbornness down in a way so gentle as if he was trying to explain to a kid why inserting a fork in an outlet isn’t a good thing to do. So, without a word, you just nod.

As you both stand up, San notices you shiver slightly. Without a second thought, he slips off his dark brown leather jacket and gently drapes it over your shoulders, revealing the plain black shirt he wore underneath.

“But what about you?” You ask, glancing at his now bare arms. “Won’t you get cold?” San shakes his head, offering a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about me. You need it more than I do right now.”

You nod, pulling the jacket tighter around yourself. Just as you’re about to take a step, a sharp pain shoots through your foot, causing you to hiss in discomfort.

San’s eyes immediately drop to your bare, bruised feet. “Let me help,” he says softly. Turning his back to you, he crouches down slightly. “Hop on,” he urges.

You hesitate, feeling a bit shy about the whole situation. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden.” San looks over his shoulder, his eyes filled with gentle insistence. “I’m sure. It’s the best way to keep your feet from getting worse.”

Reluctantly, you wrap your arms around his neck, and he lifts you effortlessly. As he starts walking down the cliff, he moves with deliberate care, making sure each step is steady and safe.

“Where do you live?” he asks once you’ve reached the flat ground of the unfamiliar streets. He nods in recognition when you give him your address, thankful that he knows where the street is. The walk is silent but not uncomfortable. The night air is cool and the city is quiet, offering a moment of calm after the chaos.

As he continues walking, his pace steady and sure, you start to feel your eyelids grow heavy. Exhaustion from the night’s events begins to take over, and before you know it, you’ve fallen asleep, your head resting against his shoulder. San notices your soft snores and adjusts his steps to be even more careful, as he wants to make sure you get the rest you clearly need.

When San reaches your street, he notices a worried couple near your house. Drawing closer, he recognizes your parents, who, in turn, recognize him. Their faces flood with relief as they rush toward him, tears streaming down their cheeks.

“Oh, thank you, thank you so, so much,” your mother sobs, her voice thick with emotion. “You kept her safe. We can’t thank you enough.”

San offers a gentle smile and carefully shifts to let your father lift you from his back. Your father cradles you tenderly, carrying you inside with palpable relief. Your mother and San remain outside, just by the door.

“Where did you find her?” your mother asks, her voice still trembling. San takes a moment before replying, “I found her stargazing at a cliff I visit every night to unwind.”

Your mother nods, understanding. “I woke up with a terrible feeling. When I went to check on her, she was gone, and the window was open. I was so scared she might do something... drastic. She’s been in so much pain, especially after the news today. Knowing she only has a month left... it’s unbearable. I just want to give her a life without worries, but I feel so helpless.”

She holds back a sob, her eyes welling with tears. “I love her so much. She’s my whole world. Seeing her suffer like this, knowing there’s nothing I can do to take her pain away... it breaks me. Every day, I wish I could trade places with her, take away her illness, her pain. But I can’t, and it’s the most helpless feeling in the world. I try to stay strong for her, to show her how much I care, but sometimes I wonder if it’s enough. If she truly knows how much she means to us, how much we would do anything to see her happy, healthy. I wake up every night fearing for her, praying for a miracle, wishing she could live the life she deserves. It’s just... so hard."

San listens intently, his heart aching with empathy as he absorbs your mother’s words. He sees the deep lines of worry etched into her face, the way her hands tremble slightly with emotion—and it brought him a sense of pain knowing he’s now aware of the intensity of the pain both sides of your family felt.

“Your daughter is incredibly strong,” he begins softly. “I know it must be hard to see it sometimes, especially with everything she’s been through. But the fact that she continues to wake up each day, to face her illness and all the pain it brings, says so much about her spirit. Despite all the reasons she has to give up, she’s still here. She’s fighting a battle most of us can't even begin to understand.”

He pauses, glancing towards your bedroom window that your father had now shut close. “There’s a resilience in her that’s rare. Even tonight, when she felt lost and overwhelmed, she found her way to a place that brought her comfort—the stars. That takes a kind of inner strength and determination that not many people have.”

San looks back at your mother, his gaze empathetic and earnest. “And it’s clear where she gets that strength from. She’s had you and her father by her side, showing her what it means to love unconditionally, to fight for those you care about. That kind of support and love is powerful. It gives her the foundation she needs to keep going, even when things seem impossible.”

“Your daughter is a testament to the human spirit’s capacity for endurance. She’s facing something that would break many, yet she’s still standing. And that’s not something to take lightly. It’s something to be incredibly proud of.”

San’s words hang in the air, filled with sincerity and respect. Your mother looks at him, tears still glistening in her eyes, but now there’s a spark of hope and recognition. She nods slowly, understanding the depth of what he’s saying.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice choked with emotion. “Thank you for seeing her strength, for being there when she needed someone. It means more than you could ever know.”

San gives a small, reassuring smile. “It’s the least I could do. She’s an extraordinary person, and she deserves to know just how remarkable she is.”

—

The concept of unwinding has never been one to be easy to grasp for you.

You’ve been told it doesn’t hurt to try countless times, but the truth is that it does. It does hurt, and it hurts like a poisonous rose thorn piercing right through your heart. You’ve tried. You’ve tried to forget about the impending doom surrounding your life whenever you feel like it’s what has to be done in order to uplift your spirits, whether temporarily or not. You’ve tried to find it in you to make an effort to light up a dusty torch of hope in the middle of the void of despair. You’ve tried to focus on what you have now rather than dwelling over what you’ll have left in the future.

Why? Because it works for everyone else. The saying that goes “you only live once” is enough to push them to test the waters of their limits and fly beyond their borderlines. The thought of an opportunity no longer passing by once they ignore it when it first shows up is enough to knock it into their heads that they need to make the most of what they’re being given now, knowing they might never be able to have it again. But for you? Nothing has ever worked out well.

Until you met Choi San, at least.

Ever since he first spoke to you about facts regarding this year’s meteor shower sounding like a stuck-up science professor who’s a little in too deep with his profession for everyone’s liking, changes in the way your world spins have occured. Changes that were so subtle you’ve failed to notice it until they were all piled on top of each other—much like the slow process of a build-up of a painting that starts off with weird brush strokes you’d think wouldn’t look good if put together at first.

At first, his words were like bullets trying to make their way through a bulletproof vest. If anything, at some point, you even wondered if he was out—whether of his mind or of touch with reality—because surely a person cannot be that motivated to seek positivity in a world so cruel.

But as seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, days into weeks, the process of it all passes by like a blur and the next thing you knew was you were curious of the bliss of hope enough to wish you could dip at least a finger into his universe, just to see how your life could’ve been, had you not been so adamant to avoid optimism like it’s the plague.

Then one thing led to another, and now you’re unsure whether you want his world or want to be in his world.

Which is precisely why you’re now sitting on an all too familiar bench at the park in hopes of catching a glimpse of the person that pulled you into coming here.

You no longer trust yourself enough to wander off all alone again because you know what happened the last time you tried to commit such a thing. So then, you sit here, silently waiting, even with no guarantee that he’ll magically show up. He could be anywhere—another town, another place, maybe even sleeping. But at this point, it no longer matters much to you. You’ve come to see him as a guiding light, and you want to bask in his radiance as much as possible.

Lost in your thoughts, you’re jolted back to reality by a voice calling your name. Looking up, you see San approaching. “San,” you say, your tone coming off perhaps a little too cheerful than what you wanted to let on. As you shift to make room for him beside you, he sits down, a reassuring presence in the quiet of the morning. “What brings you here?” he asks, curiosity evident in his eyes.

You offer a small smile, one that you’re certain was enough to mask up your blatant lie of a reason. “You mentioned this was a place you come to clear your mind. I thought I’d give it a try, too.”

San’s expression softens, his heart melting at your words. “Is it working so far?” You glance around, feeling a sense of peace you hadn’t quite expected. “Yeah, it is,” you admit, meeting his gaze.

San grins. “You know, I also mentioned that I sometimes try new things to unwind.” You tilt your head, intrigued. “Yeah…?” you trailed off, sensing that there was a catch to his words.

He shrugs, looking around the park. “I mean, you could try that out as well, don’t you think?” he says. His smile became even wider as he gave the suggestion, the shape of his eyes turning into thin crescents, and it reminds you of a cat yawning.

“Ice skating, pottery painting, going to the arcade,” he begins, listing activities with genuine enthusiasm. “Maybe even visiting museums and just exploring different parts of the city.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you consider the possibilities. “That sounds... fun,” you say, a bit surprised at your own interest.

“It really is,” San assures you. “And it might help you find something you enjoy, something that gives you a break from everything.”

And that’s exactly how you spent the following days.

The morning after your not-so-coincidental meeting at the park, San showed up at your parents’ house to get their permission to take you ice skating. You were still asleep when he arrived, so you were completely unaware of his plan. When you finally woke up and went downstairs, you found San chatting happily with your parents in the living room. Letting out a startled shriek, you bolted back to your room, convinced you were hallucinating.

Three gentle knocks came from the other side of your door. “Hey, it’s just me,” San’s familiar voice called softly. Hesitantly, you cracked the door open, peeking out at him. “Are you real…?” you asked, reaching out to touch his face for a brief moment.

San’s cheeks turned a bright red as he laughed, covering his face. “I’m as real as I can be,” he assured you, a bit amused. You blinked at him, still processing his presence. “What are you even doing here?” you managed to ask.

“I planned to take you to go ice skating today,” he explained with a smile. And before you could speak up about your doubts of whether you’d be allowed to go outside or not, he beat you to it. “I already got your parents’ permission, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

Before you could respond, he added, “I’ll wait for you downstairs. Take your time to get ready.” He stepped back, allowing you to close the door and gather yourself.

When you finally went down the stairs, you felt a little more put-together than usual. Your parents were quick to compliment your appearance, and San, though a bit late, managed to stammer out, “You look beautiful.”You didn't catch it, but your parents did, exchanging knowing glances. “What?” you asked, and San repeated himself, louder this time but somehow more bashful. “You look really beautiful.”

At the ice skating rink, you nervously stared at the skates in your hands. “You know what, San, maybe this isn’t a good idea…” you murmured, anxiety creeping in.San already had his feet settled down on the ice, extending his hand toward you. “I’ve got you, okay? I promise I won’t let go,” he reassured you with a gentle smile.

At first, you nearly fell over multiple times, your grip on San’s hands growing tighter and tighter until it reached his forearms, then his shoulders. At some point, you both failed to notice, but your arms ended up wrapped around his waist, and your face was buried in his chest out of sheer fear.

San, feeling your trepidation, gently motivated you to let go gradually and trust him. “Don’t be scared, I’m here. I’ll catch you if you fall, alright?”

And although you don’t trust yourself, you certainly do trust San. You took a deep breath and slowly let go of his waist, immediately clutching his forearms for support. He skated backward, guiding you as you learned to move your feet. Step by step, you started to get the hang of it. San’s face then lit up with a proud smile.

“You’re doing great!” he cheered. “Do you think you’re ready to try it on your own?”

Slowly, you nodded. San released you from his hold but kept his hands out, ready to catch you if you needed it. To his surprise and your own, you started skating smoothly. The initial heartwarming moment quickly turned playful as you began to chase him around the rink, laughing and shouting, “If I catch you, you’re a loser!”

San chuckled, skating just fast enough to keep a fair distance. “We’ll see about that!”

For the next day you spent together, you two decided to try pottery painting. As you settled at the table with your blank ceramic pieces in front of you, you asked San if he had a picture of Byeol on his phone. Despite his confusion, he obliged, scrolling through his gallery before handing you his phone with a picture of Byeol displayed. You both decided to put up a makeshift cardboard barrier between you to keep your paintings a surprise until you were both finished. With brushes in hand, you began to paint, each absorbed in your creative process.

When it was time for the big reveal, San removed the cardboard piece, proudly displaying his bowl. He had painted a breathtaking night sky filled with stars and the Orion constellation, knowing it was your favorite. On the bottom half, there was a cliff with two shadowy figures sitting side by side. “That’s us!” he said, flashing his signature cat-like smile that you’ve grown to admire. His depiction of your special spot touched your heart deeply, and you felt a lump in your throat as you fought back tears.

Then it was your turn. Nervously, you showed him your bowl, which featured a detailed painting of Byeol. San’s eyes widened with surprise and delight. He quickly took the bowl from you, examining the well-crafted details. “How did you manage to make her look even cuter? You did so good at this!” he praised, clearly impressed. And by the end of the day, you both decided to switch bowls as a keepsake of the memory.

The following day was spent having fun at the arcade. As soon as you both stepped inside, your eyes locked onto a claw machine filled with Sanrio plushies. You’d always wanted to try your luck at one of these machines, and the sight of the plushies sparked your excitement. Tugging on San’s shirt, you eagerly pointed to the machine. Before he could even ask, you grabbed his hand and pulled him towards it.

Peeking through the glass, you marveled at the assortment of cute plushies. A particular My Melody plush holding a strawberry, adorned with a red ribbon atop its head, caught your attention. “Look! I want that one,” you told San, pointing it out.

Without needing to be told twice, San inserted a coin into the machine. With expert precision, he maneuvered the claw and, on his first try, managed to snag the plushie. As the plushie dropped into the chute, San retrieved it and handed it to you with a triumphant smile. You squealed with delight, hugging the plushie tightly before impulsively wrapping San in a hug. Realizing what you were doing, you quickly pulled away, embarrassed. Little did you know, San wished the hug had lasted longer.

