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

[lixiaolang]

Reconnection

Pairing: Go Hyuntak x fem!reader

Summary: Having known of Hyuntak from his training days of Tae Kwon Do, you never thought you'd run into him again. What started as admiration from afar quickly turned into the beginning of something more.

Word count: 1.7K

Warning: Slight trigger warning of SA if you squint, but other than that, none.

A/N: Wrote this for me. My first fanfic in years, and God, it felt good to write again. I'm happy with it.

Go Hyuntak was someone you've never imagined crossing paths with again. Attending different schools. Having different friend groups. Only ever catching glimpses of him from the window when you would walk past Hu-min's father's chicken restaurant across the street on the way home. Sometimes, it was hard not to notice the bruises and wounds he and his friends bore. You began to wonder if he's still as skilled in Tae Kwon Do as you remember. Of course he is. You shook your head. He was the best.

Rumor had it he hurt his knee and couldn't compete anymore. When you heard, you felt devastated. Someone as talented and hardworking as him, only for his dream to be taken away. It wasn't fair. You could only imagine how he felt. Did he suffer through the pain alone? Does he still think about what could have been? To be the best Tae Kwon Do athlete and have it all?

You'll never know. But from where you stood, the injury doesn't stop him from fighting. From protecting his friends. The five young men laughed at a joke Baku made and then dug in at the feast placed before them. Hyuntak's smile still dazzled you, even from a distance. As you start to worry whether he is taking care of his injuries properly, you hear your name being called.

"y/n!"

You turned and quickly rejoined your friends who had walked further ahead.

"Staring at Gotak again?" One of them teased, using his well-known nickname. Your face instantly blushed, and you looked away, unable to deny it.

"Hey, leave her alone. I think it's cute," your best friend piped up, putting an arm over your shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with a little yearning every now and then."

That made you laugh, "Shut up." You both giggled and continued going about your way.

After you said goodbye to your friends, you decided to stop by a convenience store before finishing your walk home. You were thirsty and wanted your favorite cold drink: a strawberry and banana smoothie. It was probably the best part of your routine. You grabbed your favorite bread to go along with it and headed for the register.

You thanked the cashier and just stabbed your straw into the drink when a rowdy group of boys walked in. They were a noisy bunch, and their uniforms told you they also attended Eunjang High, the same school as Hyuntak and his friends. Your eyes scanned the store, looking for a way to exit without having to go through them. Luckily, the aisle that was next over was free, and you kept your head down, making your way to the door. Due to your short stature, you didn't have to crouch much, being 5'2 and all.

You stand straight and head for the door, pushing it open when you feel someone pull you back from the strap of your backpack, hard. Somehow, you were able to maintain your balance and look up at the face who deprived you of your freedom. Hair dyed blonde and a scar across his left eye. He sneered.

"What do we have here?" His friends behind him snicker as he pressed forward, making you bump against some of the merchandise.

"Is that for me?" The blonde placed his hands over his heart as he feigned gratitude, noticing your drink and pastry. As he stepped closer, you looked away and felt him take your bag with the bread. He threw it on the ground and stomped on it, smearing the delicious treat on the floor with his foot.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep, shaky breath. Never imagining yourself in this position before, you decided not to go down without a fight, no matter what their intentions were. You held your breath as he took one more step closer, and that's when you jammed your right knee against his crotch with all the strength you could muster. It was enough to distract him for a moment, and you ran out, throwing your drink at him, focusing only on getting out of there.

As you heard him and his group start to run after you, you heard a voice. Not just anyone's voice. His voice.

"Hey!"

You stopped in your tracks and turned back around. Being a good distance away, you noticed Hyuntak and his friends a few feet apart from the entrance of the convenience store where the blonde and his group were also stopped in confusion. The blonde looked pissed, whether from being hit in the nuts or stopped from chasing after you, you couldn't be sure.

"This has nothing to do with you!" He screamed in rage.

All the while, Hyuntak remained calm. His eyes scanned the area, first seeming to count how many of the goons there were, and then to the blonde covered in your drink. Hands in the pockets of his pants, he glanced over at you, and you both locked eyes. Your heavy breathing from the adrenaline and run began to slow down, and you felt a sense of peace take over you.

He turned back to the blonde. "It does now."

The next word was said at the same time. You in your head and the blonde aloud, "What?"

Before you had time to think it over, Hyuntak's fist connected with the blonde's face, knocking him to the ground. You gasped, stuck in freeze or flight mode. The decision was made for you when one of the goons charged after you. The last thing you saw before running away was three of Hyuntak's friends joining in on the fight, including Baku.

You ran as fast as you could, not daring to look back. You knew the area pretty well and figured you would be able to hide somewhere once the coast was clear when you felt a pair of hands slam you against a wall. Your face and body were pushed into it, holding you in place.

"We weren't done with you yet." Said an unfamiliar voice, his hot breath fanned against your ear, and you struggled to get away.

Before you could scream for help, someone threw the boy off of you. You turned around, back towards the wall, as you watched Hyuntak beat the guy to a pulp. With his back towards you, you badly wanted to tell him to stop, but you couldn't find your voice. It wasn't until Baku walked up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, and said, "Enough, Gotak."

Hyuntak stopped fist midair and let go of the boy, his limp body making a thud as he hit the ground. He was breathing heavily, and yet there didn't seem to be a scratch on him. Baku looked untouched as well. As if he read your mind, he turned to you and smiled.

"Are you alright?"

You nodded, still a bit in shock and unsure of how to thank them. Hyuntak took a breath and finally turned to face you. His eyes looked into yours again, and this time, you felt your heart start to race for a different reason.

"I need to hear you say it," his voice was soft, yet stern, "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"I'm okay." You managed to get out.

His eyes softened, and he looked at Baku. With a nod of his head, he turned and walked back from the way we came. Hyuntak looked at you and simply said, "Let's go."

The walk back to his friends was silent. You tried to fix your school uniform and composure as discreetly as possible. With no idea of how your hair looked, you figured it was what it was. You peeked at Hyuntak, and he looked lost in thought. Up ahead, two of his friends were waiting, and it appeared that the blonde and his goons had run off. You wondered where his other friend went. The one with the glasses.

"Nice job, Sieun! Suho!" Baku threw his arms over their shoulders with a wide smile. "Where's Juntae?

As if on cue, the one named Juntae comes out of the convenience store with what looked like your drink and a pastry bag. He smiled shyly and handed you the items. "We hope you're alright. I wasn't sure of the pastry, so I just got one I recommend."

The day's toll hit you instantly, and tears welled up in your eyes. You quickly wiped them and looked at the five boys who rescued you. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

The boys all smiled, apart from Hyuntak. He cleared his throat, adjusted his blue hoodie, and faced his friends, "I'll walk her home. See you guys later."

They waved goodbye to you, and you waved back with a smile. You then noticed Hyuntak staring at you with curiosity. You blushed and turned to the general area of your home. "It's this way."

Even though the distance was short, they say time lasts longer being with someone you like. The sun was beginning to set, and the breeze felt nice against your skin. It was a comfortable silence until you heard Hyuntak say, "Drink."

You stopped walking and looked up at him confused, "What?"

He sighed, "You must be dehydrated. Drink." He gestured to the strawberry banana smoothie.

Oh. You hadn't even realized how thirsty you were until he mentioned it. Your lips covered the straw, and you drank. The cold drink felt good traveling down your throat. You eagerly drank some more, and that's when you heard Hyuntak chuckle. You watched his smile, and up close, it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. You blinked and took in your surroundings, and saw that your home was just a few houses down.

"I'm fine here. Thank you for walking me home. And thank you for helping me today."

"You can thank me by letting me walk you home for a while." He said.

Shaking your head, you began to protest. "There's really no need. You don't-"

With what looked like slow motion, Hyuntak leaned over. He maintained eye contact until his lips touched the straw of your drink. You held still, letting him finish it and at the same time not believing this was happening. When he stood up, he smiled at your reaction. You couldn't tell if it was his smile that blinded you or the sun setting behind him.

