#and that doing so is like. making more of an impact than showing up to a protest

[hoonstrology]

♯┆ERROR 404 .ᐟ word limit reached. ᡣ𐭩 박성훈｡

"i promise myself, while drinking a glass of water in the morning, to tell you. i'll confess what has been on the tip of my tongue tomorrow. you are pretty." — pretty u by seventeen.

୨ pairing ୧ : park sunghoon x fem!reader.

୨ synopsis ୧ : he wouldn't necessarily call himself talkative. sunghoon is just a normal college boy with normal hobbies and interests, so of course he likes talking about those, and he especially likes talking about you— but talking to you? it's an entirely different challenge. and he knows he has to man up and speak up before you get sick of his silence.

୨ genres ୧ : college!au, classmates!au, slow burn-ish, strangers to lovers, lowkey loser!sunghoon, romance, very fluffy, light angst, but a whole lot more comfort, a bit of jealousy, sunghoon is a stupid dumb idiot lover boy. ✮ featuring: enhypen's 02z + heeseung, ive's gaeul and liz, and seventeen's jeonghan. ୨ warnings ୧ : suggestive content, making out, swearing, pet names, alcohol consumption, parties, brief mentions of blood, unintentional self injury, poor attempts at humor, sunghoon is kind of emotionally constipated but in a good way. sunghoon's taller than reader. lmk if i missed anything!

୨ word count ୧ : 18.3k words.┆read the teaser here.

୨ from ! 🐰 yan ୧ : my first written work !! i normally write smaus so writing a full oneshot has been daunting. this is my literal brain child so i hope you guys love it as much as i do. i would love to get feedback via asks/replies !! (pls be nice) ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏  ✾  𝙍𝙀𝘽𝙇𝙊𝙂𝙎 are appreciated.

TODAY MARKED THE FIRST DAY OF YOUR FOUR YEARS IN COLLEGE. you walked past your university’s gates, chin tipped up and proud with a book held close to your chest, thin silver glasses framing your face, and a smile that you spent an entire hour practicing in the mirror yesterday. 

you wore the best outfit you could, but not in a trying-hard overdressed kind of way, just enough effort to make you memorable. you wanted to make a good impression, after all. 

if you could look lost enough, maybe a senior would notice you. maybe he’d ask for your schedule, walk you to class, make light gossip about the professors you have and in a few years, he’d propose to you in the same spot by the gates, and you’d say i do, and live a happy married lif—

clank!

you get snapped out of your sweet little daydream as pain shoots through your shoulder, down your left arm. “fuck.” you whisper, head snapping up to shoot a frustrated glare at the thick pole in front as if it’s the one who bumped into you.

the impact was hard enough to have your book and glasses falling to the floor with a thud, and definitely hard enough to leave a bruise tomorrow because even merely moving your arm makes you wince. 

thankfully, the area was mostly empty— which meant your dream of being a college cool girl was still in play —save for a tall guy just a foot beside you. 

shit. 

he’s already kneeling down to pick your things up and before you could even bend over to help, he just looks up and gestures to you to stay still by pointing to your outfit. “skirt.” is all he says, his voice deep and quiet.

you’d normally blush at the gentlemanly gesture but instead, you do it out of pure embarrassment. 

god, this wasn’t the meet-cute you imagined. 

he hands you back your book and your glasses, freshly wiped of dirt from the hem of his faded black hoodie. you slip it on your face again and bow your head out of shame, stepping aside to escape this nightmare of an embarrassment, but before you could even attempt to, he tugs on the sleeve of your cardigan, showing you his open palm like he's telling you to stop.

and against your better judgement, you do. 

the stranger slips one of his backpack’s straps off his shoulder, fishing a box out of it and begins scribbling away with a pen cap trapped between his teeth.

you took this time to look at him— really look at him. tall, lean physique, sharp features, fair skin. he wore a pair of black thick-rimmed glasses that framed his kind-looking eyes really well. he’s stylish, no question about that.

and painfully handsome, too.

the pen is closed with a faint click and he slips it back into his hoodie’s pocket and you take that as a sign to stop checking him out lest you embarrass yourself further.

his lips purse into a straight line and his thick eyebrows furrow closer as he gives the box an intense stare, the soft eyes from a while ago turning more serious and stressed as it turns to you, back to the box, and back to you again.

the suffocating silence is shattered by two men shouting from a distance, the shorter one of them comically jumping and waving his hands in the air.

he turns to look at the source of the noise and lets out a small grunt, handing you the box and before jogging away without another word.

you stand there dumbstruck, watching the three boys interact for a while before turning on your heels, slipping the box between your chest and the book. that was odd. 

you walk to class with a sore shoulder and cheeks that still feel warm from the whole ordeal. upon finding your room, new faces give you polite smiles or nods of acknowledgement and you do the same. once you're seated and settled, you put the book down on top of your desk.

the forgotten box falls on your lap, urging you to take a closer look at it. 

menthol pain relief patches. 

you flip the box around and you're greeted by a pastel yellow post-it note stuck on the back.

“for your shoulder. please be careful next time.” 

he probably thinks you're a loser with no depth perception. and he wouldn't be wrong for thinking that, but it doesn't stop your cheeks from heating up for the nth time this morning.

you convince yourself it's okay. that your university is big, and you surely you won't meet him again. the fact disappoints you a little bit, but at least you're saved from having to face him after what happened.

you press your fingers against your forehead in stress.

first day in and you’ve already made a fool of yourself in front of a man. not just any man but a handsome one. a very important distinction. 

developing a crush feels on him feels pathetic. he just gave you muscle relief patches, an act of kindness that was just a little bit above the bare minimum. and he only said one word to you, for gods’ sake. but you’ve never been one to think logically, so while your lecture starts, your head starts drifting off and it’s already incorporating the good-looking, tall stranger in your romantic fantasies.

turns out, the man in your dreams wouldn’t be a senior, nor would he be gossiping with you about your professors.

instead, you’d be sharing them. 

during your third class of the day, the handsome stranger walks in the lecture hall with his two friends in tow and you immediately recognize him because of the glasses. his hands are stuffed into his hoodie as he settles on a seat a couple of rows in front of you, still as intimidating as he looked like when he gave you the box.

you learned of his name when the professor called him to read a passage in the book. 

park sunghoon. 

you think it’s a pretty name— fitting for a pretty boy like him.

sunghoon’s voice was steady while he read, smoothly pronouncing every word, clearing his throat after a mistake and resuming with the same composure. the speed at which he spoke was just right, slow enough to enunciate every syllable but not too much to bore whoever chose to listen.