Next, you decided to try the dance machine. San insisted it would be fun, even if you both ended up looking ridiculous. As the music started, you both tried to follow the dance steps on the screen. You found yourself laughing uncontrollably at San’s exaggerated moves and his attempts to keep up with the fast-paced rhythm. Despite the occasional stumbles and missed steps, San’s determination to get it right made you laugh harder, and your shared laughter echoed through the arcade.

Afterward, you moved on to a basketball shooting game. San challenged you, confident he would win. “Prepare to lose,” he teased, smirking. Surprisingly, you gave him a run for his money, matching his score shot for shot. The competitive energy between you sparked playful banter and laughter. In the end, you narrowly lost, but San graciously declared you the winner of his heart, making you blush.

Next on your list was a visit to an art museum, a stark contrast from the loud arcade. The serene atmosphere offered a different kind of beauty, one that you both found captivating. As you wandered through the halls, you stopped frequently to admire various artworks—some by renowned artists and others new discoveries for you.

At one point, while you were deeply engrossed in a painting, San, standing behind you, quietly snapped a photo of you. He was about to take another when you turned around, smiling gently at him. Caught off guard, your face quickly turned to embarrassment as you walked over to him, covering your face and demanding to see the photo, fearing it might have caught you in an unflattering candid moment. However, to your surprise, the photo turned out beautifully.

Not wanting to be the only one captured candidly, you took his phone and insisted on taking his picture too. He protested, saying, “But if I know you’re taking a picture, it won’t exactly be candid, right?”

You waved off his objection, pushing him gently toward the artwork you were admiring. “Just act as if you’re admiring the painting,” you instructed. His shoulders shook as he tried to hold back his laughter, making you scold him lightly. Just as he turned to say something to you, you captured the perfect moment—his eyes closed in a genuine, joyful smile. Proud of the outcome, you showed him the photo. He smiled warmly, noting that you now had matching photos of each other.

Needless to say, you both spent the rest of the day not only admiring the artwork, but also one another.

Finally, the last item on your schedule was a simple yet meaningful stroll around the city. While it wasn’t exactly new to San, it was an entirely fresh experience for you, and he was more than eager to show you around and take you to places you had never visited before.

The first stop was a cozy cafe called ‘Heavenly Brews,’ a place he frequented and cherished. The signage outside was inviting, and inside, the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted you. San mentioned that one of his college friends worked there, and sure enough, behind the counter was a young man your age with long hair, busy making drinks. After a pleasant visit, where you enjoyed some of the best coffee you’d ever had, you left the cafe to explore more of the city.

As you walked, you passed by a lively tavern. The door was ajar, and you could see a bard passionately singing on a small stage, accompanied by a customer who seemed to be enjoying a spontaneous duet. The scene was vibrant and full of life, and it brought a smile to your face.

Continuing your journey, you noticed a large billboard featuring a famous football player. San noticed your curiosity and mentioned that he knew the guy personally. Surprised, you asked, “Really?” He nodded, explaining that the athlete on the billboard was the star of his college’s football team, and San himself had been part of that team too. This revelation added another layer to the fascinating person San was turning out to be.

You spent the rest of the day with him, walking through various streets and alleys, as he pointed out his favorite spots—places he had fond memories of and hoped to share with you. He mentioned wanting to visit all these places with you again, filling his voice with genuine enthusiasm.

Yet, despite his excitement, a pang of sadness tugged at your heart. The looming reality of your limited time made it hard to share his enthusiasm fully. Nevertheless, you managed a nod and a small smile, saying, “Yeah, I’d... I’d love to.”

—

San had told you to get ready for a special evening earlier during the morning by calling you, hinting at a surprise but refusing to divulge any details. “You’ll see,” was all he said as if wanting to leave you on a cliffhanger. He mentioned that your parents would drive you to the location, meaning they were in on the plan but remained tight-lipped about it. Confusion consumed you, but you got ready anyway, choosing to wear the dark red cardigan from your first meeting at the observatory. It held a fond memory and seemed fitting for the mysterious occasion.

As you walked downstairs, you noticed your parents waiting for you, their excitement evident. “What does San have planned?” you asked, unable to contain your curiosity.

They shared a knowing smile but refused to let you in on the details. Instead, they guided you gently to the sofa, their faces full of tenderness. “We just want to say how proud we are of you,” your father began, his voice thick with emotion and eyes glistening with unshed tears. He paused, seemingly collecting his thoughts, before continuing, “Despite everything you’ve been through, you’ve shown an incredible amount of strength and resilience. We see how hard it’s been, and yet, you’ve managed to keep moving forward. Your determination and courage are truly inspiring to us.”

Your mother, sitting beside him, reached out to take your hand, her grip warm and reassuring. Her eyes were shining with tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. “And we’re so happy that you found San,” she said softly, her voice filled with emotion. “He’s been such a positive influence in your life. We’ve watched you grow so much with him by your side. You’ve learned to lean on him, and it’s beautiful to see how much joy and comfort he brings you. We couldn’t have wished for a better person to be with you during these times.” She squeezed your hand gently, as if trying to convey the depth of her feelings through that simple gesture.

You felt a lump form in your throat at their words, and just as you were about to ask them what’s tonight about for them to be so emotional, they stood up and gently ushered you to the car. “You’ll see soon enough,” your mother said with a soft smile.

The drive seemed to take forever, your mind racing with endless possibilities. When the car finally stopped, you found yourself at the base of a familiar cliff—the same one you had run to back then. As you stepped out of the car, you saw San waiting for you, looking even more breathtaking in his well-chosen outfit.

He greeted your parents warmly before they drove off, leaving you two alone. “You look incredible,” San said, his eyes practically sparkling with admiration. Blushing, you replied, “No, you do.”

“I thought I’d fix myself up a little since I want tonight to be a special moment,” he replied bashfully, making you tilt your head. “What’s up with everyone wanting to act strange today?”

San laughed, refusing to answer as all he did was take your hand in his before walking up the path, making sure you wouldn’t trip on anything throughout it. Just before reaching the top, he stopped in his tracks. “Stay still for a moment,” he said, moving behind you. You felt his hands cover your eyes, making you giggle in confusion.

“San, what are you doing?” you asked, half-laughing. “Just trust me,” he whispered. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”After a short walk, he finally asked, “Ready?”

You nodded, and he slowly removed his hands. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight before you. The top of the cliff was transformed into a magical setting. A blanket was laid out, surrounded by twinkling fairy lights strung from the trees. An assortment of treats and foods was spread out, and a telescope stood nearby—the same one from the observatory. There were also cozy blankets ready for use.

“San, this is… I don’t even know what to say,” you said, your voice full of appreciation as you looked around, the warm lights reflecting in your eyes.

He smiled, looking a little shy. “I just… I wanted to do something for you, something I knew you’d like.” Taking in every detail, your heart swelled with emotion. “You know me so well, don’t you?”

You and San sit comfortably on the picnic blanket, a cozy blanket draped over both of you. Although he had prepared separate blankets, you insisted on sharing his, and despite being initially caught off guard, he was quick to happily oblige. Your head rests on his shoulder, your hands wrapped around his arm, basking in the warmth and comfort of each other’s presence. The silence between you is soothing.

Suddenly, you lift your head from his shoulder, causing him to turn his head towards you immediately. “What’s the matter?” he asks, his voice laced with gentle concern.

You smile softly and say, “I’ve been thinking about what you said about knowing that pro football player on the billboard. You know, the one from your college team.”

“Ah, Wooyoung?” he replies, recognition lighting up his eyes. You nod. “Yeah, ever since you mentioned him, I’ve been curious about your college experiences, particularly the life you lived back then.”

San’s face lights up with a mix of nostalgia and amusement. “Well, Woo and I were practically inseparable during college,” he begins. “We were always up to something, whether it was football or just hanging out. Lots of professors absolutely hated seeing us together, cause they know that when we are, we’re always up to no good.”

“Are you still close?” you ask, intrigued. “Not as much as we used to be,” San admits with a slight sigh. “He’s a pro player now, so he’s quite busy. Plus, he’s in a different country at the moment. We still talk to each other through messages and calls every other day, but we don’t see each other often.”

A fond smile crosses his face as he recalls a particular memory. “Oh, you know, I remember helping him make a move on his crush back then. It was quite the operation, and now she’s his girlfriend. Funny enough, she’s the one who took the photo of him on the billboard since she’s a professional photographer.”

You laugh softly at the story. “Sounds like you had a fun college life.” San nods, a nostalgic smile on his face. “Yeah, it was a great time.”

As he speaks, you find yourself drifting into a daydream, wondering what life might have been like if circumstances were different. Would you have met San in college? Maybe you would have been one of the people cheering for him at his football games, or perhaps you both could have been like Wooyoung and his girlfriend.

San notices you spacing out and gently nudges your shoulder. “Hey, everything alright?”

You wave him off with a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.” But just as you lean your head back on his shoulder, a sudden pang hits your chest. You wince slightly but brush it off, not wanting to ruin the moment.

San continues to share more stories from his college days at your request. He talks about the time he accidentally kicked a football into the opposing team’s coach’s face, causing quite a commotion. You can’t help but laugh at the mental image. He also recounts a grocery spree gone wrong, where he and his friends were kicked out within minutes because he broke a shopping cart trying to ride it.

He tells you about the week-long silent treatment between him and Wooyoung over stolen loot in a video game, and how they eventually made up after realizing how silly the whole thing was. His eyes light up with passion as he describes spending countless hours in the local library, devouring books about astronomy. Sometimes he’d stay so late that the librarian reserved a special table for him, where he often lost himself in the wonders of the universe.

Each story he tells paints a vivid picture of his past, filled with laughter, mishaps, and the simple joys of youth. As you listen, you feel a mix of admiration and affection for him, grateful for the glimpses into the life he lived before you met.

Just as you’re about to lean your head back on his shoulder, a sharp pang hits your chest. The pain is more aggressive this time, making you feel like you’re being strangled by an invisible force. Your breath hitches, and you clutch your chest, struggling to breathe.

San’s eyes widen in alarm. “What’s wrong?” he asks urgently, his voice filled with panic.“San, I can’t—I can’t breathe—San, I—” you manage to gasp out, each word a struggle.

Panic grips San as he checks you for any signs of what’s happening, all while trying to calm you down. “Just breathe, okay? I’m right here. You’re gonna be okay.”

But you know this isn’t an anxiety attack. The context and intensity make that unlikely. Tears stream down your face as you grab San’s hands, your voice trembling. “I don’t wanna die... I don’t wanna die yet... San, please... please...”

San’s face crumples with emotion as he realizes what’s happening. He doesn’t want to lose you. Tears pour down his cheeks as he holds your face in his hands, trying to comfort you despite his own fear. “You’re not going anywhere, okay? Stay with me.”

The pain in your chest begins to subside, but the reality of the situation sets in. You both know what this means. With tears still streaming, you cup his face, gently wiping away his tears. “It’s... it’s gonna be alright, San. It’s gonna be alright, okay?”

He shakes his head, his sobs growing louder. “No, it’s not. I can’t lose you. Not now.”

You smile softly despite the pain. “San, listen to me. You’ve given me so much. You’ve made me so happy. This... this isn’t the end. You’ll carry me with you, in your heart, always. I promise.”

He holds you tighter, his heart breaking as he feels your strength fading. The stars above blur with his tears, and all he can think about is how unfair this is. But in this moment, all he can do is be there with you, for you, until the very end.

You look up at him, a calm expression on your face. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. We... we’ve always been meant to end like this, anyway. I’m so, so sorry that I still let you into my world despite knowing that. I’m so sorry for being a burden, for taking your presence for granted, and not considering how you’d feel when the time for us to part ways finally comes.”

San shakes his head vehemently, his tears flowing freely. “No, no, don’t say that. You will never be a burden. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t regret entering your world one bit.”

Tears well up again, but you hold them back. “Still, I’m sorry. I’m sorry we have to end this way, I’m sorry I can’t live any longer to visit all your favorite places with you. I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, I’m sorry we can’t live the life we both want to have. I’m sorry my fate has tainted our story. I’m sorry. But I... I want you to remember this.”

You let go of his hands momentarily, and he looks confused until you start signing the words, ‘you’ll forever be my star.’ His heart shatters even more.

“You learned that... for me?” he asks, his voice breaking with sobs.You nod with a smile. “For you.”

You take his hand again, your voice gentle. “I want you to remember that when you feel down, during the times you see yourself in a bad light, when you feel like you’re not doing well enough. Because even if there are days where you don’t feel like the best version of yourself, in my eyes, you’re still my star. The only star in the empty sky of my life.”

“When you reach your dreams, when your name is known enough to catch people’s attention, when you become the star of your field, I want you to look up there,” you say, pointing at the night sky, “and smile. Because I’ll be there, smiling back at you.”

You shift your weak body to lay your head on his lap while he gently strokes your hair. “I think I wanna stay like this for a while.”

A comfortable silence fills the air, broken only by San’s quiet sobs. As you start to feel your body shutting down, you hold his hand, looking up at him. “In another life?”

“In another life.”

—

San, now a renowned astronomer, sits in a sophisticated studio for an interview. His translator is seated beside him, ready to relay the questions in sign language. The interviewer begins by asking San about how his passion for astronomy started. For a brief moment, an image of you flickers in his mind—you had asked him the same question years ago at the observatory. Snapping out of his thoughts, he clears his throat, focusing on the question. His answer mirrors the one he gave you back then, detailing how a childhood fascination with the stars turned into a lifelong pursuit of knowledge.