He walked past you and said over his shoulder, "See you tomorrow, y/n."

A/N: may or may not continue this. Gif is made by me. Feedback is appreciated :)

Update: Part 2 is posted! ♡

[linoxpudding]

Weekend Errands- Lee Felix

summary: a little grocery trip on the weekend with your little family

pairing: lee felix x fem!reader

genre: fluff, married with kids

word count: 1086 words

a/n: a little dad!felix drabble as per request ♡

Dad!SKZ Masterlist

-

The Kids: Eldest Daughter (Yuna - 5 years old) and Youngest Daughter (Emma - 3 years old)

~°~

The sun was shining gently over the driveway as Felix buckled Yuna into her car seat, her little legs kicking excitedly. It was a slow, golden weekend afternoon, and you and Felix decided to take the girls out for a quick grocery run.

"Daddy, can we get strawberries today?" she asked, her pigtails bouncing as she wriggled in her seat.

Felix chuckled, securing her seatbelt snugly. "Of course, princess. We'll get all the strawberries you want."

Meanwhile, you were wrangling your youngest daughter, Emma, into her car seat on the other side, her tiny hands clutching her favorite stuffed bunny.

"Mommyyy," she lisped, "after groceries can we have ice cweam?"

You smiled, smoothing her hair back. "We'll see, baby."

Once both girls were secured, you and Felix climbed into the front seats. Felix reached over to squeeze your hand quickly before starting the car. The car ride started with giggles as you queued up the Frozen soundtrack. As you pulled out of the driveway, the speakers filled with the opening notes of "Let It Go."

Yuna immediately belted out, "Let it gooo, let it goooo—can't hold it back anymore!"

Emma, not to be left out, shouted along a few beats late, "LET GO, LET GO!"

You and Felix burst out laughing, joining in to make it a full family performance. Felix laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes at a red light.

"We need to start a family band, babe," he joked, reaching over to squeeze your knee.

"Only if you promise not to do the beatboxing again," you teased back, and he gasped dramatically.

"How dare you insult my skills!"

Yuna piped up from the backseat, "Daddy, you're very good at beatboxing!"

"See?" Felix said, grinning triumphantly at you.

The rest of the drive to the mall was filled with songs, giggles, and the sound of Felix making silly sound effects every time the girls demanded it.

"Daddy, make a choo-choo train sound!" Emma giggled as Felix happily complied.

*********

At the grocery store, Yuna insisted on pushing the kiddie cart with the car-shaped front, while Emma demanded to ride in it like royalty.

You walked alongside Felix, tossing things into the cart as Yuna proudly pointed at a shelf. "We need apples, Mommy!"

"Good eye, lovie," you said, tossing a few into her cart.

Emma clapped delightedly. "Apples for me!"

At one point, while you were reaching for a box of cereal, Felix leaned in and kissed your cheek, whispering, "You're the prettiest grocery shopper here."

You laughed, shoving his chest playfully. "Stop distracting me, we need yogurt!"

You continued through the aisles putting mutiple cereal boxes in the cart. The girls bickered lightly over which yogurt flavor to get — Emma wanted blueberry, Yuna wanted strawberry — so you and Felix made an executive decision to get both.

"Teamwork makes the dream work!" Felix said, high-fiving Yuna.

As you made your way toward the checkout, Yuna suddenly gasped and pointed excitedly at the small flower stand by the entrance. Before either of you could react, she darted over, her little sneakers pattering against the floor. You and Felix hurried after her, exchanging amused glances.

Yuna carefully scanned the colourful bouquets before her eyes lit up. She reached out and gently picked a bundle of soft pink roses, cradling them in her tiny arms.

Turning around with a proud smile, she held the flowers up toward Felix and said sweetly, "Daddy, can we get these for Mommy? She's as pretty as these flowers."

Felix’s heart melted instantly. He crouched down to Yuna’s level, ruffling her hair gently. "Of course, princess," he said, glancing over at you with a warmth in his eyes that made your heart flutter. "Mommy definitely deserves the prettiest flowers."

You couldn't help but smile, feeling tears prickling the corners of your eyes as you watched your little family — your whole world — standing there, wrapped up in so much love.

*********

After checkout, arms full of bags, you loaded everything into the car. As you buckled the girls in again, Yuna chirped, "Noww ice cream?"

Emma nodded eagerly, her cheeks rosy from excitement. "Pwease Mommy!"

You and Felix exchanged a look — how could you say no to those faces?

"Alright," Felix said grandly, "one ice cream stop coming right up!"

At the ice cream shop, Yuna eagerly chose a rainbow sprinkle cone, while Emma clumsily licked at a small cup of chocolate, getting it all over her chin. Felix went for a butterscotch cone, and you ordered your favorite flavor in a crisp waffle cone. Felix also ordered a huge sundae "to share," though you knew he and Yuna would end up eating most of it.

The four of you sat on a bench outside, the late afternoon sun warming your backs, ice cream drips everywhere, and pure happiness filling the air. Felix sneakily wiped a smear of chocolate off Emma's nose with a napkin and kissed her forehead, making her giggle.

Felix leaned close to you, resting his head gently on your shoulder. The girls, caught up in their own conversation, began chattering amongst themselves.

Felix smiled at their banter before murmuring softly, his voice almost a whisper, "You know... I look at them, and I just think, 'We made this. We made this family.' And it makes me love you even more."

Your heart melted completely. You turned to him, smiling so wide it hurt. "I love you, Felix."

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear and kissed you slowly, sweetly, like there was no one else in the world.

Emma shrieked suddenly, "Yucky kisses!"

You both laughed against each other’s mouths.

*********

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky pink and purple as you loaded two very sleepy girls into their car seats once again.

Felix adjusted Emma’s little bunny under her arm before climbing in. Minutes into the drive, Yuna yawned hugely.

"Tired, princess?" Felix asked, glancing back through the mirror.

"Mm-hmm..." came her tiny voice.

Soon, both girls were knocked out, their breathing soft and even.

You reached across the console to intertwine your fingers with Felix's, your wedding rings clinking softly together.

He glanced over at you with a smile so full of love it made your heart squeeze. He then brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles without taking his eyes off the road.

You sighed contentedly, leaning your head against the window, the perfect day wrapping around you like a cozy blanket.

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

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@butterflydemons

[mattsundaes]

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.”

[duskidolsmut]

"Flirting and Fucking with the Old Man in the Store"

W: 1.276

Jennie was strolling through a chic clothing store, one of those with the smell of expensive perfume and music that makes you want to roll over. She was in full swing, wearing a tight white T-shirt that marked every curve of her body, very short denim shorts that left her long legs hanging out and white high boots that screamed “look at me, damn it”. Her dark hair fell loose, swaying as she rummaged through the racks, looking for something that matched the vibe of someone who didn't come into this world to go unnoticed.

That's when she bumped into a guy in the same aisle. He was older, in his mid-40s, but damn, the man was a sight for sore eyes. Tall, with just the right amount of gray hair, a neatly trimmed beard and a smile that seemed to know too much. He was standing there, pretending to pick out a shirt, but Jennie soon realized that his gaze was more on her than on the garments. His family - his wife and a couple of teenage children - were on the other side of the store, lost among the hangers, and this only made the atmosphere more interesting.

“That shirt would look great on you,” he said, pointing to a black piece hanging, his voice low and calm, but with a tone that already gave the game away. Jennie turned to him, a mischievous smile on her lips, and replied without even blinking: “Do you think so? Because I was thinking that fewer clothes is more my style.”

He laughed low, the kind of laugh that makes her body instantly warm up. “You don't look like the type to hide, I can see that.” Jennie tilted her head, letting her hair slide to the side, and gave him a cheeky head-to-toe look. “And you don't look like the type to run away from a flirtation, do you, Uncle?”

“Uncle, is it? Are you trying to tease me or put me in my place?” He took a step closer, his scent - a mixture of woody cologne and something rougher - invading her space. Jennie didn't back down, of course. She loved it, the game, the tension. “Maybe both. I like to see how much the guy can take before he melts.”