"mr. park, care to share your thoughts on what you just read?"

sunghoon only stood straighter, his natural confidence in his voice making you swoon in your seat.

“i don't believe the fable's moral lesson to necessarily be applicable in real life where businesses and industries have become fast-paced. should the readers need to have a takeaway, they should focus on what the hare lacked— humility. his over-confidence is the ultimate reason for his downfall, being a creature that has already been given natural talent and an advantage on the terrain—” 

just like that, your small happy crush turned into full-blown attraction. his voice? his eloquence? damn. it’s like he’s trying (and succeeding) to make you want him.

you wish you had sat in front so you could look at him more. you could only imagine how stern he’d look, how his thick brows would meet together making him look even more gorgeous when he’s focused. but for now, you could settle for the view of his back while trying your best to listen to your professor, and not to the voice that suspiciously resembles sunghoon's playing in a constant loop inside your head. 

he’s in the rest of your classes today too, which makes the task of focusing twice as hard. you feel like a creep with the way your eyes naturally gravitate to him every time you hear his voice, or when you see a tiny bit of movement from the corner of your eye. 

so when it’s almost time to go home, you do the most un-creepy thing you can think of: wait outside the door. 

a student, and another, they all step out one by one. then he finally walks out, laughing at something his friend said before freezing mid-sentence as he catches sight of you standing with a familiar box laid out on your palm.

he looked surprised for a moment, before gripping on the single strap hanging on his shoulder, shifting uncomfortably before raising a brow like he was waiting for you to speak. 

“oh! i, uh.. i already put some on my shoulder and on my arm a while ago. there’s too much in the pack and i figured i could give it back to you since i don’t really have any use for it.” you explain, pushing it towards him. 

one of his friends gasps at the sight, quickly throwing a punch to sunghoon’s shoulder which he receives with a quiet hiss.

“what the fuck, hoon? i was looking for that! you know i have try-outs later!” the boy shouts, his australian accent thick and evident as he snatches the pack from your palm. “tch, can’t believe you lied to me.”

sunghoon gives him a cold stare, taking the patches away again before whispering something to the other boy which resulted in the rowdy blonde getting dragged away by his collar. he flipped the box over once, twice, and raised an eyebrow, seeming to notice that the post-it note was not there anymore. 

“is this what you’re looking for?” taking the neatly folded paper from your pocket, you place it on top of the box. “i’m sorry for taking it. i thought it was for me. unless you also have other friends who regularly bump into poles while actively daydreaming and you actually meant to give that to someone els—” 

sunghoon cuts you off with his index finger pressed on his own lips. he gives both back to you before flashing you a small smile, one that causes your poor little heart to thump faster.

“for you. keep it.” his words are clipped but you can feel the kindness behind them. 

say something, anything, to keep the conversation going. 

“i’m y/n, by the way.” you hold your hand out.

“i know. i’m sunghoon.” he murmurs, looking at the hand extended towards him before shaking it.

you sense the slight hesitation but the contact makes you giddy nonetheless. it’s as sweet as it is short lived because sunghoon quickly lets go, hands returning to the safety of his hoodie’s pocket. 

“huh? how’d you know? i don’t remember the professor calling me. wait- did he take attendance? shit, i forgot to say present—” 

the chuckle he lets out is low and breathy, making the words halt in your mouth. sunghoon shakes his head and his eyes do a quick scan of you before pointing to the small sticker that reads 'yoon y/n's!' on the book you've been holding.

"oh."

another beat of awkward silence.

“uh.. what’s your schedule?” you ask with a kind smile, following sunghoon as he starts walking towards your building's exit, trying not to dwell on how he started walking slower, at the perfect pace for you to keep up with his long strides. 

he fishes for his phone to show you the picture and you do the same, eyes looking at your screen then his. “we share most classes! all the ones in the afternoon.” you smile victoriously, and sunghoon releases another quiet chuckle, nodding along.

before you know it, you’ve reached the gate where his friends are waiting. he pauses, squinting his eyes at the duo who suddenly stopped talking to look between you and him, teasing grins plastered on their faces which just made sunghoon rub his temple.

“oh? who is this? a new friend?” the black-haired friend asks, a smirk on his lips while raising an eyebrow at sunghoon. 

“y/n.” sunghoon says, pointing to you. “jake.” he points to the blonde boy with an aussie accent, before turning to the tanner friend with a jawline so sharp you’re convinced you’d need more than menthol patches if you touched it. “jay.” 

sunghoon must have told them about what happened this morning because they looked at you, eyes scanning you up and down with anflash of amusement showing in their eyes. 

“hi.” you give them a shy wave and they return it with a welcoming smile, their hands gently shaking yours.

jake pulls sunghoon away, huddling on one side while whispering, their heads occasionally turning to you every now and then with synchronicity.

“what do you mean that’s her?”

“jake, pipe the fuck down!”