The interviewer then inquires about how he feels regarding his success. While San provides a positive response, he can't help but bring you up. “If it weren’t for a certain person,” he starts, his voice tinged with emotion, “I don’t think I’d be here right now.” The interviewer asks for elaboration, and San recounts how he met you during a meteor shower. From the moment you expressed genuine curiosity about his dreams of becoming an astronomer, his motivation grew. “This person taught me that it’s okay to fall when you can’t fight anymore, that allowing yourself to be weak makes you stronger than pretending to always be strong.”

When asked if he’s still in touch with this person, San’s expression turns bittersweet. “I’d like to think of them as a meteor shower,” he says, his voice soft. “A passing light meant to remind me of the wonders of life, never meant to stay.”

Returning home, San finds himself gazing at the night sky through the glass windows of his penthouse. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper—a letter you wanted him to receive after you had passed away. Your parents gave it to him during your funeral.

“Hello, San :)

I hope this letter finds its way to you. I don’t know when exactly my timer will run out of seconds to spare, so I’m not sure when you’ll receive this. Still, when you do, I hope you’ll find comfort in reading this, whether you’re feeling tired, frustrated, or when you’re not feeling anything at all.

First off, did you know that the average day on Pluto lasts for 153.6 hours long? You definitely already do, but for now, please pretend you don’t. I read this on a science website while searching up how to cook food in an air fryer—don’t ask me the correlation between those two things—and I just wanted to impress you with it.

On a more serious note, though, I don’t think you’re aware of how much of an impact you’ve left in my life. Before I met you that night at the observatory, it was like I was trapped in this huge bubble of emptiness that I couldn’t make my way out of. Each day was practically hell on Earth for me, and tell you what, it used to be so hard for me to be positive, let alone try. Then you came into the picture with no warning beforehand, and I don’t know when exactly the shift in my world occurred, but it was like there was a lost candle in the very back of my soul that you, somehow, managed to find and light up.

You’re a really cool person, you know? So cool I’m willing to overlook the fact that you always wear glasses when you don’t even have poor eyesight. Your glasses look good on you, though, so I guess I’ll count that as a valid reason. You have this sort of comfortable energy that’s more than enough to put me at ease, and all your words of wisdom are so genuine that even a (retired) pessimist like me had grown to keep them engraved in my mind. Not only are you a cool astronomy nerd, but you own a cat, too! You know, I really wish I could’ve met Byeol when I was still there with you, but I guess there’s a next time for everything, right? Maybe in a different life, Byeol would be my cat instead. Or, even better, we could team up to co-parent him. Doesn’t that sound like a nice reality to live in?

You know, I wish I could be there with you to witness your success. I bet you’re reading this after coming across an article about you that a journalist had published. Or maybe after an interview schedule. Who knows? The possibilities are endless.

I’m starting to get sleepy now, so I’ll end this letter here. If you’re out there, having a hard time, always remember that I’ll always be here for you, even if it’s not in physical terms. I hope your heart now feels a little lighter after reading this, San. I’m so, so proud of you.”

Droplets of tears soaked the letter, and San silently sobbed. Looking above, he sees a single bright star in the empty night sky, and when he managed to put a smile on his face, the star twinkled back to him in return.

Perhaps in another life, you’d be a permanent star and not just a fleeting meteor.

🪞— lividstar.

[beenbaanbuun]

BUNNY ?!

I need to hear your thoughts about yunho collaring you sooooooo bad

(if u wanna ofc)

if i wanna?!?!? OF COURSE I WANT TO!!! collaring?? with yunho?!?!? i’m literally so insane, that’s why this is so long 😭😭

————————————————

so, it all starts one day when the two of you visit a pet store together. something about you needing to buy fish food or something; yunho wasn’t entirely listening, but he gladly goes with you because he’s a good boyfriend.

but even though the two of you only went to grab fish food, you somehow end up exploring the entire pet store until eventually, the two of you end up on the dog collar aisle. it starts fairly innocent, the two of you talking about your future dog and which collar you’d get it, but then you make a comment that sends yunho’s head spinning.

‘what about your current one?’ you look at him with a smirk, head tilting like a curious puppy, ‘surely she should have a collar, right?’

yunho feels his mouth go bone dry at your comment, blood immediately rushing from his head to his cock. little fucking brat, he thinks as he watches you try to feign innocence. there’s nothing ‘innocent’ about the smug smile on your lips or the evil glint in your eye.

‘do you think she deserves a collar?’ he replies, stepping closer to you to assert his dominance. his height helps with that, his body towering above yours, physically reminding you that he is in charge here. annoyingly, you don’t seem to acknowledge that and he wishes the two of you were at home so he could knock that fucking look off your pretty little face.

‘maybe she doesn’t deserve it,’ you shrug, ‘but i think she needs it. after all, sir, what better way than to remind her of her place?’

fucking hell, he wants nothing more than force you to your knees and get you to beg for his cock. he’d give it to you as well, mainly to shut your loud mouth up. perhaps that would make you behave like a good girl again, stop you from acting out and turn you into the docile little puppy that you usually are.

‘i think you’re wrong,’ yunho says, turning to grab the navy blue collar that he’d been admiring and holding it against your neck. he watches your eyes dart around, looking for other people that may be able to see you; there’s no one there. ‘i think my puppy is a good girl who does deserve this. a few tantrums here and there don’t change the fact that she’s usually so willing to be my pretty little pet, right? especially when it’s so easy to knock her down a few pegs and put her back in her place.’

the dyed leather of the collar rubs up and down your neck in a way that sends you spiralling. he’s right; you’re his good little puppy, most of the time. a little bratting here and there certainly won’t change that fact, but it definitely will make you feel bad for acting out. maybe not now when adrenaline is running high and the thought of disobedience feels more like a fun game than anything, but certainly later. that adrenaline will drop, and you’ll be left feeling empty and guilty and just everything you don’t want to feel.

yunho is good at catching you before you fall though, and you’re not one for thinking too hard about the consequences of your actions. you bat his hand away and lean over to grab the pretty pink one you’d been admiring instead. yunho lifts a brow in amusement as you hold that one to your neck instead. it’s pretty, he has to agree, but you’re misbehaving and he’s not the type to just bend over backwards to give you what you want, especially not when you’re acting like this.

‘pretty, but no,’ he grabs it from your hand and puts it down again, ‘my puppy will wear what i want her to wear, and if i say i want the navy collar then she better be fucking grateful, got it?’

you sneer at him, but you know you won’t get anywhere good by disrespecting him any further. like a petulant child you fold your arms, looking to the floor before you give him a single nod of your head. he hums in disapproval, but nevertheless takes your behaviour in his stride. it’s nothing he can’t correct once the two of you are home.

besides, he’s too impatient to argue anymore; he wants to see his pretty puppy in her collar.

‘keys,’ he fishes them out of his pocket, slinging them into the palm of your hand, ‘i’ll pay for everything, you go and wait for me in the car; it’ll give you time to think about your behaviour. now shoo.’

you pass him the fish food, which he takes under his arm, before turning around to leave. mere milliseconds pass before you hear a smack ring through the air, followed shortly by a stinging on your left ass cheek. you spin your head to face your boyfriend; he gives you a smirk and gestures for you to leave. you do, but not without stomping your foot at him first.

cute…

with your back turned, he grabs the pink collar too. he knows you’ll behave sooner or later, and when you do, you can have the collar you want. he might not bend over backwards for you, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t absolutely adore spoiling you. he just makes you work a little harder for it, that’s all.

he makes his way to the register after doing another few laps of the store. it’ll give you time to reflect; to decide what game you want to play. the one where you’re a good puppy for him and—after a brief punishment, of course—you get treated like the princess you really are, or the one where you continue to push his buttons and get what you deserve. yunho doesn’t really mind, it’s fun for him either way, but he does have to admit that he was hoping you’d be on your best behaviour when he finally collars you. as he hands over his card to the cashier, he decides that your collar will be a bargaining chip for now; be good and it’ll be yours.

‘thank you,’ he grabs the bag from the cashier, once again hurling the huge sack of fish food under his arm before heading out of the store and towards his car. he places a mental bet as to whether you’ll have locked him out in your childish disobedience, but he guesses that it all depends on whether you’ve decided to be good for him or not. he approaches the car.

the boot opens; he puts the bags inside, slipping the navy collar into his hand before shutting the door and moving round the the drivers side. he swings it open, pleased to know you haven’t actually locked him out, and climbs inside. the door closes behind him and he turns to you…

the rough carpet of the floormat digs uncomfortably into your knees, but you don’t shift. not now he has his gaze on you, anyway. you want to show him you can be good, a silent apology for the bad behaviour in the store. the guilt had hit much sooner than you expected it to—maybe around the time you watched him pick up the pink collar instead of going out to the car like he’d asked. it just served as a reminder of how well he treats you… of how little he deserves your misbehaviour…

‘oh, puppy,’ he coos, voice softer than you expect. you can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks, ‘come over here; sit on master’s lap.’

you push yourself up from the floor, wincing at the carpet peels away from the indents it’s left in your knees. the leather of your seat is a much nicer texture on them, but you’re not there for long before dragging yourself over the console to yunho’s side of the car. it’s difficult to arrange yourself so that you’re straddling him, but the hands that he places on your hips do a good job of stabilising you. with very little grace, you let yourself sit, immediately feeling his chubbed up cock rubbing at your core through your panties. if you were still being bad, perhaps you’d grind down on him to tease him a little. you’re not, though, so you don’t.

‘you want your collar?’ he asks, showing you the leather strap in his hand. you nod and his hands immediately go to unclasp it. the soft band comes into contact with your neck, and he adjusts the size before wrapping around. there’s a click, followed by an involuntary whimper. yunho just chuckles, ‘there’s my good puppy.’

[lovebugism]

Hi I am begging on my knees for more of your steddie x reader it’s so good I’m crying

BIZARRE LOVE TRIANGLE | baby fever

summary: steve's got a bad case of baby fever. it's not so bad until you start getting sick with it too. eddie has to come up with a solution before all of you fall ill.

pairing: steve harrington / f!reader / eddie munson

a/n: i just realized i haven't posted anything steddie related in almost three months. i am so sorry. this is a total travesty. please enjoy this 3k blurb and find it in your heart to forgive me <3

You squint at the grocery list scribbled on a bright blue sticky note. It’s a mish-mash of all your different handwritings. Some are certainly neater than others. “This just says crabs… I think...”

“It doesn’t say crabs, you loon,” Eddie laughs from where he mans the shopping cart beside you. He’s steering the thing about as well as his van. “It says cereals.”

“No, it says a bunch of gibberish that no one can read but you,” you retort with a giggle of your own as you follow him down the breakfast aisle. “And we just need one box of cereal, alright? Singular.”

He turns to you with a cartoonish pout on his lips. “But why?”

“Because you’re like a kid, Eds. You eat the entire thing in one sitting, and then you’re absolutely haywire for the rest of the day.”

And, just like a child, the boy stands in front of the vibrantly colored boxes of cereal with a wide grin on his face.

The local grocery store was smaller compared to the others in town, but they had every brand of the breakfast food known to man, stacked in neat rows from the floor to ceiling. 

Eddie’s got a twinkle in his eye as his gaze runs over them all. And even though you think it’s all boyish and hilarious, you let him have his fun. 

He grew up unable to enjoy all the goodness of overly sweet cereal because bills and food with actual sustenance were always more important. Now, he’s got a halfway stable job with Wayne at the car shop, and he’s living at his own place with his boyfriend and girlfriend, and he can buy whatever the hell kind of cereal he wants. 

So, as far as he’s concerned, everyone who said he’d never amount to much can suck it. 

And you know you’ll let him buy the whole damn grocery store out of their cereal if that’s what he wants. It’s the least you can do for the world’s best boyfriend — a title he begrudgingly shares with Steve The Hair Harrington.

You’d give him the world if you could, but for now you’ll have to settle for a couple of boxes of Lucky Charms.

“Okay, so the OJ’s we got last time tasted like absolute shit,” Eddie mutters, mostly to himself as he crouches to peer at the lower shelves. “I saw a commercial for Waffle-O’s this morning, and they looked pretty good. But I know you like Breakfast With Barbie and Steve ate a bowl of C3PO’s every day for, like, two weeks, so…”

You stand by the cart and laugh at his rambling. You turn to look behind you with a lighthearted joke sitting on the edge of your tongue. It dissipates when you realize Steve isn’t next to you. 

Instead, he’s still standing at the end of the aisle with his back to you and Eddie — like his feet forgot how to work when he caught sight of the family across the store. It’s a mother and a father, dressed in their mid-weekday finest, with a baby swaddled at their chest and a toddler bouncing in the seat of the shopping cart. 

And you know it’s got the boy totally lost in his own head. You know he's picturing you and him and Eddie as that happy family — the one fills every store you walk into with baby babbles and bubbly laughter. 

Steve told you his senior year of high school he wanted a baby, that he wanted six of them, and that he wanted them all with you. And you were just a stupid seventeen-year-old girl who would’ve done anything he asked you to, though you definitely drew the line at babies. 

But you’re older now, and far more settled than you had been all that time ago. Steve’s ready for a family, but you don’t think you’re anywhere close.

“How about we just compromise and get all three?” Eddie finally concludes with the boxes already in his arms. He dumps them into the cart and notices that your attention is elsewhere. He realizes then that Steve’s gone too because his attention is stuck on a nice family minding their own business. 

“Not again…” he murmurs to himself while you go rescue the boy.

“I’ve never seen someone so sick with baby fever in my life,” you laugh as you drag Steve back to the cart by his wrist.

“I can’t help it!” he defends weakly. “They were so cute! They were all matching and I couldn’t stop thinking about how I can’t wait to coordinate outfits with our baby. Doesn’t that sound like the cutest fucking thing ever?”