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze moving down her body without disguising it. “With those legs and that attitude, I bet you could melt anyone without even trying.” Jennie giggled, crossing her arms to let the T-shirt squeeze her breasts even tighter, just to fuck with his head. “Try harder, go on. I like it.”

The conversation went on for a few minutes, him playing the charmer, her returning with teasing. “These boots… how high do they go, huh?” he asked, his eyes shining with a desire he wasn't even trying to hide. Jennie turned sideways, stretching out one leg to show the shaft that went almost to her thigh. “Do you want to find out? I think you'd like the view.”

The chemistry was exploding, the air between them becoming heavy. His family was too busy to notice, and Jennie could feel the heat rising through her body, her denim shorts tightening in a way that only made everything worse - or better.

After about 15 minutes of hot chat in that corridor, with his eyes eating Jennie alive and her throwing out every provocation as if it were a lit match, she decided it was time to up the ante. “Let's go into the fitting room, crown. It's getting too small for both of us,” she said, her voice full of mischief, as she slapped him lightly on the chest. He didn't even blink, just gave a crooked smile and replied:

“Damn, you don't mess around, huh?” Of course he agreed on the spot.

The two of them entered the furthest fitting room, a cramped booth with a mirror that reflected their every move. Jennie locked the door, turned to him and dropped to her knees without giving him time to breathe. Her denim shorts stretched even further as she got to her feet, and her white boots shone in the dim light. She unzipped him with hunger in her eyes, and when his cock sprang out - hard as a rock - she giggled. “Fuck, you're a good addition to the team.”

She started slowly, her tongue playing around the tip, then swallowed him whole, her lips squeezing as she moved up and down. He moaned low, his head hitting the wall of the fitting room. “It's been years since I've been sucked like this… Fuck, girl, you're a sin.” Jennie looked up, still holding him in her mouth, and muttered in a muffled voice: “First time cheating on the boss, eh? Then enjoy it, because I don't do half-assed.”

The guy was on cloud nine, his hands gripping her dark hair, when his cell phone rang. He cursed under his breath, picked it up and saw his wife's name on the screen. “Shit, it's her.” Jennie didn't stop, just picked up the pace, her eyes shining with pure debauchery as he answered. “Hi, love… I'm in the fitting room, trying on a shirt. I'll be out in a few minutes.” His voice trembled, and Jennie almost laughed, sucking deeper just to fuck with his head.

He turned off his cell phone and dropped any remaining guilt on the floor. “You're crazy, girl. Come here.” He pulled Jennie up, turning her onto her back with a firm grip. She braced her hands on the wall, thrusting her ass out as he ripped her shorts down to her knees. “Go deep, crown, I can take it,” she teased, and he wasted no time. He entered her with everything, his cock filling every inch, hot and throbbing. Jennie bit her lip to keep from screaming too loudly, but a few hoarse moans escaped anyway. “Fuck, that's delicious… Fuck me, go!”

It was fucking intense, their bodies pounding in an almost animal rhythm. The fitting room seemed too small for the fire that was raging there, the sound of skin against skin echoing along with her muffled sighs. He held her hips tightly, her boots crunching on the floor with each thrust. “You're fucking tight, Jennie,” he grunted, and she just threw her hair back, laughing between moans. “And you're good for a married guy.”

After about 10 minutes of desperate back and forth, he couldn't take it anymore. “I'm going to come…” he warned, his voice broken, and Jennie just turned her face away, her eyes half closed. “Inside, go. I want to feel it.” He came with a guttural groan, his body shaking as he filled her, hot and full. Jennie felt it all, the heat pouring out, and gave a satisfied sigh.

The two of them quickly cleaned up with some paper towels she had in her bag - smart as fuck, as always. Before leaving, Jennie pulled him into a wet kiss, their tongues fighting for space, her hands squeezing his chest one last time. “Worth the ride, crown. Take care,” she said, smiling like she was ready for the next adventure. She adjusted her shorts, slapped her own ass and walked out of the fitting room, her boots marking the floor as if nothing had happened.

He stood there, panting, looking in the mirror and thinking about the woman who had almost made him forget his own name. Jennie? She was already on the street, texting her friend: “I hit a guy in the fitting room. He came inside and I left in one piece. Next stop?”

[evamame]

maybe one day rin itoshi will be playing soccer with his friends during kindergarten on the school field. maybe one day you’ll catch his eye and he’ll ask you to play with him. maybe from that day forward you two will hit it off.

maybe one day you two will grow inseparable, even when junior high approaches. maybe one day when boys start to become the topic of discussion all of your friends will bombard you with questions about rin, asking when you’re going to finally start dating the most popular boy in your class.

maybe one day rin will realize that you’re more than a friend to him. maybe one day rin won’t know how to handle his feelings. maybe one day he’ll start to get confused.

maybe one day rin will be in highschool. maybe one day he’ll see you in the hallway on valentines day, receiving a confession from a random boy he didn’t recognize. maybe one day rin will get upset by this, and maybe one day rin won’t know why.

maybe one day rin will have had enough. maybe one day he’ll finally come to terms with his feelings. maybe one day he’ll realize that over shared bentos at lunch and hangouts after successfully won games that he’s in love with you.

maybe one day rin will finally tell you how he feels. maybe one day rin will awkwardly approach you with your favorite flowers and confess that every time he’s with you butterflies flutter in his stomach, and maybe the small amount of words he ever bothers to say get caught in his throat.

maybe one day rin will hear you say that you like him too. maybe one day you and rin will stop being friends and you’ll be lovers. boyfriend and girlfriend. maybe one day he’ll take you out on a proper date and he’ll turn as red as a tomato when he sees you all dressed up. maybe one day he’ll come to the realization of how absolutely stunning you are inside and out and make it his duty to protect your beautiful and pure heart with everything in him.

maybe one day you and rin will graduate. maybe one day rin will be nervous that the two of you will grow distant when you leave for college. but maybe all his worries will dissolve the moment you show up at his doorstep for one holiday, and then the next, and then the next.

maybe one day you will return home from college with your degree and run into rin’s arms. and maybe one day rin will gladly welcome you into his warm embrace. and maybe one day he’ll promise you he’ll never let go. because he loves you so, so much.

maybe one day rin fulfills his promise when he takes you out to dinner and finishes the evening by getting down on one knee. and maybe through happy tears and choked words you’ll eagerly nod your head yes and hold your hand out for him to slide the gorgeous engagement ring onto your finger. and maybe one day he’ll hold you tight as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him senseless.

maybe one day rin will see you walk down the aisle in a stunning white dress. maybe he’ll see you holding a bouqet of your favorite flowers, the same ones from the day he professed his love for you. maybe one day rin will say his vows with shaky hands and watering eyes, sniffling as he struggles to get every last word out.

maybe one day you’ll both say “i do.” maybe one day the wedding officiant will say, “kiss the bride” and that he will do, pulling you in for the most special kiss of his entire life. one that’s affectionate and gentle and ever so sweet. and maybe you’ll both have matching rings to wear everyday, showing off your everlasting love to the entire world.

maybe one day you two will settle down and welcome a third itoshi into the world. maybe one day a mini rin will be waddling around the house, with the same teal eyes and dark hair. maybe instead of having one pride and joy, he’ll now have two. two people he loves to the moon and back, two people he’ll protect and care for for the rest of his life.

and maybe one day rin will look back, and he’ll realize that everything started with you. the love of his life.

masterlist

a/n: was listening to maybe by gabriela bee while writing this. i love rin i love rin i love rin.