“are they… talking about me?” you turn to jay with raised eyebrows and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's grown familiar to this scenario. “looks like it. please forgive jake. he’s normally more… discreet when he’s curious about someone.” 

yeah, there’s nothing discreet about jake pointing his finger at you with a wide smile. sunghoon, on the other hand, is insistent on pushing jake's hand down with a pretty pink flush on his cheeks, looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. very cute.

“do you guys share all your classes?” 

“yeah, we share an apartment so we were together when we chose our classes.”

“so i’d take it that you guys are close?” 

jay gives you a nod, eyes fond while he looks at his best friends. “met in middle school— and we’ve unfortunately been inseparable since then.”

“that's cute. must be nice to have people you can rely on already. college is kinda scary.” 

“you have us!” jake whispers from beside you, making you scream in surprise at his sudden presence. sunghoon shoots him a sharp glare, tugging on your cardigan for the second time today to pull you by his side.

the golden retriever looking boy presses his palms together, whispering a small apology before handing you his phone.

“sunghoon told me you have afternoon classes with us! so you can give me your number and just reach us whenever. not to brag but i’m the most popular in this trio. i'll text you whenever there’s a party. i'll getcha connected to people in no time.” he adds with a wink, pulling a laugh out of you.

“i think i’ll stick to texting you for home work.” you reply with a roll of your eyes, punching your number in jake’s phone nonetheless. 

a few more friendly words are exchanged before they wave you goodbye because jay and jake are going to your college’s basketball try-outs. sunghoon isn’t interested but is supposedly "required by law" to go because he’s their moral support.

you laugh and give both of them a fist bump for good luck before walking away, failing to catch sunghoon’s lingering stare as he watches your figure disappear.

that night, you buried yourself under your duvet, congratulating yourself for surviving your first day of freshman year and making three new friends on top of that.

just then, your phone vibrated.

💬 from: unknown number — this is sunghoon. :)

your friendship with park sunghoon slowly blossomed from that day onward. though your first meeting was full of chaos, the following months were anything but.

much like him, it was calm. respectful, even.

you would give each other a smile when you passed by one another in the mornings, he’d shoot you a text to let you know he reserved the seat next to him when you were running ten minutes late in the afternoon, or you'd remind him of tasks due the next day.

he even offer to accompany you to the university’s library when your friends weren't available, headphones on and only taking it off to tap on your shoulder when he notices you dozing off. 

one day, you asked him to grab lunch with you under the pretense of not having anyone to eat with, and then it became routine.

usually it would be just you and sunghoon but the boys would tag along every now and then. he would be noisier during those lunches, and you relished it because that’s the only time you get to see him be so comfortable and rowdy. 

you pondered what the cause could be, and eventually landed on a theory during one of your sociology classes. 

deindividuation, as your professor called it.

she said being part of a larger group can lead to a sense of reduced personal responsibility and accountability which then causes individuals to feel less inhibited and more likely to engage in behaviors they might not otherwise, including speaking loudly or interrupting.

she basically described sunghoon to a perfect t. 

because your friendship with him is quiet. his half of the friendship, to be specific.

you mostly got to know him through mere observation– his habits, things he enjoyed and things he disliked. if you didn’t discover things yourself, his friends would be the one offering sunghoon's information to you like when jay told you he has a younger sister he adored, or when jake told you that he once wanted to go to antarctica, a dream that he left behind after he took an interest in photography. 

if you were to type out every word he's said to you for the entirety of your friendship in a continuous line, you’d probably be able to fill four pages of a document in arial 11. maybe five.

if you remember correctly, his longest running sentence is “please walk on the inside part of the sidewalk next time, angel— it’s dangerous.” a yet-to-be defeated record of fourteen words. it was also the first time he called you by a pet name and it had you screaming into your pillow as soon as you got home. 

initially, you thought it’d be better to converse with him through text. and it was an improvement, yes– but only by a few notches. you’d be able to make twenty pages with the words he said through the phone, but there were still days where he’d just reply with one word.

or a single emoji. 

but sunghoon isn’t nonchalant. far from it, actually.

he laughs at your jokes— he even giggles when it's done to his type of humor. if he sees you stressing out during a pop quiz, he’d slyly push his paper towards you to let you copy his answers. and he already knows to take his sweater off and hand it to you before history class because the heater doesn’t work well in that classroom. 

almost always, he’d walk out of the classroom with his bag slung on one of his shoulders and yours on the other with the finesse of someone who's used to being reliable. you’ve never had to open your own water bottles or push through doors either because sunghoon would be the one doing it for you. all of that while wearing a proud smile.

and barely any noise.

when you ask him questions, he’d either hum to affirm, shake his head no, or shrug if he didn’t know the answer. if he’s the one asking you questions, he just gestures with his hands or fingers to get his message across.

one morning when you went to class in a new hairstyle, he pointed to it with raised brows. “ah, just wanted to try something new.” you explained. his reply was a smile and a measly thumbs up.

all that to say, he's an acts-of-service rather than a words-of-affirmation type of guy.

you always try to fill that awful silence between the both of you with endless rambles, and like the reliable person he is, he always listens with a hum here and there to let you know that he was still following your story about how your neighbor scared you shitless by trying to open your door in the middle of the night.

"—he shook the knob so hard i had to call an emergency locksmith. it’s literally the second time he did that this week! and he doesn’t even have the decency to pay me back for the fee!”

by the time you end your tirade, you’re slumped over the café’s table, cheeks squished flat on the smooth surface. he just chuckles and taps on your head with a finger and you raise it slightly. sunghoon places a sheet of tissue down and leans back, allowing you to press your face against the table again, but hygienically this time around.

“you care for my skin more than i do.” you grumble, blowing the stray hairs away from your face. 

he does it like it’s routine— because it is. 

the first time you did it, he shook his head in slight disappointment. “you’ll get acne.” he said, voice flat while pointing to his cheeks. so after months of it happening, he learned to always have tissues in his bag just in case you decided you wanted to have another ranting session.

a few minutes pass and you hear him groan before reaching over to show you his watch. two thirty-seven pm. “man. fuck history class.” you sigh, starting to pack up your things while sunghoon's already a few steps past the cafe door.