“It sounds very adorable, Stevie,” you nod understandingly and try to ignore the way your stomach twists at the thought of him and his baby girl wearing matching pastels every time they step out of the house. “And we can be just like them in five years—”

“Five years?” he gapes.

“Maybe even ten,” Eddie shrugs and nonchalantly tosses a box of Count Chocula into the cart.

“Ten years— You guys are insane if you think I’m waiting ten years to have a kid!” Steve protests with a pair of buff arms crossed boyishly over his chest. “I’m not getting any younger over here, you know that, right?”

“You’re twenty-five, Steve, stop being so dramatic. We’re just now trying to get settled. I’m still in school, you’re still working at Family Video, Eddie’s still… Eddie. Don’t you think we should have actual careers before we have a kid?”

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance even though he knows you’re right.

It’s not like he wants to keep working at the stupid store on Main Street. He keeps putting off the conversation with his dad about another job, because he puts off every conversation with his dad. He’s scared of what asking for a position at his firm will do to his pride.

“She’s right, and you know it, Steven,” Eddie tells him, then scoffs. “I mean, can you really imagine me with a baby strapped to my chest on tour?”

You and Steve both pause and tilt your heads to the side as you picture the sight, terribly in sync as always. You can imagine it, quite perfectly actually, tangible enough to touch.

“Well—”

“That’s the cutest thing I think I’ve ever heard,” Steve finishes your thought for you.

Eddie cowers at the sudden attention. “Okay, stop looking at me like I’m a piece of meat, alright? We are not having a kid right now. There’s no fucking way.”

Steve all but deflates at the rejection as Eddie pushes the cart down the aisle, desperate to escape the bubble of tension the conversation had created in the cereal section.

You smile sheepishly over at Steve and wrap your arms through the crook of his elbow, standing on the tips of your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “He’s being grumpy about it, but he’s right… It’s just not a good idea right now— but it will be, okay? One day. Just not… to-day.”

┄

The day, for you, comes exactly seven of them later. 

You accompany Steve on his morning run and his routine stop for coffee. You’re not quite sure how he’s still mobile because your muscles are screaming, even after the warm shower you took to soothe them.

You left him alone for all of half a second to use the bathroom while he ordered drinks for him and you, and something extra for Eddie for when the boy decides to roll out of bed.

When you return, you find him bouncing a baby on his hip — a young thing, maybe three if you had to guess, with two buns in her hair like bunny ears and a sparkly pink dress to match the bows she wears in them.

Steve smiles down at her, talking to her in a baby voice and saying something you can’t hear because you’re frozen in place. You resemble him at the grocery store a week ago, when he was thrown into a daydream so suddenly that his body all but shut down. 

You look at him now, tickling the baby’s sides just to hear her giggle, and you see him with your firstborn — sleep deprived, covered in spit-up, and still the most beautiful human you’d ever seen.

You have to shake your head to remove the thought before it ruins you entirely. 

Freshly jostled from your stupor, you walk over to him. “Steve… Please tell me you didn’t steal someone’s baby.”

He laughs. “What? No! She was just a little fussy, and I offered to take her while her mom looked for something,” the boy explains. You look just behind him to see the woman bent over at one of the smaller tables, sifting vigorously through a large baby bag.

“She doesn’t seem very fussy now,” you observe, eyes flitting between his and the child's and noticing they’ve both got matching grins.

“She doesn’t, does she?” he smiles, softly scratching at her sides again to make her laugh. And she does, most enthusiastically so, tilting her head back and letting the giggles spill from an open mouth.

He turns back to you, with wide eyes and raised brows and a bemused grin. “I like she likes me.”

“Of course, she does,” you scoff. “Babies always like you.”

The mom returns with a snack in hand and a relieved smile. Steve passes the baby back to her with little effort. She whines at the loss of him, though the brightly packaged treat is quick to quell her sorrow. 

“Thanks for taking her,” the mother's grateful smile falters with exhaustion. “If I don’t give her the same snack at exactly the same time every day, she tends to go a little nuts.” 

Steve tells her that it’s no problem, that he was a part-time babysitter at one point in his life, and that her kid was better than those little shits combined. He censors himself before the swear slips out, though.

You go your separate ways when the barista calls out your drink orders and walk hand in hand back to your place.

“Did you get their names?” you ask him before taking a sip of your latte.

“The mom’s name was Maeve and the kid’s name was Harper—”

“Holy shit,” you mutter.

Steve snaps his head over to you because he thinks you’ve burnt your mouth. Instead, he finds you with a distant smile on your face.

“Those are the cutest names I’ve ever heard. It sounds like something out of a fucking cartoon or something.”

“Yeah…” is all he can say because his mind is preoccupied with a million other thoughts. He doesn’t tell you them, obviously, but you know they’re there. The sly smile pulling at his lips makes it obvious.

“…Why are you looking at me like that.”

“Because I’m totally gonna wear you down,” he grins and brings his coffee to his mouth, sipping through his smirk.

You only scoff in response. “Never.”

┄

It doesn’t take you very long to realize that Steve was right.

You spend the rest of the day thinking about it — about him with a baby and how perfect he'd be as a dad. The thoughts plague you far more than they usually do. They take up the entire frontal cortex of your brain and make it nearly impossible to think about anything else.

You’re self-aware enough to beat yourself up about it. 

You were just telling him that it wasn’t time yet, and you knew you were right. As far as you’re concerned, you still have another few good years before you’re ready to even start seriously considering it. 

But here you are, having to calm yourself down every time the thought of Steve Harrington with a baby, your baby, crosses your mind.

You wait until the boy heads to bed to talk to Eddie about it. You find him in the kitchen, eating handfuls of Breakfast with Barbie like a maniac. You’re too preoccupied to make a snarky comment about it.

“Steve wasn’t lying,” you warn him.

“..About what?” he wonders through the mouthful.

“About him not waiting ten years to have a baby! He wants one now!” you explain through a yell-whisper hybrid. “And he told me he was going to wear me down, and he was right.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide too, like he’s just learned you caught some sort of plague. You have. It’s called baby fever, and it’s only a matter of time before the entire house is afflicted. “Shit…”

“So you have to be the strong one, Eddie.”

“Oh, god,” he whines with pinched brows. “Why does it have to be me?”

“Because I saw him hold a baby today.”

“…And this is a bad thing?”

“Of course, it’s a bad thing! My hormones went crazy, okay? It’s like my brain stopped functioning, and I started thinking with my ovaries or something! All human instinct told me to lay down and procreate the second we got home!”

Eddie laughs to himself. “Are you sure it was human instinct, or was it just you on a normal Wednesday?”

“I’m being serious, Eddie,” you tell him, a sudden solemnity to your features. “You have to put your foot down whenever Steve talks about it because I will cave.”

“Alright, alright, have some Barbie cereal and settle down,” he tells you with a playful grin.

He offers you the box and you pout for a moment before sticking your hand into it and pulling out several red and purple butterfly pieces.

The boy wraps an arm around you with his free hand. He pulls you closer and noses at the crown of your head. You sigh as you relax into him. 

“I’ll take care of it, okay? I actually have the perfect idea.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” you waver through a mouthful of cereal.

“Don’t worry about it,” he lilts with a grin, smacking a kiss to your forehead. “Let me take care of it.”

┄

You and Steve are tangled in bedsheets, both slowly rousing but trying desperately to go back to sleep. 

You’re laying on your stomach, face smushed into the pillow you clutch to your head. Steve lays halfway on top of you — his legs knotted with yours, arm splayed over your back, and softly snoring in your ear. 

Both of you noticed the lack of Eddie’s presence, but chose not to linger on it too much, figuring he must’ve gone for a breakfast run. 

He returns hardly a moment after the thought of him crosses your mind. You hear the door open and shut again, then the shouts of your names entwined with a muffled barking.

You groan at the intrusion on your sleep.

Steve huffs and shifts against you, voice gruff with fatigue as he wonders: “Why do I hear a dog?”

The mixture of confusion and subtle knowing has you both shuffling out of the bedroom and trudging into the living room.

You round the corner and find Eddie standing by the door with a rowdy goldendoodle bouncing at his feet. He’s trying hopelessly to undo its leash when the thing starts to squirm at the sight of you and Steve.

Eddie’s eyes flit to the both of you when he notices you standing across the room. A smile bursts like early morning sunshine on his face. “Surprise!” he beams.

The metal of the leash clicks when he finally gets it unbuckled. The dog dashes your way, all but jumping into Steve and then spinning in circles with excitement as it tries to figure out who to accept attention from. 

“You got us a dog?” the boy wonders, head cocked back to dodge the thing as it licks at his chin.

“You said you wanted a baby,” Eddie shrugs. “So, I got you a baby.”

“This is so not what a meant,” the boy grouses in response, though he’s got his arms wrapped around the dog like he’s hugging it. “I mean, it’s not even a baby— it’s huge.”

“The woman at the shelter said he was eight months old. And he is a he, so stop calling him it.”

You crouch beside Steve, scratching the dog behind his ear. He pants with his tongue sticking out, almost looking like he’s smiling. It makes you smile too. 

“We don’t even have dog food. Or toys. Or a bed,” you stress. “What are we even gonna name it?”

“Well, I took care of exactly one of those things,” Eddie lilts with a grin. “They only had that gross artificial shit at the grocery store, but they did have some badass collars and an engraving machine, so…”

You and Steve peek through the dog’s golden curls and find a black band with silver spikes dotted around the neck. “Super metal, huh?” you hear himEdiejoke as you reach for the dangled heart pendant handing around the collar.

“…Ozzy?” you recite.

“See what I mean?” he beams. “Metal.”

[nanawritesit]

Your Highness - Sanji x Reader: Part Three (Final Part)

PART ONE PART TWO

plot: you’re a runaway princess bride who finds her way into the straw hat crew. you expected one hell of an adventure, but you never expected to fall for the head chef. things get even more complicated when your father, the king, and your ex-fiancé send their troops after the going merry. now you must choose between surrendering to save your crew and being with the only man you’ve ever truly loved. but of course, the straw hat crew isn’t going to let you go without a fight. especially sanji.

—————

A singular tear rolled down your cheek and splashed onto the skirt of your new wedding gown. Although it was an exact replica of the one you wore a few months ago, it felt much more constricting this time. The corset was cinched so tight that you could hardly breath unless you stood up perfectly straight. Part of you hoped that if you slouched, one of the wires might pierce through the fabric and stab you in the stomach, causing you to bleed to death. It seemed an easier fate than the one that awaited you.

Your ladies’ maids were all scurrying about, putting the final touches on your wedding look. You tried to keep a brave face for them, but your mask was beginning to crack. You couldn’t stop thinking about how Sanji had fallen to his knees when you left him, and that helpless look on Luffy’s face. Leaving them was the hardest thing you ever had to do, but at least it was better than watching them get killed.

How wonderful it would have been to spend the rest of your life on the straw hat crew, fighting alongside your dearest friends. You could’ve spent an eternity playing their princess. But all the wishing and hoping and loving you did couldn’t keep you from being yanked back into the role you were born into. And worst of all, it cost you the only man you’d ever truly loved.

Now you were about to walk down the aisle, and it absolutely killed you that Sanji wouldn’t be waiting for you at the altar.

“Your highness?” one of your maids interrupted your thoughts. “May I place your tiara on your head?”

You flinched at the use of your title. It would never feel the same being called “your highness” ever again.

“Yes, go right ahead.” you mumbled, shifting to cross your legs. Except you couldn’t, because they were chained to the chair beneath you.

You groaned, stomping your heel on the ground. “Father is relentless, isn’t he?”

Once your maids were done getting you ready, they all exited the room and sent in your father, just as they were instructed to do. You weren’t to be left alone for even a second, even though you were literally chained to your chair.

“Ah, there’s my princess.” your father beamed as he entered the room. “You make a beautiful bride.”

You gave him a strained fake smile. “Wonderful. My only job in life is complete.”

“Don’t be silly, dear. You’ll also have to give birth to at least ten children.” he chuckled cruelly, leaning down to unlock the chains around your ankles.

You bit your tongue angrily. You wanted to kick the heel of your shoe straight through his eye. But you’d probably be thrown in the dungeon if you did, and no one would be on your side during your trial. You hated having the king as your father.

He helped you up out of your chair, then grabbed your shoulders and looked at you intensely. “I hope you understand who you belong to now. If you try to run away again…”

“You don’t have to worry about that, father.” you explained apathetically. “I have nothing else to live for now.”

“Good.” he grinned, linking his arm with yours. “Let’s go give you away.”

Your father led you down the long hallway to the doors of the chapel. As they opened for you, you could feel your soul splitting in half inside of you. Your guests all looked so happy, while you were fighting back sobs and focusing solely on placing one foot in front of the other.

As you reached the end of the aisle and your father lifted your veil off your face, you felt as if you might collapse onto the floor. But you just held your head up high, no sign of sorrow on your features. You weren’t going to let anyone see you be weak.

The priest began the service. You glanced over at your fiancé, who in contrast looked absolutely thrilled to be there next to you. You could tell he couldn’t wait to push you around and force you to be a perfect wife for him.

The priest was instructed to make the service as short as possible, in order to minimize the amount of time you could possibly run away. “Do you, Princess Y/N, take the Prince to be your lawfully wedded husband, as long as you both shall live?”

You froze. Your brain was telling you to say “I do,” but your heart was fighting against it. It felt like the air was sucked straight out of your lungs, preventing you from speaking.

“Say it.” your fiancé hissed through gritted teeth.

You gulped. “I…”

“Stop!” a voice called out, echoing against the chapel walls. Everyone immediately gasped and whipped their heads around, including you. Your heart stopped as you saw who the voice had come from. It was Sanji, power-walking up the aisle with the rest of the straw hat crew trailing in behind him.