© evamame 2025. all rights reserved. please do not repost, modify, steal, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[highhhfiveee]

happy thursday <3 thinking about you know who…

cw. suggestiveness, no smut. this part is purely context to y/n and sae’s relationship 🫶🏽 if there are errors, i apologize 💔

this is technically supposed to be read after these two: 1 & 2 | formal part three: x

meeting at the grocery store had been something neither you nor fwb!sae itoshi had seen coming. you’d played it all wrong, leaving you with enough awkwardness to last a lifetime, yet the opportunity hadn’t passed you by. with the ball in sae’s court, he’d expertly juggled and turned your flustered stammering into an instant connection.

the foundation of that connection had been mutual attraction, though you’d made it known to sae (and yourself) that you weren’t easy. there would be no hopping into bed immediately after you both checked out; you needed to get a feel for this mysterious dairy aisle guy who’d confidently invited a complete stranger to watch him play soccer.

you weren’t a sports person, but you began to understand the hype; the raw electricity floating in the air had your adrenaline flowing, leaving you completely engrossed from beginning to end.

sae was a god; nothing could’ve prepared you that first time you saw him play, running game on the opposing blue lock eleven.

it was a dance that only he knew, his steps a mindfuck to anyone forced to face him. he left those with two left feet in his wake, lowly shadows scattered behind the MVP plastered all over the jumbotron.

you hadn’t stayed back to see him after that first game, eager to beat the traffic leaving the stadium.

you’d heard your phone ping at a red light, reading the text you’d gotten from sae: you still here?

no ): i didn’t want to be stuck in traffic

…

i wanted to see you

your heart had lurched like your car when you slammed on your brakes, and in classic y/n fashion, you’re trying to find the right words to say.

oh…really?

my bad, i thought maybe you’d be too busy for me after

so it wasn’t bc of traffic?

“fuck.” you’d swore into the air, biting at your thumbnail as you tossed your phone into the passenger seat and continued on your way home, leaving sae on read.

both are true

…come down to the pitch next time, yeah?

at least say bye

from then on, you were elbowing your way through the crowds to get onto the turf, overwhelming sae with your zeal. you were jumping in his face, squeezing him with your hugs and spewing out soccer terms that you’d tried to learn and contextualize.

“that was a sick feint!”

“a triple nutmeg????”

“the spin on that ball was atrociously good…”

sae sort’ve hated that he’d cracked a smile, let it travel to his insides, and produce a laugh.

he’d never been the best at making friends, and was surprised that you’d stuck around at all, unfazed by his blasé attitude and lack of interest in most things outside of his own career.

you were no longer the girl he’d met in the store. you’d blossomed into this light, a beacon of all the things sae kept himself away from and yet, you never let him dim you.

he’d asked for your number on a whim, really, ready for you to leave him to his cream cheese search, but after texting with you, watching you run up to him from the sidelines, and hearing you cheer his name, he wanted you to stick around.

he took you to some bars first, always ready to wash away the stress of a game with an ice cold pint. you only ever ordered whiskey and cokes, an unexpected happening to sae. eyeing you and your deep purple faux fur jacket, your knee-high boots and your face made up and pretty as always, he’d admitted, “i thought you’d order something girlier.”

“i drink to drink,” you’d slurred, struggling to catch the straw of your third drink between your glossy lips. “i’d look just as good sipping an appletini as i do downing this jack n coke...” you’d hiccuped before blurting, “i could say the same though. i’d thought you’d order something manlier.”

sae rolled his eyes, dragging his finger around the rim of his half-empty mug. “i like beer.”

“and i like whiskey. bottoms up, babe.”

after a few months of bars, he’d started asking you to dinner.

what if we got mexican food after the game tomorrow

will your body recover

or are you gonna be shitting up a storm

that’s gross y/n

these are questions that friends ask!!!!

you’d tried to drink a beer that night, scowling at the taste but tolerating it for sae’s sake. “you know you can drink something else, right?”

he’d said it after watching you gag and shiver for the nth time, running a hand through his hair and leaning back in his seat, his legs spreading under the table.

“i’m trying to be a good sport.”

“y/n….”

“okay, fine,” you’d been prepared to argue back, but his eyes, always so fucking blue and static, made you uneasy. he was watching you, almost daring you to give him lip.

there had been moments in your bar days where you’d felt yourself pulse at the sound of his short, dry laughs, the timbre of his voice as he spoke, even when a hint of a smile crept onto his face. you’d chalked it up to the alcohol, as it always left you feral and in heat, though you couldn’t use that as an excuse now.

you’d only had half a beer, and that would never be enough to knock you on your ass and have you imagining x-rated scenarios with the one and only sae itoshi…right?

you and sae had learned a lot about each other over those months. it was an effortless friendship, a connection where you felt seen and heard and respected enough to delve into the recesses of your lore. sae had done the same, something so out of character for him. you could tell that he was uncomfortable in the beginning, getting into tales of him and his brother, his time in spain…but, eventually he’d become an (almost) open book. he trusted you. he knew he was safe in your company, free to feel and express and….

“a signed sae itoshi jersey?” you’d squealed when he’d given it to you in his car after dinner at a fancy mediterranean place. “for me?”

“who else would it be for?” he’d deadpanned, but you’d swatted at his arm, huffing, “my god, take a joke, itoshi…” you’d started giggling, turning your eyes back to the white and red jersey. you let your fingertips glide over the fabric, enamored by its quality and the fact that he’d given it to you as a gift.

“thank you, i can’t wait to wear it,” you’d mused, leaning over the car’s center console to give sae a kiss on the cheek. your lip gloss left a mark on his reddening skin, and you’d blurted, “whoops” as you brought your hand up to wipe it. he’d stopped you with his fingers around your wrist, saying, “leave it.”

it was barely above a whisper, so not like him. you’d both been flushed red the entire trip to your house, departing on a somewhat awkward exchange of “see you later/bye”.

that same night, after a shower, you were on the couch when your phone chimed.

you try the jersey on yet?

mhm! i’m wearing it right now (: super comfy

show me

the words had sent you into near cardiac arrest. if his whispered “leave it” had been anti-sae, “show me” was him personified. blunt, to the point, demanding, dominant.

you did as you were told, strolling over to your full length mirror and snapping two photos of yourself, immediately sending them and throwing your phone across the room.

sae felt his phone buzz, but kept himself in suspense for a moment. the “show me” hadn’t been his first choice of response, but felt the most authentic.

he wanted to see you, plain and simple.

he wasn’t sure why his heart had begun to pound as he looked at your attachments.

it was a bit shadowy in your place, but the warm white light from your huge lamp cast you in an angelic glow, the crisp white of the garment popping against your creamy brown skin. you filled it out well, leaving little room for it to billow, and the hem skirted the top of your thighs. sae could see the black lace of your panties peek ever so slightly, but swiped to the second picture for an almost full-reveal.

you’d used the back camera for the first one but the front for the second, and the angle of your arm holding the phone pulled the jersey up past your ass a bit. it was round and perfectly shaped, striped with light stretchmarks and sae’s mind got a bit carried away…

he wanted to fuck you in his jersey.

he wanted to fuck you in general. you’d wanted to fuck him too; you both knew what you craved, but you’d wanted a foundation first. sae respected that, and though he would’ve fucked you without knowing your middle name and favorite book series, he thought the familiarity was nice.

had you two built a strong foundation?

sae loved an image

sae loved an image

we should go back to my place after my next game

yeah, i agree

you’d both say the answer was yes.

chat did i cook

[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🌻

[lexirosewrites]

Big fan of the “spontaneous heat/rut” trope and can’t stop thinking about o!eddie in the D&D room thinking he’s supposed to be alone in the school but hearing noise from the auditorium next door. He huffs and throws himself out of his DM’s throne to go investigate/tell whoever it is to piss off.

A!Steve is trying to change himself, to better himself. He really likes the spring musical the school is doing so even though he’s never done it before, he’s gonna try out. But he hasn’t sung outside of karaoke parties or the shower. So he sneaks into the auditorium with the music for a couple different songs. He nervously parks himself on the stage and starts singing. It’s ridiculously soft at first but as he gets more confident he gets louder. He stands straighter and keeps his head high, eyes focused on the empty seats in front of him.

Eddie throws the doors to the auditorium open and marches up the center aisle as Steve breaks into the chorus of “Agony” from Into the woods. He stops, frozen between one step and the next, as Steve’s voice washes over him. And he feels the tickle of slick between his legs. Slowly, with wide eyes, he bends nearly in half and stares at his own crotch in disbelief.