“hoonie, wait for me!” you whine, running to catch up and he pauses, looking at you over his shoulder.

he only resumes his strides when he hears the familiar taps of your footstep beside him, making him smile to himself as he shoves his hands in his pocket, walking back to class with the cold autumn wind that pushes leaves of gold and orange past his feet. 

this is what he does. if he wanted to go somewhere, he’d guide you to the destination by walking instead of telling. sometimes, because you moved at the pace of a snail, he would need to tug on your shirt or on the end of your jacket to help you keep up.

he never actually touches you. not intentionally. the usual skinship he’d initiate is a tap on your shoulder, or on the back of your hand. if he was feeling extra touchy, the most he’d give is an affectionate pat to your head. 

if you remember correctly, that has only happened seven times so far.

there was also that one time he touched your cheeks for a brief moment, but you don’t think that counts because he only did it to push your head away when jake jokingly leaned towards you with a kissy face. 

“sunghoon!” 

two heads turn around to see heeseung, a sophomore, approaching with a basketball pinned between his hand and hip. he’s a good friend of jake and jay, and by association, sunghoon’s.

“mind if i take him away for a bit?” heeseung asks you, the usual charming smile on his face as he taps on sunghoon’s shoulder. you nod and shoo them away, but not without sunghoon pointing to an empty bench first.

you head over there, one leg crossed over the other as you observe the bright smile on sunghoon’s face. words like “girls” and “after party” are thrown, and you already know it has something to do with the boys’ basketball match this weekend. 

but their words translate more like faint buzzing because you’re too busy dwelling on the way sunghoon interacts with heeseung. it’s something that has been bothering you for a good while— the way he becomes much more animated when he talks to someone. the way sentences don’t sound strained leaving his mouth.

it’s like everyone has access to a button that activates talkative sunghoon. 

everyone else but you. 

the theory of deindividuation didn’t apply to him anymore. maybe it never did.

he wasn’t technically popular, no. he was still an introvert who preferred staying on the sidelines but from what you’ve seen, anyone who was brave enough to go up to him and make friends, he accepted without protest.

weren’t you already friends with him? so why can’t he be like that with you?

your mind reels back to the time you caught him talking to a senior on the way to your next class. they were having a conversation about the cameras he liked and his history with photography, and it made you wonder for a second whether he had an identical twin his friends forgot to tell you about. you could hear the childlike fascination as he talked, voice practically dripping with enthusiasm.  

so when you asked him about cameras later that same day and all you got was a simple 'i like them', it simply broke your heart.

you've spent days thinking about why he couldn’t open up to you the same way he did with others. you’d scroll through your texts with sunghoon and it's always polite. always curt. always “how’s your weekend?” but when you ask him the same question, he’d reply with “just okay.” before turning the conversation to something about you again.

maybe he wasn’t interested in you. not in that way, at least. because why would he? he, who would make people stare whenever you walked the hallways together. he, who made every student in class stop whatever they were doing just to listen to him whenever he recited.

he, who hugged acquaintances yet can’t seem to stand the thought of his hand grazing you, his friend.

it made you overthink whether you truly were a friend to him or just another overzealous classmate forcing your unwanted presence.

you don’t even realize you’ve started tearing up until you see sunghoon kneeling in front of you, eyes full of worry as he looks into your glassy ones.

“angel? w-what’s wrong?” he asks, a hand reaching up but he bites his lips and brings it back down to his side. 

you turn your head to the side and force out a laugh. “where’s heeseung?”

“he left. tell me what’s wrong.” he says, placing a hand on your knee. he doesn’t need to tell you, because you could tell how uncomfortable he was from initiating that simple touch.

“it’s nothing. just… i think some dust got into my eyes.” you rub your eyes with your curled fist, exaggerating a few blinks before you gently push his hand off your knee. not even a second passes and you already miss the warmth of his touch. it's pathetic.

“there. it’s gone now.” you hum, pulling him up by his bag’s strap. “let’s go? mr. shin will kill us if we’re late.”

he looks like he wants to say something. but he doesn’t.

he never does.

instead, he strips off his white hoodie and hands it to you, looking at you with expectant eyes. he just stands there, your bag in his hand with the same expression until you relent and throw his hoodie over your head while rolling your eyes. 

you walk to your history class warm and smelling like a pleasant mix of sunghoon’s cologne and laundry detergent.

your exit plan hasn’t even started yet and you’re already failing. 

three weeks. 

three cruel and agonizing weeks of sunghoon missing your presence. 

he thinks it started that weekend. like heeseung suggested, he texted you an invite to the frat party to celebrate the boys’ win. he never really got a reply but he did see you arrive safely which put him a little more at ease. 

you greeted him with a breathtaking smile and the same little wave he started looking forward to receiving everyday— his biggest motivator to attend and do well in class despite the hell that it is.

you wore a short ivory white dress, blessing him with far more skin than he usually saw within the confines of yours classrooms, your hair done up to show the smooth curves of your neck and the sharp angle of your shoulders.

all he could think about is dirtying your exposed skin with marks so the annoying boys in your class would get the hint to stay away from what's his, and he hated it. you don't even know it but you make something deeply covetous stir inside him.

you’re already beautiful in his eyes, but that night you truly looked like an angel, and he wanted nothing more than to kneel and follow you towards the light. 

jiwon and gaeul snapped him out of his trance by dragging you away to the other side of the house before he can even get a word in, and all sunghoon could do is pray that you don't leave with someone else.

the after party went on. drunk people leaning against the kitchen counter, a random couple sucking each others’ faces off on the recliner by the entrance, and jay crying “foul” when he lost another round of beer pong. for the sixth time. 

sunghoon looked at his phone, brows almost meeting together as he stared at your conversation. still left on read, still no reply, but he decided to send you another one anyway. 