“Sanji!” you cheered, dropping your bouquet and running to embrace him. You practically leaped into his arms, to which he caught you and twirled you around, a wide smile on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t think I was going to lose my princess without a fight, did you?” he smirked, taking your veil off and throwing it across the room.

“Guards! Seize them!” your father ordered, standing up in his pew. In an instant, the guards were encroaching upon your crew. They all readied their weapons, attacking them upon confrontation.

“Y/N!” Zoro called out. You looked over to him, and he tossed you one of his swords. “Take this, and escape through the back. The ship is waiting in the port. We’ll be there as soon as we take care of these guys.”

You nodded, turning around to exit the chapel through the acolyte’s wing. As you exited the chapel, it was a straight shot through one long hallway out of the castle. You began sprinting down the hallway as fast as you could, picturing your freedom at the end of it.

Halfway down however, a presence emerged from the door behind you. You stopped in your tracks as you glanced behind you, gasping as you saw your father.

“I must say, your friends are better fighters than I thought.” he sneered, walking towards you with cold, calculated steps.

“Just let me go father.” you demanded, backing away from him. “I’m never going to be the person you want me to be.”

“Let you go?” he scoffed. “You belong to me. You’re either going to do as I say, or kneel in pieces.” He suddenly flipped open his cloak and revealed a sword on his hip, unsheathing it from its holder and brandishing it at you.

Without thinking, you held your sword out straight in front of you and assumed a fighting stance. In an instant, you and your father were swept up in a duel, clunking your swords against one another’s’ and spinning around the room.

“I must say, you’re a phenomenal swordsman.” your father grunted. “It is in your genetics after all.”

You scoffed. “It has nothing to do with you. I learned from Zoro.”

He furrowed his brow. “Who’s Zoro?”

“The world’s greatest swordsman.” you practically spat. In the midst of your father’s confusion, you spun around, kicking against the wall to jump up on a nearby table, landing with perfect balance. Using your high ground to your advantage, you kicked your father in the chest, causing him to fall to the ground flat on his back and drop his sword. You held the blade of your sword against his throat threateningly.

“Please, don’t… you win.” the King pleaded, holding up his hands in surrender.

“How do I know you won’t come after me again?” you demanded, pressing the blade even further to his flesh.

“You have my honor as a king.” he whimpered, trembling slightly.

“Give me your ring.” you ordered. “So that wherever I go, no one will ever bring me back here.”

He slid his ring off his finger and handed it to you. You placed it on your own finger and backed away from him slowly.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he sat up. “I suppose you’re not a princess after all.”

“I am a princess, father.” you told him with a satisfied smile. “I’m just not yours.”

And with that, you took off through the back doors of the palace, seeing the crew leaving through the front at the same time.

“Guys! Wait up!” you called out, running up to them.

They all turned around in surprise.

“Y/N? We thought you’d be back at the ship by now.” Nami questioned, an amused smile on her face.

“I had to tie up some loose ends.” you smirked, holding your hand up to showcase your fathers’ ring. Everyone’s’ eyes widened at the sight of it.

“Is that…” Sanji began, holding your hand to inspect it.

“My father’s ring.” you finished with a proud grin. “I fought him for it, and I won.”

“Yes! I knew you could do it!” Zoro beamed, patting you on the shoulder supportively. You swore it was the happiest you’d ever seen him.

You nodded excitedly. “This whole time I was worried I wasn’t going to be any good in a fight. But after taking on a king, I’m pretty confident in my skills.

“Well, now that there’s nothing standing in your way, are you reading to be our princess again?” Luffy asked with a hopeful smile.

“Of course I am, captain!” you squealed, causing everyone to enclose you in a huge group hug.

“Three cheers for the princess of the Going Merry!” Ussop cheered.

—————

Once the ship was back on the sea, you had gone into Sanji’s room with him for a moment alone.

“I can’t even begin to describe how thrilled I am to have you back.” he sighed, enveloping you in a tight embrace as soon as the door shut behind you.

“You don’t know how good it feels to be back.” you replied, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I was so relieved when you burst through those doors.”

Sanji smiled, leaning back to look you in the eye. “Well, it only took us about fifteen minutes to decide that we were going after you. Speaking of which, did we prove to you that we can handle ourselves in a fight?”

“Yes, you did indeed.” you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I hope I did the same?”

He nodded admiringly. “You didn’t even really need us to save you. You won your own freedom.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” you told him. His face broke out in a huge grin as he leaned down to kiss you. You met him halfway, and as soon as your lips connected, it felt like all was right in your world again.

“Please don’t ever leave me again.” Sanji requested in a voice barely above a whisper, his forehead still pressed against yours. He was squinting his eyes, brows furrowed in desperation.

“I promise I won’t. And this time, I mean it.” you replied. He then kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands moving up from your waist to cup your face. You brought one hand up into his golden locks for stability, then brushed your tongue against his lips. He allowed it to pass by slipping his own tongue along your lips, the two of you now fully immersed in each other.

“I love you, Y/N.” he told you breathlessly between kisses. “Every single part of you.”

“I love you too Sanji.” you told him, practically gasping for air. “More than anything else in this world.”

He began kissing down your neck. “You look beautiful in a wedding dress, you know that?”

You giggled, tightening your grip on his hair as he nipped lightly at your skin. “You always think I look beautiful.”

“Because it’s always true.” he winked, going back up to kiss your lips. He deepened it slightly, then bit your lip at the end, releasing it from between his teeth before looking you in the eye once more. “Still, it’d be a shame to waste such a beautiful dress.”

You chuckled. “What are you saying, Sanji?”

He smirked, then grabbed your hands tenderly in his. He started lowering himself to the ground, kneeling before you on one knee. Your eyes widened as you realized what was happening.

“Y/N… From the day I first met you, I have been absolutely enamored with you.” he began, happy tears pooling in his pale blue eyes. “You continue to surprise me every single day with your strength, kindness, and never ending talents. You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met, and I would be honored if…” He then pulled a box out of his pocket, opening it to reveal a ring. “If we could spend the rest of our lives together?”

You stared at him blankly for a moment, before nodding profusely. For a moment you couldn’t find any words. He just looked at you expectantly, a playful grin on his face. He gestured his hand impatiently, causing you to giggle.

“Yes, yes, of course I’ll marry you Sanji!” you finally blurted out, tackling him onto the ground.

He laughed as you did so, wrapping his arms around you tightly and kissing the top of your head. “Give me your hand, love.”

You did as he asked, and he slipped the ring onto your finger. You admired it, wincing at how beautiful it was.

“How did you even afford a ring?” you asked him, propping an elbow up to lean your head against.

“I got help from a friend.” he grinned, reaching into his pocket once again. He pulled out a letter and handed it to you. You furrowed your brow in confusion, opening it up to read it.

“To my little poetry princess,

I would like to begin by stating just how unbelievably proud of you I am. I always knew you would do great things, ever since you were a child. You had a spark in you that I knew would get you through any challenges you could ever face, and that one day you would have the great life of adventure you so desired.

While I will be sad to see you go, it brings me great comfort to know that you’ll be in the hands of someone like Sanji. I’ve only met him once, and that was to set up your rescue. But the way he spoke of you! I have never in all my years heard a man talk so fondly of a lady. He obviously cares for you tremendously. I know he’ll make a wonderful husband. This ring has been in my family for generations, and I would like you to have it, as you’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a daughter.”

You should be incredibly proud of yourself, my dear. Not many princesses have the courage to stand up for themselves. To chase after what they truly want in this world. To say they’re not happy with the part they’ve been assigned. You are truly special, princess, and it’s been my great honor raising you these past twenty years. Should you ever find yourself in Dacovia again, I should like to receive a visit from you and your husband. Oh, and do write often!

Love,

Your Governess”

You sniffled and wiped away the stray tear that hung at the corner of your eye. “So she was the one who got you guys into the castle?”

Sanji nodded with a smirk. “I told you, your loved ones will always want the best for you.”

You jumped on him once again, catching him off guard but making him chuckle nonetheless. You began attacking his face in kisses, not being able to hold back your affection.

As you ran out of energy, you sighed and laid back down on the floor next to him, holding his hand gingerly. “I can’t wait to spend forever with you.”

He smiled that perfect smile of his, kissing the back of your hand. “I’m going to make you so happy, your highness.”

“I already am.” you told him. “As long as you’re here next to me.”

—————

TAGS:

@genshingeeksworld @gg-trini @sinmp @mitsureigen @fanficwriter5 @sophiaj650 @number-0-iz @tr4shygrrl @ren-ni @secretlife028 @sapphireonline @seodami

[ahhnini]

FLUFFTOBER 2024 - 10.5 rafe cameron

pumpkin patch date!

flufftober masterlist

the smell of maple and hay hit your nose as you entered the local farmer’s market. seeing barrels of pumpkins in the distance, your eyes sparkle as you drag rafe down the aisle of vendors. “slow down, baby,” he smiles, “it’s not gonna disappear.”

reaching the orange wonderland, you take in the atmosphere. on the right, you see truck stands selling caramel popcorn, cotton candy, and other sweet treats. on the left are ticket booths for the rides sprinkled around the patch.

you begin by eating a caramel apple. sitting down on one of the park benches, you bite into the sweet fruit, rafe smiling at you like a puppy. he softly chuckles, wiping off caramel that fell to the side of your mouth. “you want a bite, rafe?” he shakes his head, “all yours, baby.”

he holds your hand, guiding you to the array of pumpkins on the floor. “do you wanna take one home?” he pulls you closer to him, feeling the chilly air hit the tip of your nose. you hum before replying, “it’s okay, rafe. they look heavy.” rafe shrugs before going up to one of the pumpkins on the dirt, bending his knees and lifting it up to his hips. “not that heavy,” you chuckle, playfully rolling your eyes. “I get it, you’re strong. but I don’t wanna take one home, I wouldn’t know what to do with it,” he puts the pumpkin down on the ground, dusting off his hands, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“excuse me!” a little girl taps the back of your leg. “yes?” you reply, bending down to her level. she has a slight pout on her lips, her voice soft, “I have a school project I have to do, it’s for art class,” she holds up a worksheet and crayons, “I was wondering if I could draw a picture of you two on the pumpkins!” she beams. glancing over towards rafe, he nods his head, “of course you can. where do you want us to sit?” “on top of the hay, please! I want to have the pumpkins as a background,” little feet run to the hay bales, you both smile at her as you sit down. “just stay still!”

“done!” her little voice shouts, “alright!” rafe enthusiastically replies, sticking out his hand to high five her. “do you guys wanna see?” she turns the paper around to reveal colored drawings of the two of you, pumpkins in the background, and little red hearts drawn all over.

taglist - @nemesyaaa @julie123456897 @mfdoomdickrider @grxnde-dwt @maybankslover @littlelamy @rafeeekam @xcinnamonmalfoyx

(if username is not highlighted please turn on mentions! <3)

[angstylittleguy]

Broken

The first time Dalton shrinks in front of Bennett. The experience leaves him injured and mistrusting of Bennett, who doesn't quite understand what he's done wrong.

tw: anxiety, uncomfortable touching

character context: Dalton is a size-shifter whose height is affected by his emotions. Bennett frequently gets stuck in time loops and the only way to get the loop to end is for him to survive the day.

word count: 2.1k

-> In Which Everything Goes Wonderfully Wrong masterpost link: Here

-> character introductions and moodboards: Here

Dalton felt an itch begin to spread across his skin. It started on his chest and it felt like his heart was being squeezed. He took in a sharp breath, gaining the attention of Bennett. His eyes snapped over to him.

“You okay?”

The itch was spreading, moving down his arms and his legs. Not now, not now, Dalton thought, his heartbeat spiking. He felt like he couldn’t catch his breath.

Bennett was staring at him with concern, briefly glancing around the library to see if anyone else had noticed his panic. Dalton’s hands were on both sides of his head and he was bent over the table. 

He had to focus. Swallow down the itch. This could not happen right now, not in a crowded place like this. Not in front of Bennett. 

Bennett reached a hand out to him. “Dude, what’s going on? Are you alright?”

The unexpected touch on Dalton’s arm pulled him out of his concentration, and he felt himself drop down a couple of inches. Once it started, there was no containing the shift in size. Without a word, Dalton stood from the table and rushed to the nearest aisle of bookshelves. 

It was just his luck, Dalton thought. The university library was a horrible place for him shrink down. What was worse, was that it was happening in front of Bennett. He had only just met the guy a couple days ago, and he was one of the only two people that knew about his abilities. Rory had left them alone for just a measly few minutes to go and find a book she needed, and now she wouldn’t be around while Dalton was small and unprotected.

He reached an isolated corner in the back of the library—just in time, too—and Dalton felt the world shift before his eyes as his stomach dropped. He fell to his knees in an attempt to lessen the temporary vertigo. With labored breaths, Dalton looked up, seeing the shelves tower high above his head. He was about half the height of a regular-sized novel right now, and he was out in the open for anyone to see. Anxiety gripped at his throat. 

Thundering footsteps caught his attention, and without a moment’s hesitation, he sprinted to the nearest bookshelf in an effort to conceal himself. 

Bennett slowly came down the aisle. “Dalton?” he called, “Where’d you go?”

Dalton shouldn’t say anything. He shouldn’t reveal his hiding space. He’d never been around Bennett small. He would be completely at his mercy. He had no idea how Bennett would react. 

Then again, Dalton was in the middle of a public library at his university. Anybody could find him, and when he was this vulnerable there would be nothing he could do if they decided to do anything to him.