Getting wet for Harrington? What an omega cliche. Eddie is ready to write it off as a momentary embarrassment when an incapacitating wave of heat washes through him. He drops to his knees with a wordless cry loud enough that Steve stops singing and all but throws himself off the stage, running towards the Omega in distress.

Eddie’s friends are never gonna let him live down going into heat over a jock singing musical theater💀

[nanasrkives]

Navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! haikyuu EP!

── .✦ "ALMOST, ALWAYS" ─ Suna Rintaro

Finally posting about my husband Sunarin content : fluff. soft angst. second chance. 3461 words.

The flickering neon lights of a convenience store sign buzz faintly in the cool night air, casting a dull glow over the mostly empty street. 

The city feels quieter than you remember, or maybe it’s just you—older now, carrying the weight of years that slipped by too fast. You didn’t mean to end up here. You were just passing through town, visiting family, but your feet wandered on their own, drawn to familiar streets and forgotten corners. The nostalgia is almost suffocating, the kind that makes your chest ache in ways you thought you’d outgrown.

The bell above the door jingles as you step inside. The harsh fluorescent lights make everything feel too bright, too sharp. You drift toward the snack aisle without thinking, fingers trailing over shelves until they land on a familiar bag of chips. A small, wry smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

Old habits.

But then—

“That’s still your go-to, huh?” You freeze. That voice.

Turning slowly, your heart stutters in a way that feels painfully familiar. There he stands—Suna Rintaro. Taller than you remember, sharp features softened only slightly by time. His hair’s a little messier, his expression the same unreadable calm, but his eyes—they’re exactly as you remember. A muted green that used to catch the light during lazy afternoons in the gym, the same ones you never quite managed to look at for too long without feeling your chest tighten.

“Rintaro,” you breathe before you can stop yourself, his name slipping out like muscle memory. He smirks, a small tilt of his lips. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

Neither did you.

Third year of high school,

Your phone buzzes with another message from Atsumu: "Hurry up, practice is starting!" 

You roll your eyes, quickening your pace toward the gym. The gym is loud—sneakers squeaking against polished floors, the sharp slap of volleyballs, Atsumu’s voice carrying above the rest like it always does. You’re sitting on the bleachers, pretending to focus on your notes, but your eyes keep drifting.

To him.

Suna Rintarou leans against the wall, one arm resting lazily on his knee, his hair slightly damp with sweat. He’s not even trying, and he still looks—cool. Effortlessly cool in that way that makes your chest ache.

You tell yourself it’s just a crush. Harmless. Temporary.

But when his eyes flick up and meet yours across the gym, your heart betrays you. “Hey,” he says casually after practice, slinging his bag over his shoulder. You swallow down the words sitting on the tip of your tongue. I like you. Instead, you smile and say, “Hey.”

You wonder if he can hear the way your heart races.

You manage to find your voice before the silence stretches too long.

“Didn’t expect to see you here either,” you say, trying to sound casual, like your heart isn’t beating in your throat. You hold up the bag of chips as if it explains something. “Old habits, I guess.”

Rintarou steps closer, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, the same nonchalant posture he carried back in high school. But there’s something different now—a faint undercurrent of maturity, of time passed. He nods toward the snack. “You used to get those before every exam. Said it was your ‘good luck charm.’’ You blink, surprised he remembers. “Didn’t think you’d still remember that,” you murmur.

Rintarou shrugs, but his eyes linger on you a second longer than necessary. “Guess some things stick.” The conversation feels like walking a tightrope—balanced between what’s being said and everything that isn’t.

“So… what are you doing here?” you ask, needing to fill the space between you. “Came back for a visit,” he says simply. “Thought I’d check out the old places.” You nod, unsure of what to say next. The years have made him harder to read—or maybe you’ve just forgotten how.

Rintarou tilts his head slightly, his gaze steady. “You busy right now?” Your breath catches for a fraction of a second. “Not really.” “Wanna take a walk?”

It’s simple. Casual. But your chest feels anything but.

“Sure,” you reply, slipping the bag of chips into your basket like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The sun is low, casting long shadows over the empty gym. 

Practice ended an hour ago, but you’d stayed behind under the pretense of finishing some notes for class. In reality, you were just waiting. Rintarou’s still there, lying flat on the floor with one arm thrown over his eyes, earbuds dangling loosely from his phone.

You gather your courage like fragile glass, standing and walking over to him. Your heart hammers with every step. “Hey,” you say softly. He peeks up at you, lazy green eyes meeting yours. “What’s up?” You sit down beside him, cross-legged, pretending to pick at the floor. “Nothing. Just… didn’t feel like going home yet.” He hums in agreement, eyes drifting back to the ceiling.

The words are right there. I like you. They’re so close you can almost taste them. But instead, you say, “Do you ever wonder what we’ll be like after high school?” Rintarou turns his head slightly, considering. “Dunno. Guess I’ll figure it out when I get there.” You laugh softly, a little breathless. “You’re so chill about everything.” His lips twitch in a faint smirk. “Not everything.”

Your heart skips.

You almost ask what do you mean? You almost tell him how you feel.

But the moment passes, slipping through your fingers like sand.

The night air is crisp as you walk side by side, the city humming softly around you. 

There’s a comfortable quiet between you, but underneath it, a tension you both pretend not to notice. Rintarou breaks the silence first.

“Funny how nothing’s really changed,” he says. “This street, that convenience store… even you.” You glance at him. “I’ve changed.” He looks at you then, really looks, and it feels like standing under a spotlight. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “But not the important parts.”

Your heart stumbles.

You stop walking, turning to face him fully. The words rise in your throat, unsteady but undeniable. “Back in high school,” you start, your voice softer now, “there was something I never said.” Rintarou doesn’t look surprised. If anything, he looks like he’s been waiting for this. “Me too,” he replies simply.

You exhale a shaky laugh. “I liked you.” His mouth curves into a slow, familiar smirk, but his eyes—those steady, sharp eyes—soften in a way that makes your chest ache. “I liked you too,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

But maybe it always was. You’d just never said it.

Until now.

You sit on a park bench now, the city lights flickering in the distance.

The night stretches on, soft and quiet. The warmth between you and Rintarou grows in the small spaces—in the brush of shoulders, the lingering glances, the unspoken words finally said.

You turn to him, your face lit faintly by the streetlight. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. There's no need.

Then, slowly, like the universe has been waiting for this moment, he leans in. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining as if they’ve always belonged there. His lips meet yours, soft and sure, carrying the weight of years lost and the promise of something new.

When you pull away, breathless, he smiles—not a smirk, not a tease, but something genuine, something just for you. “Took us long enough,” he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours. You laugh softly, your heart finally at ease. “Yeah. But we figured it out eventually.”

And this time, you did.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

Taglist (OPEN). / @cherrysurf

[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.’

[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

[margaritastation141]

"Rekindled" - John Price x Divorcee mom of teens

Chapter 5 summary: Felicity runs into someone at the grocery store. CW ⚠️ Smut towards end of chapter: verging on dub con; alcohol consumption and emotional vulnerability. Masterlist ✖︎ Ao3 Read this fic on Ao3 (priority uploads/chapter 6 out now) Playlist Previously

The day had been long. One file after another getting placed on her desk, high enough that she couldn’t even see her own desk plant by lunch (that poor thing ought to be put out of its misery by now). She’d nearly finished the last one when Mr. Abbott told her sternly it was after five and she should be heading home.

And of course, Toby messaged asking for cereal right as she got in her car, so she was now in the cereal aisle struggling to remember what she’d bought for him last time.

“Shit, I think you spoke her into existence,” a familiar voice drew Felicity’s attention to the end of the aisle but she didn’t look, already agitated by the tone. She knew that voice, that vitriol she always spoke with—so bitter. Kim. “I don’t want to—hi Effie, how are you?”

Biting her cheek, Felicity forced a smile as she turned, “Kimberly, I’m good, how are--” her eyes snagged on the bump nudging the handle of her trolley. Jesus, this was certainly late in the second trimester—if not the third already. “How are you and the baby?”