💬 to: angel y/n. — your dress looks nice. :)

“why’s my y/n-ie not here?” jake approached him, red solo cup in hand. 

“first of all: she’s not yours. second: you’re already slurring your words, jaeyun. sober up before we get to the car, i beg. i don’t want my car to smell like vomit again.” sunghoon grunted, trying to push the boy off as jake leaned against him for support, face pressed on his shoulder while whining about how much he wanted to see you. 

“why? you gonna try to kiss her again?”

“if it’ll annoy you. like it always does.” jake snaps back, a drunken smirk on his face. 

sunghoon rolled his eyes, taking jake’s cup and pushing him with enough force to make him land on the couch.

“you didn’t even get to kiss her sober. what makes you think your wasted ass can do it this time?” the laugh he let out is light, yet traced with a bit of venom. 

looking at jake all sprawled out on the couch and giggling like a man without a care in the world made sunghoon sneer. even thinking about that memory makes him want to knock jake out. but he knows his best friend’s teasing is only done to get a reaction out of him, to press on a particularly sensitive bruise— the bruise being his feelings for you. 

“hoon!” he turned, seeing jay from the kitchen pointing to a girl. he approached them with ease, flashing the stranger a smile. “he’s my friend who wanted to get something done.” jay said, charming as ever, palm pointed to sunghoon. 

“this is the minha, the artist i told you about. let me know when you guys agree on something, yeah?” he pat both their backs and made his exit, probably to tend to jake who was wasted and still trying to dance.

the girl turned to him with a gasp, excitedly showing the jewelry on her hand and fingers. they talked about the bracelet he wanted to be made, noting colors he did and didn’t want to include, even passionately showing her reference pictures.

in the middle of his conversation, he raised his head to look for jay but caught you instead, unreadable eyes moving from him to his new-found friend. he took a step back from her and one towards you but you vehemently shook your head, raising a hand to make him stay in place.

you gave him a smile, one that looked a little forced, a little too disingenuous and foreign in a kind face like yours. 

you mouthed ‘i’m heading home', thumb pointing to the door before waving goodbye. “wait. i— i’ll be back.” he says to minha, running and pushing his way through the crowd of bodies. when he stepped out of the front door, gaeul's car had already sped off, leaving nothing behind but a cloud of dust.

💬 to: angel y/n. — i didn’t get to say goodbye. :(

the three bubbles popped up on his screen. after a few minutes of watching it appear and disappear, you replied.

💬 from: angel y/n. — it’s okay, sunghoon. enjoy the party! 👍

and so ensued the twenty one days of sunghoon’s torture. 

the absence wasn’t loud. it wasn’t immediate. it was a gradual pull, like flowers in a vase slowly losing their petals and vibrant color to their unnatural environment.

you were gone, but not entirely.

though a part of him thinks it would have been more merciful if you just left outright, because the moment he starts noticing things, it’s like he can’t stop. it's the type of cruelty only you could do to him.

you didn’t sit beside him anymore, opting to return to your previous spot behind him during classes. no more loud cheering by his side when he attended the boys’ basketball practices after class. and just to rub salt to his open wound, you made gaeul and jiwon replace him in your usual lunch spot.

that was the final straw— the thing that let him knew he somehow, some way, truly fucked up.

now he can’t even use classes as an excuse to see you because of course, of course, it had to happen right before the holiday break. not only was there an emotional distance, but a physical one, too. he can’t text you either— not without looking stupid or desperate. the last message he sent read “okay. good night, y/n.” which was a reply to your dry “i think i'll sleep, sunghoon. night! :)” 

no more lunches, no more affectionate reminders of homework deadlines, and no more nicknames. things changed. and the shift, though unnoticeable to others, was strong enough for his best friends to speak up. 

“i swear to god if you sigh one more time, i’ll actually mix bleach in your coffee to put you out of whatever misery you’re in.” jay grunts, throwing the couch pillow to sunghoon, unfazed and still busy fiddling with his phone despite getting hit square on his arm.

jake takes a peek from behind the couch, a plate of their shared dinner in hand, laughing as he sees sunghoon pathetically typing and deleting different variations of 'how was your day?' into his phone without actually sending anything.

“is our y/n-ie still not talking to you?” he teases, moving to the sit on the floor, right between his best friend’s legs. the nickname rolling off jake's tongue makes sunghoon's brow twitch in irritation.

“still? i thought they were okay? didn’t she visit us during a game?”

sunghoon’s head snaps up to look at jay. “she did?” 

they nod. “the one we did before break.” 

“without me?” he says this time, voice pitched up in disbelief. 

they give him another nod.

“said she just wanted to drop by and watch us. sat with a long-haired blonde guy.” jay mumbles, giving him a shrug. 

“yeah. he seemed awfully close to her if you ask me. arm around her everything. i’m surprised they weren’t making out.” jake adds, making the other laugh as he creates horrible slurping sounds with arms wrapped around himself.

sunghoon takes the pillow from earlier and smashes it across the side of jake’s head. “you’re disgusting.” he huffs, storming to his room, feeling his heart drop lower and lower with each stomp of his feet.

he hears nothing but static, clouded eyes burning holes on the framed photo atop his bedside table: a candid shot he took using his favorite film camera of you laughing so brightly that your eyes turned into crescents.

the mere thought of someone else seeing you in that light has dinner rushing back out his mouth.

you’ve made peace with your friendship with sunghoon.

you've long accepted that it won’t turn into anything more. at some point, you were able to tune out the girls that hang around him, not caring whether they'd confess. he rejected every single one of them anyway, and you know you wouldn't be any different than those pretty crying faces if you tried.