His safest option would be with Bennett, no matter how unfamiliar that territory is.

Dalton peeked his head out from his hiding place. “I—I’m here,” he called. He hated how his voice trembled.

Bennett’s eyes shot down to the ground, and Dalton watched in anxiety-riddled silence as he waited for Bennett to spot him. 

He hated the fascination that took over Bennett’s features when their eyes locked. Dalton couldn’t help but to take a couple of steps back as Bennett lowered himself to the floor. 

“Holy shit!” A smile crept onto Bennett’s face. “You’re so little.”

Dalton flinched at the volume of his voice, stumbling back a couple more steps. He was nearly totally concealed by the shadows of the bookshelf, and frankly, he felt much safer in there. Even if Bennett hadn’t done anything, he couldn’t help that his flight instinct was screaming at him to run. 

“Keep your voice down,” Dalton told him, his own voice hushed. 

“What was that?” Bennett asked, leaning forwards. “I can hardly hear you.”

He was close. He was too close. “Step back,” Dalton said, voice brittle. He held out a hand as if that would do anything. 

Dalton couldn’t pinpoint the expression that painted Bennett’s face at his words, but he didn’t like the way his eyes softened. “Hey, man,” Bennett said, “it’s just me.”

Yeah, no shit. Dalton did not know Bennett. They had only just met. He had no idea how Bennett would act around him at this size. “I need you to go get Rory,” Dalton told him.

“Why? What’s she going to do that I can’t?”

She would know how Dalton was feeling. Her abilities made sure of that. And even though he would never wish this kind of anxiety on his worst enemy, having someone know exactly what was going through his mind would be better at handling him small compared to someone that Dalton only knew as… sporadic.

“No—nothing,” Dalton responded, too stressed to argue. “Just, we need to get out of here. Like, right now.”

“Okay,” Bennett nodded. “I can handle that.”

He reached out a hand and scooped Dalton into a fist. 

The claustrophobia was immediate. Dalton felt like he was being squeezed—no, he was being squeezed—and the air was quickly stolen from his lungs. His ribs felt like they were going to shatter. He was going to tell Bennett that he was holding him too tight, but his world was lurched forwards as they took a giant step forward. 

Dalton wanted to yell, wanted to demand that Bennett put him back down because he regretted his request to leave immediately, but the fear of being heard (or worse, seen) by others made him keep his mouth shut. 

“I’m gonna put you in my hoodie pocket,” Bennett said as they approached the table they had been working at. “So, I can grab our stuff.”

Without warning he was shoved into his front hoodie pocket. Dalton fought an unmanly yelp as he scrambled for purchase in the fabric.

It was hot, it was tight, it was moving, and there was nothing Dalton could do about it. Where was Bennett taking him? Was he going to tell Rory what was happening? Or would Dalton be stuck with Bennett alone until he was able to grow to his normal size?

The walk felt much too long, or much to short, Dalton couldn’t decide. Bennett’s calloused hands found their way around him again, and Dalton was forced back out into the open. His head spun as Bennett adjusted him right-side up, and Dalton was then—rather carelessly—dropped onto a hard surface. He hit hard, not prepared for the drop, and fell on his side, a hard ough! escaping his lips on impact. He propped himself up on one elbow as he took in his surroundings, afraid to find out where Bennett had taken him.

He was in a dorm room, and Dalton could only guess it was Bennett’s. It was messy—clothes scattered on the floor, loose papers sprawled across the surface of the desk—and as he looked around it seemed that Bennett caught on to what he was thinking.

“Uh, sorry about the mess.” He began to pick up his clothes and throw them into his wardrobe. “I wasn’t really expecting company.”

Dalton, finally free from his fabric prison, took this moment to catch his breath. Not being Bennett’s center of attention and being high off the floor was a lot better than what had happened to him so far.

He couldn’t bring himself to stand just yet. His stomach was still lurching from the jostling movements and his legs were weak with anxiety. Dalton watched Bennett shove his clothing into his wardrobe with enough force to snap Dalton in half at this size if Bennett felt like it. He needed to get up, needed to put himself somewhere he felt a little safer. 

Dalton sat up, the pain around his ribs almost immediate. They felt bruised—maybe worse—and Dalton knew instantly that coming here was a bad idea. He should have known that Bennett was just too curious about his abilities, and that nothing good could come from this little unwanted adventure. 

Bennett sat down at his desk, towering over Dalton’s pitiful form.

“So, now what?” Bennett asked, harshly propping his elbow up on the desk and cradling his chin in his hand. “How do we make you big again?”

Dalton swallowed thickly as he looked up at Bennett, unable to hold eye contact any longer before he forced his head to look back down. “Time,” he choked out. 

Bennett hummed, the fingers of his free hand appearing out of nowhere and grabbing hold of one of Dalton’s arms. His forearm was pinched between two fingers, squeezed just a little too tight. He was then forced to turn his arm over as Bennett examined his too-small limb. “What are you doing?” Dalton asked him, forcing his voice not to tremble.

“Just looking at you,” Bennett answered. “You’re just so small it’s actually insane.”

There was a lump in Dalton’s throat. “Please—please let go.”

“Relax, dude. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

It was too late for that, Dalton wanted to say. But he kept his mouth shut and let Bennett continue to gawk at him. He just prayed that he got bored soon. 

“Your hands are so tiny,” Bennett said. “They’re like the size of my fingertip.” 

His fingers moved down the length of Dalton’s arm, pinching his hand as he marveled at Dalton’s size. Bennett chuckled. “I can’t help but to laugh,” Bennett told him, “this is just so crazy.”

He then yanked on his arm and Dalton lurched forward. His ribs screamed with pain and without a hand to catch himself with, Dalton rolled sideways onto his shoulder. He hit the surface of the desk with an oof.

“Sorry, man.” Bennett was still chuckling, oblivious to Dalton’s discomfort. “I just…” His voice trailed off. “Wow.” 

With each prod and poke and unintentional careless action, Dalton felt more and more broken. Tears began to well in his eyes—tears that Bennett didn’t notice due to his curiosity that overpowered his sensitivity—and a sob caught in his throat. 

Dalton bit his lip, struggling with the internal conflict of wanting Bennett to understand and fearing his own vulnerability. Fear left him frozen where he fell, head and shoulder pressed against the hard surface of the desk. Bennett’s touch never relinquished.

As Bennett’s finger lingered on his side, Dalton’s breath hitched, the ache in his ribs intensifying. He wanted to speak up, to tell Bennett to be more careful, but fear held his tongue. 

A finger ran down the length of Dalton’s side with the intention to forcefully lift him from his spot on the desk. Finally, a single tear rolled down Dalton’s cheek. A choked sob escaped through his lips, and Bennett’s touch froze in its place. 

Dalton swallowed hard, his whole-body tensing as Bennett’s finger pressed against his bruised ribs again. “Bennett, please,” Dalton managed to choke out, his voice trembling.

Bennett paused, noticing the fear in Dalton’s eyes. “Oh,” he said quickly, withdrawing his hand. “Did I hurt you?”

Dalton nodded silently, his chest tight with anxiety. 

“I—I’m sorry.” Bennett was cupping his hands together, holding them close to his chest. “I didn’t realize.”

Dalton didn’t move for a few long moments. He allowed himself to cry. To grieve for a loss of normalcy that he hadn’t realized he lost. He waited for the stinging sensation in his ribs to mellow out enough for him to sit up, to look at Bennett with red, tear-stained eyes and demand that he go and get Rory so this nightmare can come to an end. 

Bennett was already crying. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I wasn’t thinking and—”

“That’s the problem,” Dalton replied bitterly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t think.”

A silence settled between them, thick and heavy with unspoken words. 

“I’m so sorry, Dalton,” Bennett finally said softly, his voice tinged with regret. “I’ll try to do better. Next time—”

“There is no next time,” Dalton interrupted. “Please, just call Rory.”

Without a word, Bennett turned away from the desk. He dialed a number on his phone and put it to his ear. 

[marvelobsessed134]

I really need for you to make another fic for CEO! Barbieeeeeeeee!! Plsssss!! I begging u, it's so good I really can't get it out of my head!! You really act it uppppppp!! I just love it so much.

-Makayla<3

Trophy Wife

A/n: I’m sooo glad you love it as much as I do! Here is the long awaited next part

CEO!Barbie masterlist

Pairings: Margot!Barbie x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, dom!Barbie, sub!reader, mommy kink, housewife kink, fingering (r receiving), strap on (r receiving)

You and Barbie decided that the two of you couldn’t wait to get married so you decided to have a quick elopement in Vegas. You were in a pink satin dress while she was in a pink suit.

The blonde watched you walk down the aisle, and she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face seeing you dressed so beautifully. You were completely hers now.

After the two of you said your I do’s, you shared a passionate kiss before running out of the small chapel with your family and friends clapping and cheering.

You all went to one of the restaurants at your hotel to celebrate, laughing and clinking glasses together as you lived in the moment of complete bliss. You gambled a little bit-I mean, duh it’s Vegas how could you not?-before bidding goodnight to everyone and heading up to your hotel suite. Though you knew that it wasn’t going to be goodnight yet, since you knew exactly what was in store for you.

In no time your wife had you in just your white lingerie bent over the desk in the room. She caressed your ass gently, “So beautiful and finally all mine.” Barbie ripped your panties down which made you flinch in surprise.

The blonde ran a long, slender finger through your folds before entering two of them inside, curling them up to hit your g spot and thrusting them in and out at a pace that had you quivering.

“Still so tight despite all the times I’ve fucked your little cunt.” The CEO moaned as she felt your velvety walls contracting around her fingers, “Even after I fucked a baby into you.” You moaned out at the memory of the day Barbie had bought a strap that had real cum inside it, so the two of you could make a baby and still have fun.

You were a moaning mess by now, your mascara running down your cheeks as your wife continued her assault on your pussy, talking both dirty and sweet at the same time. Praising you and degrading you. You clenched around her fingers and cried out as you came, releasing all over her digits.

Barbie pulled them out and sucked them clean, “Strip and get on the bed.” She commanded and you obeyed, taking off your bra, garters, and stockings before laying on the bed. She disappeared into the bathroom for a moment before coming out completely naked with the strap attached to her perfectly.

“I want you to ride me, baby. Can you do that?”

“Yes, mommy.” You got on top of her once she laid down and sunk down on her strap. You moaned at the stretch, it’s always so satisfying.

You braced your hands on her stomach as you bounced up and down, her cock repeatedly hitting your g spot.

“Such a good wife, taking my cock so well.” The blonde praised as she watched you take her strap deep inside your tight cunt.

“Sooo good, mommy!” You cried.

“Yeah? I want this everyday, from now on. Everytime I come home from work I want you on your knees ready to get my cock nice and wet for me to slip it inside you. You like that, baby?”

“Oooh, yes mommy. Will be your perfect little housewife!”

“That’s my girl.”

You continued to chase your high until you released your juices all over the toy with a loud cry. Barbie pulled you off of her and took her strap off, putting it towards your mouth, “Suck it clean for the next round, princess.”

[morose-melodies]

high-school sweethearts|yandere! ajax x reader

summary: ajax, an exchange student, was your friend in high-school, who dreamed of taking you back home to snezhnaya with him <3

content warning: mentions of murder, abduction????

your body met the ground with an unexpected thud.

"I fell again," you mumbled, your palms scraped from you trying to not hit the ground, just as you were trying to stand up, a pair of hands helped you up.

"heh, I saw you fall," ajax snickered, before backing away slightly, as you began to examine your body for any more injuries.

"I can't do this anymore," you said, your voice shaky as you look down to your bloody knee, "don't give up so soon, (y/n), you've barely even begun."

ajax kneeled in front of you, his hand taking hold of your ankle as he leaned towards your wound, at first you were unsure if what he was doing and then, he licked it.

his tongue ran across the wound slowly and you winced, placing a hand at the top of his head, prepared to push him away, "stop that... it's weird," you grumbled as you pushed him away.

"(y/n), dont you know that spit heals wounds faster?" ajax gave you a faint smile as he stood up, his tongue running across his bottom lip.

"I know... just don't do it again," you looked at your palm as ajax went to grab the skateboard you fell off of, "alright! how bout' we go get something to eat?"

you paused to think about it, glancing up to see the sky was darkening and you were supposed to be home before it was dark, "I don't know..."

"aw, come on, (y/n), I'll make it quick... it's just that I'm starving, I don't th-"

"okay... we have to be quick about it though... my parents will be upset if I'm not home soon," you shuffled towards ajax, the wound in your knee throbbed in pain.

"come on! we don't have all night~" ajax took your hand into his and began leading you to the nearest convenience store, his thumb massaging your hand all the way until you entered the building.

even after the two of you entered, ajax wouldn't let go, his hold on you tightened, you grumbled as you tugged your hand back, just for him to hold your hand tighter.

"hmm... how bout' you get first picks?" ajax smiled, releasing your hand and watching you roam up and down the aisles, he needed to know what you liked eating, so he could get as much of it as possible before bringing you to snezhnaya wi-

"I'm tired... and not really hungry," you leaned on the wall, you knee slightly bent as you waited for ajax to pick his food.