“Good! So good. You know, Sammy and I are having a girl—I know how much you used to want one. Pretty ironic huh?”

Her throat tightened, eyes burning even while she ducked her head, her laugh more sad than amused, “yeah. That’s great though, I miss when my boys were that small, they grow so quick,” she murmured, a pang of fondness running through her at the memory. Little hands pressing at her knees. Peels of excited laughter when she woke them up in the morning, hair all mussed from sleep. “You must be excited.”

Kim’s smile must’ve match Felicity’s, stiff at the corners, not reaching her eyes. “Yeah, Sam and I are just finishing up in the nursery. Made up her crib over the weekend.”

“I’m glad he’s excited too. It took me forever to get him to help with the baby after Logan, sounds like he’s turning a new leaf though, good for you.”

She hummed, “yeah. I suppose we bring out the best in each other—I mean I've always wanted a daughter, you know? We were so made to be.”

Felicity’s smile was stretched thin, brittle as her voice cracked, “lovely way of seeing it. Congrats Kim. I hope it’s a safe delivery.” She couldn’t have spent a second longer talking with the woman, quickly walking back down the aisle and as far as she could get from her—right down to the storage containers and cookware on the other side of the store, wiping her face with the cuff of her sleeve.

“Oh shit, Miss Parker!”

Jesus Christ, could she not catch a-- “Trent! Hi, how are you?”

“I’m good, hey what’s Logan been up to? I swear to God I haven’t seen him at school in ages.”

“What?”

“No, for real, he doesn’t even message me back. Did you ground him again or something?”

“No! No, what do you mean you haven’t seen him at school?” She tried not to let panic flare in her chest, but her resilience was already worn quite thin. “He’s been going every day?”

Trent merely shrugged, “haven’t seen him in like, over a week. Just fuckin’ M.I.A.”

“I’ll be sure to ask him—thanks for letting me know,” she said as he began to walk away, heading right in the direction from where she’d just came.

“Can you ask him to message me back? He's still got my speaker,” he called out over his shoulder, “catch you later Effie.”

“Stop calling me that.”

Shaking her head, she dug her phone out of her pocket, pulling up Logan’s contact as she made her way to the self-checkout. The line rang nearly five times before he picked up at seemingly the last second, “hey?”

“Hi, are you and the boys all home?”

“Uh, I think Jackson’s getting dinner with his track meet people or something, but Toby’s here. Why?”

She nodded to herself as she scanned her items, Jackson ought to pick up the phone once or twice, just to keep her in the loop, it was his worst trait as of late, “oh okay. Just wondering. Did I take out chicken for dinner this morning?”

“I dunno.”

Felicity sighed, swiping her card at the eftpos machine, rolling her eyes, “could you check?”

The kid groaned but she could hear him drag himself to his feet...only to yell at the door of what she guessed was his room, “TOBY!”

“What?!”

“Mom asked you to check if she took out chicken from the freezer.”

“Yeah, why?!”

“He said yeah,” Logan said, turning back into the receiver.

Felicity shook her head, leaving the store, “I heard. Hey, I just ran into Trent here at the store. He said he hasn’t seen you in a while? What’s that about, are you ditching classes again? I thought you were doing really well,” she tried her best to not let the edge into her tone as she put the groceries into the footwell of the passenger seat, sliding into the driver’s side of her car out in the busy parking lot.

Logan cursed under his breath, “Trent’s a shithead. What would he fuckin’ know?”

“Hey! Why would you say that?!”

“What, you like him now? He’s such a dick.”

“Where’s this coming from? Did you two fight or something?”

“It doesnt matter. What’s he care about me for?”

Felicity frowned, picking at the worn faux leather covering her steering wheel, paint peeling, “have you been missing classes Logan?”

“No, oh my god! Ask Mrs. Lowwitz or fuckin’ Mr. E. I haven’t missed anything!”

“Okay, okay, I believe you sweetheart. How about we talk about this some more when I get home?”

“Trent’s not even in any of my classes. He’s just pissed cause I don’t meet him for lunch anymore--”

“And why is that?”

“Oh my god,” he groaned, audibly frustrated even through the phone, “why are you like this?! Just asking every fucking question! It's not your business.”

Felicity’s breath caught in her throat, tears welling right back up in her eyes. “I was just worried something was wrong. But if—if you are going to class then that’s great,” she swallowed thickly, clearing her throat, “it’s my business as long as you’re living in my house Logan. I worry about you, I’m your mother.”

“Well, you can fucking stop. I’m not a fucking idiot, you know.”

“I—” the line cut just as she said, “know.”

Desperately willing herself not to cry in the supermarket parking lot, Felicity shifted, slouching back in her seat, arm propped up on the ledge of the door, head in her hand as she tried to take some calming breaths. But she didn’t last long before she was watching through rapidly blinking eyes, as Sam’s car rolled on through the parking lot, getting a spot just near the sliding doors out of the crisp wind.

From where she was parked, Felicity could see him get out of the car, his work shirt still on, the tech company he worked for embroidered above the chest pocket. Lanyard tucket into it now that his workday had ended. He wore a smile as he walked around, hand low on the curve of her back as he kissed her, opening up the boot to load in the groceries while she hoisted herself into the front. He looked happy. He never saw Felicity watching him, crying.

❀❀❀

She awoke in a panic. There was a loud buzzing from the center console, from the cupholder, and a sharp knocking against the window where she’d been resting her head. She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep, shit, what time was it?!

Everything was blurry and much darker. Felicity squinted out, a streetlight casting light over her car and the supermarket parking lot—rain fell in a steady, warping blanket across her windscreen. Someone stood close beside her car with a dim flashlight, their knocking like rocks against the glass until she cracked the window open, shivering from the lack of heat in the car and squinting up into the light, wincing.

“Hey sugar, just checking that you’re alright? We’re closing up now and don’t permit vehicles overnight, I’m sorry,” the older woman said, a hand raised to shield her eyes from the rain. “Do you have somewhere to go?”

“Shit—what—what time is it?” Felicity asked, starting up her car, “I’m sorry,” she blushed hard, worse than just being cold, “I don’t know what happened, it’s—”

“Rough day. I get it sweetie, it’s alright. You get home safe now, okay?”

“Okay, thank you, I’m sorry.” The woman blended into the night as she pulled away, the rain too thick to see much more than her flashlight in the rearview.

She pushed the speed limit the entire way home, rubbing at her eyes that were still a little puffy, until she finally pulled into her own driveway and turned the car off, quickly running up the drive to get in the house but the door was thrown open right as she reached the porch, light spilling out into the late autumnal night, catching on raindrops.

John was frowning down at her from her own doorway, phone in hand, still waiting on her to pick up. “You’ve ten seconds to explain sweetheart.”

Felicity blinked up at him, sniffling from the cold, the rain catching on her blouse. “Is everyone okay? I don’t—I don’t know what happened. I went to the store to get cereal and—and—I just had such a bad day,” she sobbed out, tears overwhelming her.

“Mom?!” Jackson’s voice came from somewhere behind Price’s shoulder. “Mom—what happened—what’s wrong?”

“I’m okay,” she sniffled, wiping her face, “just a long day, sweetheart. I’m okay. Where are your brothers? Is everyone okay? I’m sorry. The time got away from me and I—” As she was herded inside she saw Logan sitting on the stairs up to the bedrooms, glaring up at her, and a fresh wave of guilt crashed over her before she could get a word out.

He’d been waiting for her.

“Logan I—” he stood and walked right back upstairs, not so much as hearing her out, and Felicity’s strength waned, leaning back a little.

Price’s hand gently found the small of her back. “Everyone was just a little worried where you got up to, but they’re okay. Got some pizza in the kitchen for them. You must be hungry too, yeah? Nearly eight thirty.”

The hallway loomed in front of her, the echo of Logan’s closed door making her jolt, her chest tight as Jackson hugged her. “Where were you?” Toby asked, poking his head out of the living room, a soft frown marring the few freckles between his eyebrows.

On autopilot, she moved forward and hugged him too, “got held up at work. I’m sorry I forgot about my phone.”