you only cared when people approached him to have a friendly conversation because sunghoon would happily give them a memorable one. that's what made you jealous.

hell, he even got your friends. gaeul mentioned natto once and sunghoon yapped about the delicacy like a day-one fan. he shared his favorite fashion brands with jiwon too– complete with a detailed explanation on his preferences and favorite collections. 

granted, he wasn’t on the best terms with them right now because they were the ones who had to pick up the pieces of your heart when you started crying halfway through the drive back to your apartment after that cursed party.

you stood there long enough to see him laugh and giggle in amazement at whatever amazing thing the amazing girl was showing him on her phone, stood long enough to see how casually he held her hand and raised it to his face to look at her accessories. your eyes read his lips, 'you’re so cool', right before he saw you.

gaeul held you in her arms as soon as you curled up in your bed, jiwon on the other side shushing you while stroking your head. “i just— i don’t get it.” you grunted, brashly wiping your wet cheeks with the back of your hand, the mascara-stained tears staining your bedsheets as they dropped freely.

“why he’s– why doesn't he doesn’t talk to me like that? but.. he looks at me like he likes me and— and he does things for me he doesn’t do with other people!”  

you were inconsolable, hiccuping in between sobs and screaming more words that your friends don’t understand anymore because you’re crying too much. they just exchanged tired looks while rubbing on your arm until you were exhausted enough to sleep. 

the morning after, while pressing frozen spoons on your swollen eyelids, you were determined to treat him as he did you— sweet and kind, but from a safe distance. close enough to keep your friendship with him together, but far enough so you wouldn’t have to feel your heart get stomped on when you hear him ramble about his passions to someone else. 

he still attempted to ask about you through texts, tried to talk about the weather, or your progress on a project. he never brought up the topic of this weird drift in your relationship and neither did you.

at first, you replied within the same hour, then the same day, then after three days and so on. 

ignoring him became easier when you went back home because you couldn’t see him, couldn't feel the hairs on your nape stand straight whenever his inspecting gaze was stuck on you. you could put your notifications on mute and pretend you fell asleep when he shoots you another text to ask what's keeping you so busy.

half-way through the holiday, the ringtone you set specifically for sunghoon stopped ringing and you knew he stopped trying to reach you.

were you sad? were you relieved? you didn't know.

but what you do know is that you have to keep up this act. so even after the second semester started, you diligently stuck to your new routine. nods in the hallway, civil hi’s and ‘hello’s in the classroom, hoping and praying that your feelings would slip away the same way you were slipping from him.

you marked today’s date with another x — thirty six days since the rift, twenty nine days since the texts stopped.

ten days since random letters started appearing.

you didn’t think he was trying to hide it. and if he did, he was doing a shit job because you were able to recognize his penmanship with just a glance— sunghoon had an odd way of writing the letter y, after all. a different kind of neat with a little flick at the end. 

some days, the letters would be slipped in through your locker, and on busier days, it would be on your desk accompanied with food. the drinks varied, but the pastry stayed the same. an almond croissant from your favorite café— the one you used to hangout with him. 

“i don’t know what i did, but i hope you know i’m sorry.” 

that’s the first letter he wrote. written in a plain piece of yellow pad, contrasting the way it’s elegantly wrapped — in an ivory envelope with a small heart sticker sealing it. you made your friends read it, too. and gaeul cackled loudly, teasing you for immediately turning soft and wanting to run back into sunghoon's arms.

“you’re seriously folding as quick as he folded that half-assed letter.” she said in amusement, chopsticks roughly poking through the seaweed roll on jiwon’s lunch box. the blonde just rubbed your shoulder in understanding, shooting the older girl a glare. “don’t blame our y/n! she’s just a girl in love.”

"hopeless romantics, the two of you." the other girl replied with a shake of her head.

since that day, the letters have improved. still in the same off-white envelope, the same red heart-shaped sticker. the content was different each time, but they made your heart race all the same.

“your hoodie today looks comfortable. i hope you’re staying warm.” “i’ve been thinking about how you're the only one that who understands me even when i don’t say a lot. i'm grateful for that.” “i saw you crying today behind the bleachers. you said it was just from a yawn. it must have hurt a lot if you couldn’t tell anyone. next time you want to yawn again, just call for me, okay?” “i look at you a lot, but i think of you even more. what do i do with you?”

you push the small calendar inside your locker and sigh softly as you peel the heart sticker off, eyes reading through today’s letter. 

“it was drizzling today and i felt so much more sullen. it made me realize how much i keep searching for the voice, the presence that made everyday brighter. i miss you, y/n.”

you hate how your first instinct is to look around. to check if you’ll see the same annoyingly handsome, glasses-wearing face that’s been haunting you for the past month. but of course, he isn’t there. so you fold the letter again.

another one added to the collection of the letters that you keep safely in your room so you can read it again later tonight.

away from the crowd of students flocking to their lockers, sunghoon stands with a soft smile on his face as he watches you slip the envelope in your bag. when you close the metal door shut, he takes it as a sign to walk back to jay and jake, hands in his pocket, grinning in victory. 

“she didn’t throw your corny letter away this time?” jake howls and sunghoon’s smug expression falls into one of panic, making him smack the boy in the back of his head.