"(y/n)," he whined as he approached you, "you've gotta eat... even if you are tired, I can't have you collapsing on me at school."

you shifted to the side, towards a bag of chips and reached out to take them, "you have to buy them for me," your lips twitched into a slight smile as ajax nodded in agreement.

you grabbed the bag of chips and ajax took note of the name of the chips. he followed after you, watching as you pulled the hood of your jacket over your head.

ajax took a short stride towards you and grabbed your arm, "I'll buy anything you want... don't steal anything," he hissed before releasing your arm, watching as you lowered your head.

ajax then picked his food and the two of you reached the register and payed for the chips and left. the two of you walked down the sidewalk, towards your house where he'd drop you off.

ajax wrapped an arm around you and you stilled, narrowing your eyes at him as you pushed away from him.

you never really liked public affection- you never really liked affection at all. it made ajax wonder about you, why don't you like affection?

it was completely dark out by the time you made it home, you thanked ajax before going in and calling it a day.

...

"stop coming here so early," you grumbled, your eyes barely open as you walked out the front door. "we gotta get to school early-" ajax began but you cut him off, asking, "why?"

"so we can catch up before class, of course," ajax said in a matter-of-fact tone and you said nothing in reply as the two of you began walking to school.

you weren't aware but... ajax had been staring at you throughout the whole walk, with hearts in his eyes.

once the two of you got to school, you went to class and sat down together in the back... but somthing was off.

"can I copy your homework?" you asked and ajax nodded as he pulled his homework from his bag and set it in front of you. you took it and copied it, being sure to add small mistakes to make it seem like your own work.

somthing was wrong...

you put your pencil down and looked over at ajax, who was staring blankly at you, "do you have... candy or somthing, I'm hungry," you asked and ajax nodded, slowly, almost suspiciously,

"what? you didn't eat breakfast or somthing?" he asked as he pulled a bag of chips- your favorite chips, out of his bag and passed them off to you. he made sure to bring you somthing to munch on during the day, so you had a reason to come to him.

you mumbled a weak, "thank you," before you began eating the chips. the classroom was almost empty. you and ajax came to school earlier than most students, so, of course, it was almost empty,

even then, something felt wrong...

you paused and looked up at ajax, pulling your hand out of the chip bag, a confused look on your face, and ajax smiled, as he wrapped his hand around your wrist and licked the chip dust off of your hand.

"hey, stop that!" you shivered in disgust as he pulled away, wiping your hands off, onto his pants before asking, "do we have an exam this week?"

childe nodded. his face flushed, as he stared down at his thigh- his thigh that you touched. he felt his body become warm, as his blood flow increased.

you felt yourself calm down, that's it? you had gotten all paranoid about a forgotten exam?

"did you take notes or something" you asked as you dragged another chip from the bag, and he nodded as he beg to take out his notes for you.

he sat his notes in front of you and watched intently as you flipped through the pages of his notebook, he couldn't wait to take you home with hi-

"stop lookin' at me like that... it's weird," you said, your eyes narrowed at ajax as his eyes widened, and he looked away, "heh, i must still be tired... didn't even notice I was staring at you," ajax laughed, nervously, hoping he wasn't making any odd face at you.

students began to come into class and ajax sighed, glancing over to you, to see you looking at him, "you said a while ago... you're going back to snezhnaya next month?"

"oh, yeah," and you'll be coming with me, "ill miss you, that's for sure," ajax made a kissy face at you, and you frowned at him.

"stop being so weird..." you said, before passing him his notebook, "... I'll miss you, too."

he felt his heart throb inside his chest, his blood flow increased and his face turn red. how could he possibly respond to that? you'll miss him? that clearly means you care about him... "I'll be back." he excused himself to the bathroom, to calm himself down.

...

no, somthing is wrong. somthing is truly wrong. somthing is very wrong.

somthing is wrong.

Jackson, one of your classmates, was found dead in the boys' bathroom.

and ajax was the murder.

you were sure of it and your heart felt tight. you had been avoiding him since Jackson's body was found.

you remember, during lunchtime, you were going to the bathroom and saw ajax walking out of the boys' bathroom... Jackson's body was found only five mintues after ajax left the bathroom.

... it couldn't possibly be a coincidence.

not to mention all those filthy comments ajax made about Jackson when finding out he'd been picking on you, "ill kill you, do you want me to?" "he won't dare get away with making fun of you."

it had to be ajax.

who else could it have been?

this was wrong...

you bit your lip, hard, as ajax approached you and stood beside you, standing extra close to you, all the students were told to stay in the auditorium until everything had been dealt with.

"what'd you have for lunch?" he asked. how could he? a student had just been murdered and he was asking about lunch.

"nothing."

"huh? why not?" he asked, as he began to unzip his beg, preparing to give you some chips to fill your stomach.

because I felt sick when realizing that you killed Jackson. "y'know... because someone just died, I don't fee-"

"ah, don't give me that, here," he handed you a bag of chips, "eat these."

you held the chips in your hand... what to do... who to tell... what to do...

your heart was beating fast and you felt sick to your stomach. you handed the chips back to ajax, "hm? you don't want em'? why not?" ajax questioned as he put them back into his bag.

... ah.

you know. you must know about what he did. well, there's no hiding it now. ajax grabbed your hand and pulled you through the crowd of students, ignoring your fussing.

the two of you made it to an empty hallway, but it didn't stop there, he took you past the hallways and led you out of the school, "whew, I think all the sadness in that auditorium was rubbin' off on you," he joked with a small chuckle.

you were stiff, as you stared at him.

"anyway, we're leaving," ajax pointed at the car in the parking lot, "that's our ride."

you shook your head, "no... I'm not going," you were scared of him, your best friend. "huh? what do you mean... you're not going?" ajax frowned, as he glanced back to the car that was coming close to him.

you were silent, as you took, small, unnoticed steps away from him. "hey, where do you think you're going?" ajax grabbed you after you had stepped noticeably far away from him, "come on," he said as he opened the car door and got in, and gently tugged you in.

you tried to pull away from him, but with one forceful tug, you were in the car and the door had closed.

the car had begun moving.

"no! I said I don't want to leave," you grabbed ajax's face and squeezed it, "I said I didn't want to leave."

ajax smiled, hard, as you squeezed his face, "I couldn't help myself any longer," he admitted, "I've thought about... taking you home with me for a long, long time now, (y/n)."

you stiffened and your eyes widened, "what?! I'm not going anywhere with you! whats wrong with you?!," you then tried to open the car door but instead you were hit with somthing which caused you to go limp.

...

you woke up to a cold breeze brushing past your cheek and a cold hand holding yours, "hey... hope you're not mad at me... sorry about hitting you so hard," you heard ajax speaking to you, his hand squeezing yours, he sighed, "really, I didn't mean to hit you so hard... i didn't even mean to hit you at all... it's, like, my hand just raised and hit you on its own."

your eyes opened to see that you were on a... ship!?

you tried to sit up and pull away but ajax was sitting beside you with his legs in your lap, "calm down.. I won't hurt you... i- I guess I was a little abrupt with things, huh? sorry about that... but I'm too far in to back out now," ajax said, as he let go of your hand and grazed your cheek, slowly.

"w-what? where are we goi- oh..." you realized what was happening and where you were going. you were going to snezhnaya with your murder of a best friend.

ajax moved his legs from over your lap and pressed his cheek against yours, "we're going home, together. my family's gonna love you, (y/n)."

[airbendertendou]

UNTiL YOU LOVE ME! ♥︎ sanemoa shoji

synopsis : it’s up to tsuji and shiba to watch after you — unofficially, but they made a silent promise to your older brother to make sure you’re safe in their care.

cw : todoroki!reader, called ducky / little duck, they call todo boss , shoji referred to as braid boy a lot

song inspo ; paparazzi by lady gaga

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

“You’ve scuffed your shoes, ducky.” You look down at said sneakers, seeing the streak of black across the lightened color. Tsuji raises an eyebrow over his sunglasses, tapping the edge of your shoe with his own. “Boss’ll be pissed.”

Shibaman tsks, tapping your shoulder playfully. “You just got those!”

You roll your eyes, trying to hold your smile and keep your face stern. “Why are you two more concerned about my shoes than me?”

It’s Shibaman who laughs first — a loud, rattling laugh that seems to shake the bus you’re on. Tsuji keeps quiet but grins, shaking his head as your own cackle builds up.

And then the bus is halted to a screeching stop.

Standing cautiously, two hands are held out to you silently. Stay here, they plead. Stay where it’s safe. We’ll check it out.

You do as they silently advise, peeking out of the bus window to see a crowd of high schoolers. You gulp, phone trembling in your hand as you send your brother a message you hope he receives.

“Oh, Todoroki!” A voice calls out. A breath leaves your parted lips, shaking the whole way through. “We’re just looking for your pal, Todoroki.”

Maybe you could distract them for a bit — cause chaos long enough for help to arrive. With that thought in mind, you and your newly scuffed shoes make your way down the empty bus aisle. Wobbly knees hinge until you’re standing on the last step.

It’s silent, all eyes on you as you land onto the street.

“Yes?” You say, poised and calm as if your heart isn’t racing in your chest. Shibaman is on your left instantly, his elbow nudging until your back is to the bus. Tsuji covers you both.

A voice creeps up, “who’s this?”

Your head is held high, chin pointed forward. “Todoroki. You were calling for me…?”

A boy — in a uniform your brother used to wear — steps through the crowd. His hair is braided into boxer braids, eyes narrow as he looks you over. “You. What do you know about Todoroki?”

You gulp. Tsuji is looking at you from the corner of his eye — nothing. Say nothing. You heed his warning, “why?”

A loud laugh — stinging and awful to your confidence — pierces through the quiet abruptly. The stranger claps, “what the hell is this? A joke?”

Braid boy holds a hand out, silencing him at once. His eyes haven’t left you — your own gaze has dropped to Shibaman’s shoes. “You. Why do you know Todoroki?”

“Brother,” it’s out before you can think, “he’s my brother.” Tsuji closes his eyes — Shibaman tenses even further. You raise your eyes to him, “what do you want with him?”

“Oh this is our lucky day!”

“A new toy to play with!”

“Todoroki? A brother?”

“Ducky.” Shibaman has leaned in to speak lowly in your ear. “When Tsuji says so, run. Until you get to town ; until you get to Oya. You run.”

“But—“

“Little duck,” Tsuji’s smile is weak ; submitted, “do as we say.”

Before you can move, arms are wrapped into your own. With a screech, you kick and wiggle as hard as you can. Tsuji lets out a yell, but is soon surrounded and fighting on his own. Shibaman frees you before another crowd is around him.

Warm, calloused hands grab you by the upper arm, pulling you from the fights. You yell out for your friends — this was an abush and they could be killed. Tsuji alreadys sounds weakened and you can no longer see Shibaman.

"Stay," it's breathed against your ear. You are turned around, away from the view of the fight and closer to the surrounding buildings. "Stay out of the fight. It's safe over here."

"Let me go!"

Your friends' pained yells echo in your ears, bouncing in and out of your thoughts. Braid boy stands in front of you now, his hands cupping your own as he places them over your ears as he watched the fight over your shoulder. His eyes meet yours, "they wanted to protect you, right? Stay here."

Tears well up into your eyes before you can stop them. Your lower lip wobbles — you can still hear the fight, muffled as it was. Braid boy softens at your tears, his shoulders drooping. "Oh, don't—"

"Your turn, cutie!"

"Hey!" A hand reaches, grasping at your bag before you're pulled away from it. Braid boy snarls — he's no longer the softened, tender boy you were staring at previously. "This one's off limits. Time to go."

Various groans of refusal are heard — braid boy's voice deepens. "I said time to go!"

As he leaves, his eyes meet your tear-stained ones one last time. His mouth parts, going to speak, before he shakes his head and simply leaves.

Your knees hit the concrete below you as you kneel between Shiba and Tsuji. Hiccuping, you shakily type a number on your phone. He picks up after the third ring. "Yosuke? I— there was an accident."

—— after the movie ——

Your brother leads you aimlessly, telling you about his recent fishing trip. He denies letting you meet this Odajima friend of his — must be a cute guy, then. You frown behind him, squinting with your arms crossed. "Are you leading me to a trap? I've broken Tsuji's nose before, you know."

"I remember," your brother lets out a bark of a laugh. Todoroki stuffs his hands in his pockets, "that was funny. You should do it again."

"To who? Fujio? Yasushi? Their reactions would be funny."

A throat is cleared in front of you, the sound of shoes shuffling against pavement paired with it. You look up, eyes widening. "Hello."

Braid boy stands in front of you, braids gone from his hair. It hangs loosely to his cheekbones, his shirt messily tucked in and arms stiffly at his sides. Your brother tilts his head, "you're early."

You whip your head his way, "you're friendly with this guy? After that fight he caused?"

"Well," Todoroki crosses his arms, "we came to an agreement."

Your eye twitches. "What sort of agreement, brother?"

The stranger clears his throat again. He bows at the waist, hair curtaining in front of him. "I owe you an apology, as well. We didn't know you'd be with the Oya boys. You shouldn't have seen that fight."

"I've seen other fights before," you speak stubbornly. Todoroki bumps your arm, giving you a stern look. You sigh, "okay. Apology accepted. Now what?"

He stands once more, twiddling with his fingers as he looks to the side. Todoroki lets out his own sigh, rolling his eyes. "Todoroki [Name], this is Sanemoa Shoji. Shoji thinks you're pretty and wants to take you out. Do you accept?"

Shoji frowns, "why so formal..."

"I—" you look over the boy once more, seeing his heavily pierced ears and bruises on his skin. Usually, you were kept away from any delinquents. But, if your brother was urging you towards this one...

"Sure," you say, "let's go on a date."

Todoroki scoots his glasses up, calm and friendly facade dropping as he glares Shoji's way. "Come back no later than nine tonight. I'll be timing you."