• • •

“We left some pepperoni pizza for you,” Jackson said, brows twisted as he looked at his mother, eye level with her, “if you’re hungry.”

John watched Felicity’s shoulder knot up as she nodded, her smile pushing at her cheeks but not reaching her eyes. “Yeah, um—I’ll just put my things away. Yeah?”

“Hey, I reckon it’s about time mom gets a little time out of the house, yeah? You guys can handle yourselves for an hour or two while she takes a breather? Work must be pretty tough at the moment.” He locked eyes with the two boys still downstairs, “how’s that sound?”

The two of them looked at their mom, eyeing the splotchy flush up her neck, the watery smile on her lips that looked more sad than happy. Jackson nodded, “okay.” After another minute of quiet deliberation, Toby nodded too, looking up at Price warily but not objecting.

Closing the door gently behind them, it was a quiet walking over to John’s house, the rain already lessening as they went. “Reckon you need a nice drink, hm? Something to warm you up—you a whiskey kind of girl?”

She huffed a laugh, watching her feet as they climbed the porch and he unlocked his door, ushering her inside, but her tone was bitter, “not a girl anymore, John.”

“Not an old maid either,” he grunted, snappy, bordering on a reprimand that finally made her look up at him, “want a drink and a chat sweetheart?”

“Are you offering or telling me?”

“Telling,” he grinned, closing the door behind her.

“Well then,” she grumbled, trailing after him as he went to the kitchen, leaving her heels by the door, feet gingerly set back down on the hardwood floors. “I really did have a long day at work,” she began, her story quickly unwinding the moment she let the first words free.

In the kitchen, John was confronted with a choice, wine or whiskey. Tough. He poured her a healthy glass of red while she wandered to the couch, pouring himself two fingers worth of bourbon, washing his hands before taking the glasses through to her. Handing her, her glass, he set his on the coffee table and turned on the lamps either side of the couch, the warm light softly diffusing over her crumpled clothes.

“And it’s been, what, three years since we finalized the divorce?” Felicity sighed, swinging her legs up on the couch in the space between them, leaning back against her side of the couch. “Like, come on, I can’t imagine having a baby at this age—I mean, I know she’s like, fucking twenty-three, but he’s—ugh—he’s forty with a baby on the way?! What is he thinking?!” She stretched and John’s eyes followed the strain of her shirt buttons against her chest; threads taught like the zipper of his jeans.

“Maybe he’s got some kind of fucking kink for twenty-year-olds—you know he got me pregnant in my second year of university? I was so pissed at him but—” she brought her knees up a little, toes sneaking under the blanket he was partially sitting on to warm up. John nearly bit his tongue clean off, not wanting to look down her skirt while she could catch him. “But we could afford it with that tech job of his. We moved out here to the suburbs and I could finish my degree from home. You know—I thought we were in love. I thought he liked me! We got fucking married, right?!”

“Yeah,” John hummed, knuckles white on the edge of the couch as the plush muscle of her calf called out to him like a siren, fingers aching to tear the dark nylon coating her skin like oil. “Disrespectful little prick,” he added, watching the contents of her glass dwindle.

She hummed a soft little noise, a dopey smile lifting the corners of her lips as she refocused on the man opposite her, the lion toying with its food, lifting one foot from beneath his thigh to prod it teasingly, “more guys should be like you, John. You’re so nice to me. And you’re helpful and stuff,” she giggled when his hand caught her ankle, not letting her hide away under the blanket again, pulling her foot into his lap. “And you’re smart too—just know how to do stuff.”

In all honestly, John wasn’t thinking with much more than his cock right now, he huffed a laugh, eyes drawn to the press of her lips on the edge of her glass, watching her tongue dart out to lick the rim of it like a real tease, “flattery will get you anywhere love.”

Her nose crinkled as she brought her other foot to rest in his lap, “yeah?”

“Sore feet?” he asked softly, running his hand up the curve of her calf, thumb digging into the pit of her knee to watch it knock into the other, thighs pressing together. He wondered what it would take to get them to fall apart. To let him in. “Must be,” he didn’t let her answer, brushing his thumb against the inside of her knee before dragging his hand back down to her foot, “with no one to do this for you.”

“Hm?” her brows pressed together a little, lips parting as he dug his thumb into the arch of her foot, her grip tightening around the stem of her wine glass.

“Anybody looking after these aching little feet of yours, sweetheart?” he asked, voice cooing when her lashes fluttered, her leg jolting into his touch as he pressed a tender spot. He clucked his tongue, digging into the spot again, a little harsher, coaxing out a whimper. “No one’s takin’ care of you, huh? You need someone to help you relax, I reckon.”

“Y-yeah, no one,” she whispered, breath hitching when he switched to the other foot, knees knocking together again, brows furrowed tight as she hissed, trying to pull away from the discomfort, “John—”

“S’okay love, I know it hurts. M’gonna make it feel better,” he murmured, waiting until she set her glass on the table before pulling her feet more firmly into his lap, “you want that? Want someone to make it better?”

Her rosy wine flush darkened across her cheeks as she bit down hard on her bottom lip, eyes dark and owlish as she looked at him, stubborn to admit it. “Mhmm,” she nodded, lip glossy when she let it go.

Christ, he could’ve cried at the dip of her head, the way she didn’t look away. He patted his thigh, and her eyes dropped instantly, “c’mere.”

“Sit on your lap?” she asked, voice soft.

“Not gonna offer again.” Because he couldn’t. His voice would crack. He’s trying so hard to keep himself in check even his blunted nails could rip a hole in the arm of the couch. Just sit on—

The way she moved was gentle, all guilty little smiles as she tucked her feet into her side to turn around on the couch. John certainly didn’t mind the view when she back up onto his lap. Something small and dark slightly visible through her shirt on her lower back, piquing his curiosity.

“I um—” she glanced at him, “it’s been a while since—”

“Oh, you haven’t cum in a while?” he asked, voice turned sympathetic, hand trailing up the inside of her leg until he reached her knees, pressed firmly together. “Gonna need to get in here, if you don’t remember.” His grin was terrible, cruel really, but she listened, and he couldn’t have smiled any wider. He skimmed his nose up the curve of her neck, inhaling deep until her perfumed curled in his lungs like smoke. “Fuckin’ hell, love,” he cursed as his hand delved beneath her pencil skirt, enveloped in her warm inner thighs, “just about runnin’ a bloody fever.”

She squirmed, turning her face to hide in his neck. But he didn’t let her, tilting his head just so that their lips brushed. He felt the way her breath hitch when she gasped, eyes snapping open, “John—I—” His thumb brushed a hot little damp spot between her thighs and she just about bit her tongue, eyes widening.

“Are you always like this?” he groaned, the gravel in his voice sending shivers across her skin, “achin’ for someone to sort you out? To get you out of your head for a little while?” Her breath shuddered against his lips, and she moved in closer, angling for a kiss, but he didn’t let her, shifting his face so she only caught the corner of his mouth, “need an answer first, Effie.”

He grinned when the fabric between her legs changed in texture, smooth, taught nylon, suddenly soft cotton—a hole in her tights for him to hook his finger into and pull. Her hips shifted on his lap, and he clenched his jaw as her hip pressed into his crotch, cock hard as a fucking rock with hardly any bloody stimulation. “Please?”

“Please what, sweetheart? Don’t know what you’re askin’ for.”

“I—” her brows shifted, hesitation plain as day in her eyes and John gave her a second to breathe, tilting his head back slightly.

“Not gonna judge you if you want me to touch you, Felicity. D’you want me to make you feel good?” She nodded, he smiled softly, “see? Not so scary, is it?”

Her nose wrinkled at his tone, and she curled a little more into his chest, “I’m not a baby, John.”

He huffed a breath, “alright then, sweetheart,” and he tore that little hole in her stockings wide open. She gasped, eyes flashing wide, mouth agape, looking at him. “I’m gonna rub this warm, wet cunt ‘til you tell me exactly how you want it then.”