“she never did, idiot. and keep your voice down.” 

jay raises his eyebrow. “i don’t understand why you don’t just talk to her. surely it’s easier to just do that rather than… writing all this extra shit every night. who are you? shakespeare?”

sunghoon just sighs and shakes his head, his thumb reaching up to scratch his adam’s apple. “you don’t understand, and pray that you never do. because this shit? it ain’t easy.” 

too much projects still left in your to-do list, too many passive-aggressive comments from useless group mates that you chose to ignore for the sake of keeping the peace, and one-too-many snide remark from a stranger in the women’s bathroom about how ‘interesting’ your shoes are.

needless to say, it's been a rough week.

most of the students have gone home by now. your girlfriends bid you goodbye an hour ago and you stayed behind, opting to work on your essay in an empty classroom because your head wouldn't work if tried to finish it at home. the fact that you'd have a meaningful rest tomorrow gave you the last push you needed to press submit.

tired footsteps echo down the empty hallway as you use your remaining energy to trudge towards your locker. it opens with a bleary rattle and you find a square box laid atop an envelope. 

it’s been a while since sunghoon left you one.

you push the heavy books inside before reaching for the black suede box, the fuzzy material tickling your fingertip as you push the top open.

inside, a bracelet. fine silver chains alternating with four round glass beads– pink and green blooming from the center like ink dropped in still water. a flat silver rectangle hangs in the center with the corners of it smoothly rounded out, and embellished with detailed carvings of flowers around the edges. on the back, an engraving of your name.

why would he do this? 

you carefully return the bracelet inside its case and reach for the envelope with pursed lips. you close your eyes and let out a shaky exhale.

you need to prepare yourself for what you're about to read. if this one's as sweet as his past letters, your resolve— the tiny amount left of it —wouldn't be able to hold you back, especially considering how worn out you are.

"you must have been having a hard time lately— the y/n who’s precious to sunghoon. i hope we can talk again because i want you to tell me that today was tough. i want to be the one you lean on— and the one who tells you that you’re doing a good job regardless. i know you’ve been suffering through a lot, and i want you to know that i’m here.”

the corner of the paper crumples in your tightening fist as you tilt your head up to keep your tears from smudging more of the black ink. you stand in place, trying your best to control your breathing, teeth biting down on your chapped lips as your eyes run over the last words.

“you’ve worked hard, angel. i'm proud of you.”

your shaky hands close the locker door, forehead leaning against it as you hold the letter close to your chest, quietly sniffling with your head hung low, hot tears falling directly on the dirty tiles. “he saw me. he always sees me.” you whisper to yourself, shoulders shaking as your pained cries begin to overtake your body.

there's a faint warmth radiating on your back and your nose picks up notes of sandalwood and leather cutting through the sterile scent of alcohol mixed with floor cleaners.

sunghoon.

he towers over you, body trapped in between his and the cool metal of the lockers as if to hide you from invisible prying eyes. his sturdy arms flip you around, one hand moving to your head to carefully guide it towards his chest, and the other wrapping around you to give your back gentle soothing pats. 

as always, he doesn’t say anything. just wraps you in his arms while his fingers comb through the ends of your hair. 

the two of you stand there until your loud cries are replaced with small hiccups. 

there's a small, shameful whine that leaves your lips when sunghoon pulls away from the hug, but he leans in again, long legs slightly folding to match your height until his face is just a couple of inches away from yours. behind the thick black glasses, his dark orbs gaze into you with worry written all over his face.

you can’t help but feel irritated at how good he looks despite the cheap fluorescent lights hanging overhead.

still as handsome as the first day you saw him— just a little rugged this time around. he looks tired. frazzled. perhaps just as exhausted as you. the dilated vessels turned the whites of his eyes pink, and there’s a faint blue tint on his under eyes that make him look like he’s been losing sleep. 

a selfish part of you hopes you’re the reason for it. 

“i wanted to comfort you, and yet i still managed to make you cry.” he says with a sad smile, both hands cupping your cheek while his thumb brushed away the tears clinging to your lashes. “i’m sorry, angel.” he whispers before hugging you again, making you sigh in comfort. 

you missed hearing that nickname. you missed his voice, his face, his scent, even his stupid glasses.

you just missed sunghoon in general. 

the days you stayed apart drove him crazy too. it gave him the courage to hug you tighter, foregoing his fears and anxieties as he squeezes you in his arms. “i missed you. i think i still do, even now.” he whispers, lips brushing on the crown of your head.

sunghoon held your wrist as he walked outside your department's building to an empty bench.

the pink and peach tones in the sky have disappeared, replaced by the artificial neon orange from the street lamps. the trees are starting to grow their leaves back too, but the cool breeze still nipped at your skin like leftover air from winter trying to leave.

it was cold, but not painful nor unbearable. just enough to keep you alert, aware of how warm your side is from how close sunghoon is sitting beside you. aware of how he made more room by throwing an arm behind and casually resting it on the bench’s backrest so he could cuddle closer.

it feels like whiplash, the way he can’t keep himself from playing with your fingers when a month and a half ago, his obvious choice would be to hold the ends of your shirt like touching your skin would burn him. 

and it does. it still does. 

but who could blame sunghoon? he was an addicted man who got a taste of your touch and firmly decided he’d rather get simultaneously run over, stabbed multiple times, and be set on fire than spend another moment without him holding you or vice versa. kick him too while you’re at it. 

he doesn’t care as long as he can feel you.

“i’m sorry.” he says again, voice as gentle as the way he’s squeezing your index fingers’ knuckles, both pairs of eyes looking at everything else but each other.

you let out a bemused laugh. “do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

he's stays mum, tongue running across his lower lip and you catch the faint pink color tinting the shell of his ears.

“i don’t. b-but… i do know that whatever i did was enough to push you away from me." he says eventually. "i hope you know it was never intentional. i— i wouldn’t ever ever do anything to hurt you. i understand if you don’t want to tell me what... wrong i did, but i can promise that if you do, i’ll do my best not to do it again.”

his shy mumbles contrast the way he bravely pushes his fingers between yours, the now-interlocked hands resting on his thigh moving up and down as he anxiously bounces his leg.

laughter shatters the solemn atmosphere, causing his head to snap to its source, the evident frown on his face growing deeper. “are you— did you just laugh at my apology?” sunghoon asks with an incredulous expression, making you laugh even harder. still, he can’t help his lips from quirking up at the sight. 

he likes this. he likes holding your hand and hearing you laugh. 