——♥︎——

this one has been drafted for longer than id like to admit teehee <3 thank you for reading, hope it was fun <<33 if youd like to b tagged / untagged in any HiGH&LOW content, let me know! ♡

🍓 H&L TAGLIST : @rouzuchan @yuken-gf @strxwberrychocolate @simpforchuchu @emperorsnero @cheshirecatuniverse @tiredlittlewriter @high-and-low-all-the-way

airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

[sunfleursgarden]

us against the world - lee juyeon

inspired by taylor swift’s champagne problems.

pairings: ex! juyeon x fem! reader

genre: angst! fluff (if you squint)

synopsis: After running away from his proposal, all Juyeon could ever think about was where it all went wrong. Showing up to your house with a heavy heart is something you weren’t ready for, but Juyeon is certain that he wants you in his life, you were simply hesitant.

warnings: angst! mentions of alcohol and blood, slight fluff (if you squint), few curse words are mentioned, somewhat forbidden love, juyeon calls you baby twice

word count: 2.7k words

note: OH MY GOD! this is my first ever publish on tumblr. i’ve been pondering a lot on whether to give this story a happy or sad ending, but hey, we’ll see... and by the way!! this is inspired by taylor swift’s champagne problems!! have fun reading !! (proofread once)

“Will you marry me?”

Splashing that tightly corked bottle of champagne, the high-spirited crowd gleamed in triumph, smiles plastered on their faces as they cheered the two of you on. His not-so-receptive relatives anticipated every minute whilst you were hesitant. You were unfathomable.

“I love you, Y/n. I’d like to spend the rest of my life loving and taking care of you.”

“Juyeon... What are you doing?” You mumbled. He was still down on one knee as he held a small velvet jewelry box. Juyeon gave you a sweet smile—a smile you know you didn't deserve.

“I'm sorry.” those were the last words you said. Juyeon’s eyebrows furrowed, confused about why you suddenly acted that way. You felt everyone’s gaze, your chest felt heavy. Staring at Juyeon, you gave him an apologetic look. He still couldn't process what was going on.

You had this forethought to run. The moment you ran, no one dared to move an inch. That moment screamed in silence. Running away from the person who desired to spend their life with you, you couldn’t prompt yourself to walk down that aisle carrying weight on your shoulders instead of flowers in your hands.

Guilt filled up your petrified heart. Absurd flashbacks start surrounding you, a champagne bottle in one hand, and a broken heart in the other. You’ve never been cognizant of how things developed into this. Perhaps you perceived that instances would change the second Juyeon’s once flexible plans became too vague and secretive for you to comprehend. You were always aware that you were preparing to get down on one knee, your friends even spoiled the surprise just for you, but you simply weren’t eager and ready for it. You and Juyeon were too different. The moment you dropped Juyeon's trembling hand as you two danced the night away, you knew you never deserved any of this.

As you ran whilst having blurry eyesight due to tears streaming down your face, it caused you to fall down the stairs and leave you bleeding on the floor. You could barely recall being put inside an ambulance and merely regained consciousness after hours of being inside the hospital. 

Juyeon was beside you the entire time. Yet you couldn’t stand that, knowing he's the reason why you broke down in the first place.

After you got discharged from the hospital, you never spoke to Juyeon again. You started to disregard his phone calls, block his texts, and ignore the constant knock on your door because you know damn well that it’s Juyeon.

He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve the life you're willing to offer.

But he’d rather be hurt by you over and over again than not having you at all.

Six months had gone by.

If there’s one thing that you’ve learned during your healing, it was that your feelings were like waves. At a certain point, you realize that you’ve fully moved on and the waves have subsided, albeit the next thing you know the waves become rogue, and you’re sobbing with your head in your hands, missing what no longer was.

It’s raining. The continuous pour of water droplets reminded you of your uncontrollable tears during the last six months. You had this thought creating space inside your brain for it to wander around, it kept on asking how he was. And as if the Gods have heard your mind’s calling, a knock was heard from the door.

Looking through the peek hole, it’s as if your heart stopped beating once you saw the person on the other side.

Lee Juyeon.

You swore that if this was a dream, you’d never sleep again if it meant reminiscing or recreating distant memories. Trying to pinch yourself, you cursed over and over again, knowing for a fact that this is certainly not one of those reveries.

It took everything in you to get your trembling hand towards the doorknob and open it to reveal a drenched and intoxicated Juyeon. He reeked of alcohol—which you could already tell considering him holding a bottle in his right hand. You hated the smell, you hated that his wet figure casually made the floor of your patio slippery, but most importantly—you hated having him here.

“Why are you here, Juyeon?” You asked, surprising yourself that you did not stutter. Juyeon’s eyes met yours and stayed there, he didn't even dare to move an inch.

‘No. Not those eyes. Don’t give me those eyes.’ you thought.

“Can we please talk?” You let out a sigh. If you had a dollar every time you heard those four words during the last six months, you could probably buy yourself a car.

“Stop it. Stop hurting yourself.”

“I’m not,” He responded, but his state right now tells you otherwise.

He’s been visiting you almost every week in spite of you ignoring him. He’s been texting you nonstop. He’s been showing up just when you thought that you've finally gotten over him.

It’s hard to let go of the person you love, but it’s even harder to hold onto something that can no longer render love. The only constant thing in the world is change, it’s inevitable. Who knew that along with the seasons, your feelings would change too?

Six months ago, you were still happy with Juyeon. Six months ago, you were still in this fairytale-like romance that never failed to sweep you off your feet. You never knew that things would indeed change for the worse.

That one night, that one forethought. It all turned into something bigger than you could possibly visualize. As he got down on one knee, thoughts and notions began to consume your fragile mind, drowning you in a sea of overthinking.

His parents never liked you. You would often feel his mother’s cold gaze towards you during gatherings, and his father can’t even look you in the eye. No matter how many times he tried to persuade them, you know for a fact that they despise you.

They weren’t even there when he proposed.

Who knew that it all took you a small velvet jewelry box to conclude that Juyeon was exceedingly out of your league?

You could tell that his parents were glad—no, relieved that you ended things with Juyeon. And you know for a fact that during the last six months, they’ve been setting their son up with hyper-privileged women with rich-ass companies. They were nothing compared to you and the life you have. This made your stance even stronger because ending it all was probably for the best.

“Stop making it harder than it already is, Juyeon.”

“Just talk to me. Please. Just this once.” Those disconcerting brown eyes staring into yours.

Finally giving in, you let him inside your house. Aware that his clothes were still dripping, you rushed to your closet and grabbed the sweater that he gave you, the sweatpants that he left, and a towel.

Mentally cursing at yourself for still keeping his things, you handed it all to him and pointed towards the bathroom without saying a word.

“Thank you,” He muttered.

He placed his bottle of alcohol down your coffee table and directed himself inside the bathroom. You simply watched his statuesque figure as he closed the door. You let out an exasperated sigh, wondering what may happen.

As he got out, you couldn’t stop yourself from staring at him. He looked good, but his aura screamed in agony and despair. You could tell how much he’s been through. He sat beside you, but he wasn’t too close. You cleared your throat and moved a bit further from him.

“Can we talk now?” He asked. His voice sounded desperate, the way he said it sounded more like a plea rather than a question.

“Go on. We can talk until the rain stops,” You responded, simply staring out the window as rain came pouring down.

"Where did it all go wrong?" You turned your head to face him.

“Nothing went wrong, Ju—”

“No. Something did. We were happy, Y/n. It was us against the world.” He cut you off.

“That's the thing, Juyeon,” You stood up from the couch, still facing him. “We were against the world. No one liked me, Juyeon. Not even your family. That’s when I realized that maybe I was the problem. Hell, that's when I fucking realized that maybe I was too selfish. A selfish bitch that cared only about her own happiness when in fact you were exceedingly out of my league. We wouldn’t live a happy marriage even if we wanted to.”

“And you’d really let them define us?” This time Juyeon was the one who stood up to face you.

“I didn’t want to, Juyeon. But they made it so fucking hard for me! I could barely comprehend my thoughts whenever I was around them. They made me feel as if I did not have a place for you in your life. They made me feel as if I’m some kind of phase for you!”

“Y/n, do you know how hard it is for me to hear you cry yourself to sleep every night when we were together?”

Without realizing it, tears started streaming down your face. “It hurts me so damn much. I never cared about what people had to say regarding our relationship. I just focused on our happiness.” He continued.

“I did too. But it was all too much for me. They suffocated me too much just so I could let go of you. It made me realize a lot of things—that you deserve gold yet I was penniless. That you deserve flowers, but I can’t plant them even if my life depended on it.” You told him using nonsense metaphors to claim your case.

“There are so many more women who deserve you,”

“I don’t care about them, Y/n! I just want you in my life.”

“They’re better than me.”

“If it’s not you, then I don’t want it.”

You didn’t reply.

“I wanted to run away with you, Y/n. Run away to the life we both want without anyone telling us how to live our life.” You were too silent for his own liking, but he continued to talk.

“That night when I proposed, I expected you to say yes because I thought that you’d rather spend your life with me than break things off just ‘cause other people wanted us to.”

“I bought tickets, Y/n. I bought plane tickets to Paris. I remember you telling me how much you wanted to go there. I already pictured us there, getting married and starting our new life without suffocating ourselves in people’s demands.”

Saying that you were shocked by his revelation is an understatement. You never realized that he could’ve thought all of it through. You thought that you only kept your pain to yourself, when in fact Juyeon already had the plans for both of you secured.

“Y-You really did?”

“I did,” he moved closer to you. “But instead of a flight with you to Paris, all I had was a night train home all alone.”

You started to visualize it. An audible sigh escaped Juyeon’s lips as the sound of the train tracks echoed across his head, booking the night train might’ve somehow helped his repudiating state. He must’ve sat there alone, nothing but hurt and misery filling up his bones.

“I didn't know that.” You closed your eyes, not bearing to look at him.

“That's when I got a call from your mother, saying that you got in an accident,” You finally got the courage to look him directly in the eye without a teardrop falling down your cheek. Albeit, Juyeon’s eyes started to become teary. You felt bad. You felt guilty.

“I fell. I wasn’t thinking straight. I had the urge to run away and I did.”

“I was with you during your recovery. Your convalescent body made me weak. It made me think that I should’ve done more to avoid your overthinking. I should’ve reassured you more.”

You vividly remember how your mother went on and on about Juyeon’s stay with you while you were still confined at the hospital. She kept on telling you how Juyeon would never leave the room even if your mother told him to. Juyeon would sleep whilst sitting on the unstable plastic chair near your bed just in case you woke up.

You started to regret pushing him away the moment you regained consciousness. His frown clearly displayed devastation, but you were too caught up in your own emotions to grasp the importance of having him beside you.

“I should’ve told you I love you no matter what other people say.” Juyeon cupped your cheeks, you looked at him as the two of you continuously shed tears. You placed your hands on him, caressing them. He wiped away your tears and gave you a warm smile.

That smile. That benign curve between the corners of his lips gets you every single time.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for doubting us. I’m sorry for letting other people tell us otherwise.” You started apologizing nonstop. You could feel your eyes becoming puffy, and your cheeks becoming warm. You simply held Juyeon’s hands and looked at him, not leaving his gaze.

“Shh. I don’t blame you for feeling that way. Your feelings are valid. You are always valid. You shouldn’t change your ways just because they tell you to. You should distance yourself from people who make you feel as if you don’t deserve to be here.” all you can do now is smile. Although tears are still forming in your eyes, you now feel safe.

“You’re not hard to understand, Y/n.” Those simple words were enough to make your heart melt. Despite confusion still lingering, you could care less now that you're within Juyeon’s embrace.

Juyeon wiped your tears, he looked at you with so much love. As if the last six months have been nothing but a burden to him. As you started to conceptualize the future, you came to conclude that you don't need to do that. You realize that with Juyeon, you shouldn’t ponder over anything or anyone and simply focus on each other.

“We'll make it through together, okay? I promise.”

He brought you to the couch to sit down. He then grabbed the alcohol bottle he brought with him the moment he came and simply threw it in the bin. Juyeon has your house memorized from ceiling to floor, and he can easily tell that nothing has changed. He went to the kitchen to fetch you a glass of water and soon gave it to you as he sat down beside you.

Muttering a small “thank you”, you wiped your tears and smiled at him.

“Won't it be hard?” You asked, placing the glass down.

“What will?” He asked, fixing your hair as he tucked a strand behind your ear.

“Constantly trying to keep me reassured, me getting 'what ifs', and having a hard time coping up with everyone's say.”

Juyeon didn’t say anything yet, but he pulled you into an embrace. Playing with your hair, he started to talk, “Keeping you reassured isn’t a problem, you’re my responsibility. It’s my job to keep you assured. Just tell me all of your thoughts, alright? I’ll help you get through it.”

You released from the hug. Juyeon cupped your face and caressed it gently which made you melt in his touch.

“Can we take our time?” You asked. Juyeon gave you a reassuring nod and kissed you on the forehead.

“Always, baby.” the endearment made your heart flutter.

“Wanna order something?”Juyeon nodded, “You also need to get rid of your hangover.”

“Hey! I wasn’t drunk! I didn't even finish the bottle.” Juyeon protested which caused you to giggle. You missed this. You missed him a lot.

After ordering food, the both of you cuddled with your back facing his front as his arms held you close. It was all you ever wanted.

Perhaps it had to go like this. Perhaps the distance between the both of you for the last six months was all you two need in order to breathe and grow together. Perhaps you two were meant to break and fall back together again. Whatever it is, happiness is all you ever want.

And your happiness meant being with Juyeon regardless of the ridicule and hatred your relationship got from people surrounding the two of you.

“What if the rain stops now?” You joked, looking back at him.

“You won’t be able to get rid of me, baby. I’ll always be with you.”