Not wasting a second, he tugged her panties to the side, groaning softly in appreciation of the soft, slick curls he parted with the pad of his index finger. She stiffened right up at that first touch, fingernails biting into his shoulder when he dipped a little deeper, getting his fingers nice and wet, gliding back over her clit. “You stay silent, and this is all you’re getting—you know how nice it is to cum ‘round somethin’. Don’t wanna miss out just cause you’re actin’ all shy, do you?”

John added a little pressure, a second finger swirling around that fizzing little hotspot between her thighs, and she let out a soft whine, eyes half-lidded as she looked down at her lap, where his hand disappeared her beneath her skirt. Stubborn as all hell, she looked up at him, pupils dark in the dim light, “kiss me?”

“S’that all?”

“John.”

“Alright,” he grinned, and with his free hand he reached up to cradle the back of her head, bringing her in nice and close to slot their lips together. She had no chance to shy away when his tongue licked into her mouth, feeling out her gums and twisting it around her own tongue, prying one hell of a depraved moan out of her, her legs melting apart, heat spilling across his fingertips. There she is.

He pulled away but she was sucking his tongue in a way that had his cock throbbing against the teeth of his zipper, she let him go with a lewd pop, already leaning in for more, but he was getting antsy, “d’you want me to fuck you? Want me to stuff this hot little cunt with my fingers?”

“Fuck, yes please,” she moaned, hips rolling into his palm, mouth hot as she reached for him again, her arms going round his neck, fingers scratching at the back of his scalp and the nape of his neck in a way that made his shoulders tense up. “Mmm,” she hummed, tasting his bottom lip, tugging on it with her teeth, “you like it when I scratch you,” a fact, not a question.

He simply nodded, stealing her breath with another kiss, and suddenly her hands were everywhere. Under the collar of his shirt, up under the hem, feeling out the muscles of his back, exposing his skin to the warm couch cushion while her nails drew patterns he hoped he’d see in the morning. Not one to deprive, he didn’t stifle his groan, letting it pour into Felicity’s mouth as he sunk his finger knuckle deep, pulling back and slowing sliding in a second.

Even his palm was wet now, her panties probably ruined, and—fuck, he was going to cum in his pants.

His thumb turned on her clit, resuming that circular friction, making her clench right up as his fingers sank deeper still, curling in search of that— “oh,” her feet shifted, pressing into the cushions below as the sensation made her gasp, “oh—” she couldn’t even keep up with the kisses anymore, panting hot into his mouth, her forehead against his temple, lashes low against her cheeks as her brows furrowed tight.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous like this, Effie,” Price grunted, his own gasp escaping him as he pressed his hips up, finally some pressure relieving the ache burning low in his gut. “Such a—mmmfuck,” he rocked his hips again, “such a pretty woman, aren’t you?”

Her thighs were clamping tight on his wrist, slowing his movements worse than the clenching of her cunt, walls tightening around his fingers, insistent as they were to curl against that spongey spot. He didn’t relent for a second though, putting his fucking shoulder into it, her knees shaking as she came with hiccupping sobs, his name falling off her tongue before she could muffle it with his mouth, twining her tongue hot around his. He was grunting as if he was balls deep, as if his cock wouldn’t be irritated by the zipper cutting into him, the pressure too good as he rolled his hips up into the side of her hip, his hand heavy on the back of her neck as he groaned, strained, deep as he came, cheeks flushed with the heat blossoming in his stomach, lighting sparking down his thighs making him tense up beneath her as his cum made his boxers stick to his balls.

They panted into each other’s mouths for a moment, still exchanging lazy kisses while he slowly eased his fingers out of her. A hot trickle of her own arousal spilled out after him, nearly making him chub right up all over again. “Same time tomorrow?” he murmured against her cheek, grinning, kissing her there too.

“I’ll check my calendar,” she breathed, turning her face to kiss him again…and again…and again until he made to stroke up the seam of her cunt again and she jolted—oversensitive. “Fuck—okay, okay,” she huffed, finally pulling back, “I think I’m done for now.”

“Oh, for now?” John couldn’t help but tease, mind still fuzzy and stuck on the sound of her.

She huffed a laugh, legs pressing back together again, “where’s the bathroom, John?” Standing, his hand followed her, steady on the curve of her backside when her footing wobbled for a second. Her blush was the most perfect thing he’d ever seen, “John?”

“Oh, yeah, bathroom—I’ll show you; it’s just down the hall—”

❀❀❀

Awkwardly, Felicity deposited herself over the toilet, just siting for a moment, her head falling into her hands in a single moment of clarity, flickering and fine as it might be.

What was she doing?

[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.”

[aitheria]

"Easy Does It"

Summary: Shinji x Fem! Reader. It's the 1960's and Shinji Hirako is a laissez-faire man till he meets you. AKA a drabble I said I'd post based on the song "Easy Does It" by Goldford, a requirement for the read!

Tags; Smoking, mild nudity mentioned, OC is lowkey a hippie and slut and Shinji is a simp… happy ending!

It was the Sixties- a decade for dalliances for Shinji Hirako. Hidden behind the smoke of back-alley bars and lost somewhere between the lyrics of The Beatles, he was there. Cropped hair with bell bottom jeans and even larger belt buckles to accentuate his thin waist. His life spun faster than a disc on the turntable, taking lovers between beaded curtains and leaving in hazy mornings. The typical laissez-faire man.

Wearing a lazy grin as he nodded his head to the latest tunes in the record store. You caught his eye as he peered over the vinyls, nails catching in the plastic grooves before it slipped from his fingers. Your floral skirt and loose knit top left him feeling as if he was chasing the last of a high through the aisles. His breath caught when you peered over your wire framed glasses glancing at the record in his hands, he was transfixed till you broke the silence-

“Oh, groovy. That’s my favorite record. Wanna come over and listen to it?” you said with a wink.

He’d be a foolish man to say no.

He was in euphoria between your soft curves and sweeter tongue. Staying up all night on your couch arguing over lyrics and politics, only finding peace in each other’s arms. He learned in time you had loose lips and even looser legs. When he questioned it, you’d pause before saying, “Gotta make love not war, Shinji.”

He watched you shrug on your favorite silk robe from your favorite second-hand thrift shop, twirling your fingers around the phone cord like a loose lock of hair. He watched you giggle with whoever invaded this post sex peace. A cigarette perched between his fingers, lips pursed, and the nicotine doing little to soothe his nerves.

“Shinji baby don’t be jealous,” you sighed, brushing the bangs from his forehead.

“Don’ know whatcha mean doll,” he responded quickly. His jaw ticked as he watched the lava lamp bubble up and fall like the anxiety that roiled in his stomach. He proclaimed to the world he'd be a laissez-faire man. But he found you, he couldn’t share any longer.

You tied the strings of the robe before straddling him, locking him into the bed between your knees. “C’mon babe you know I’m a free spirit, can’t be rushing this life. Got so much of it left,” you spoke, the cherry ChapStick felt sticky on his lips as you leaned into him. He knew that, knew what time meant and he also knew when he met you was the first time he felt grounded in decades.

“Heh. I know that know yer a free spirit n’ all. But yer just too perfect to ferget ‘bout.” he looked at you with that levelheaded gaze as he stroked your cheek. You rolled that over on your tongue for a moment then reached down to undo the ties on your robe, exposing yourself to his hands once more. He complied, running a hand down your curves before finally settling it on your hip. He rubbed small circles idly with a thumb, putting out his cigarette in the ash tray on the bedside table and grabbing the small trinket.

“Wanna give yah a lil’ somethin’ though. Food fer thought.” He placed a ring in your hand, running his fingers over your knuckles. You stared at a loss for words. It was a cheap little band no different from you. A small little diamond just to your liking, it was an oddity found in a thrift shop no less.

“You knew my ring size?” you smirked, placing the ring on your finger and staring at it in the dim light. He smiled back not daring to respond that he knew it since the day you met, no he wouldn’t push it, wouldn’t push you.

“I think we’re onto something good, Mr. Hirako.” You nestled your head into the crook of his neck, his sweet scent calming your racing heart.

“Is that so, Mrs. Hirako?” he grinned when you giggled.