“it’s just— 'm sorry.” you pause, trying to swallow down another fit of giggles trying to burst out. “i just think it’s funny. that’s a new record.”

“what record?”

“the record of most words you’ve said to me at once. the previous one’s fourteen words, i think.”

sunghoon stares, head tilted to one side in confusion. 

“think about it, sunghoon. classes and group lunches aside, you’ve never actually spoken to me properly. it’s never a conversation, it’s almost always just single words.” you let go of his hand only to lay yours on top of his and giving it a couple taps. “or stuff like this.” 

“—it’s like... like you have a word limit. but only when it comes to me.” 

the muscle on his jaw twitches as he sees the little smile on your visage falter, the slight crack in your voice mirroring the one growing in his heart. he wants to object, to defend himself but he knows he wouldn’t have anything proper to say.

“at first i thought it was just because you were shy— but i’ve seen the way you talk to your friends, to my friends.. everyone. everyone loved talking to you, and you seemed to have fun talking with them too. i just don't get why you treat me so different."

sunghoon's hand grips on his own thigh to execute a punishment upon himself. until it hurts, until it stings. but he bears it because he knows it's too light compared to the hurt you've had to silently carry throughout your time with him.

"it sucks that you don’t like me enough to share your hobbies with me, sunghoon. that i have to know you through our mutual friends rather than getting to know you from what you say to me. i—” a pause. “i just gave up because i knew i’m not worth your time, or your effort to speak. that's why i stayed away.”

“y/n… angel, it’s— it’s not like that. i swear.” he cups your cheek to make you look at him. you were still smiling, and yet he saw the sadness in your eyes. the uncertainty.

he hates himself for being the cause of it. 

“then what is it, sunghoon? why don’t you talk to me?” 

“because—” sunghoon takes a deep inhale and purses his lips before finally confessing. “because i don’t know how to.” 

just as the weight is lifted from his shoulders, he feels an even heavier one get dropped back down. he knows there’s no going back. not when you’re looking at him with dissatisfaction in your eyes.

“there’s a reason why i resorted to writing letters instead, y/n. it’s just that…  just— y-you— i’m— fuck!” exasperated, he pulls his hand away from you, using it to rub on his temples instead.

then one travels down and you see as his fingers starts to scratch the base of his neck, nails digging deep into his skin. 

it's one of sunghoon’s habits you’ve noted— an ugly one. the first few times it happened, you tried to talk him out of it, told him how scared you were that he’d hurt himself, but he told you it was to help ground him when he feels frustrated.

like the stubborn man that he is, sunghoon continues to scratch harder and harder, half of his face scrunched up irritation. and true to your fear, he lets out a wince when a thin red gash on the space between his collarbones started to bleed red.

“sunghoon, stop.” you sigh, his wrists tightly trapped in your hold. 

when he turns his head to look at you, he looks like his world has collapsed in itself. he's devastated. broken. 

“i.. i want to explain. i swear, i just—” he closes his eyes tight, hands curling into tight fists under your hold as his chest puffs from how heavy he's breathing. you gently pry each finger open to see deep crescents on his palms. a frown is etched on your lips at the sight, and you know sunghoon’s not faring any better with the way he slumps against you, head rested on your shoulder. 

“they won’t come out..” he finally says after prolonged silence, his voice thin and raspy.

“what won’t, hoon?” 

“... nothing. please let me—” his breaths are trembling, and though you don’t see it, you could feel him holding back from scratching at his neck again.

“whatever it is can wait. just.. don’t. don't do that again.” you mumble, letting go of one of his hands so you could wrap your arms around his shoulder, your palm running up and down his tensed arm while he messily wipes the bleeding scar with his sleeve.

he waits until his breathing turns even before he speaks again.

“are you.. doing anything tomorrow, angel?” 

“hm. no. why?” 

“i… missed you. it’s been so long since i last talked to you.”

“that’s weird. i clearly remember that i was the only one doing all the talking.” you reply with a nudge to his shoulder, hoping your teasing voice is enough to lighten the atmosphere.

“hey! don’t be a smart-ass. you know what i mean. it’s been.. what? like, forty one? maybe forty two days since we hung out properly.”

you lean away from his side.

“you’ve been counting too?” 

“too? so you also did it?” he raises his brow, the previous frown growing into a teasing smile as soon as he sees your expression, like you're glitching between the choice of fight or flight.

“would you look at that. seems like the misery over winter break was mutual.” he says, tone a little too proud for your liking, so you choose fight. you take the soft skin of his cheeks in between your fingers, pinching and stretching it with a whiny sunghoon trying to push your hand away. 

you succumb to his pained pleads to stop.

you lean in closer to soothe the skin with your thumb while laughing under your breath and sunghoon’s eyes slowly flutter close at the touch, head tilting closer to your hand as if to encourage you to continue.

“this is nice.” he whispers, raising his hand and laying it on top of yours to keep it there. 

you want to ask him what stopped him from asking for your touch because it wouldn't even take a heartbeat for you to say yes. you wanted to know why you weren’t given the privilege of seeing him this needy, this vulnerable and bare. yet you kept your mouth shut.

“the university is a place for learning, kids. not dating.”

the sweet little moment is interrupted by an older man, a security guard, pointing his plastic baton at the two of you. “and it doesn’t look like you’re in grad school either, which means you’re not allowed to loiter in university grounds.” he adds, making sunghoon stand straight, head tilted forward to give him an apologetic bow.

“we’re sorry, sir! w-we didn’t notice the time. we’ll be heading home. i promise.” his taller body instinctively steps once to the side, covering you like shield.

the guard tilts his head, brows raised at the odd couple in front of him but his eyes soften as soon he sees the dopey smile on sunghoon’s face when his hands blindly reach out behind him in search of yours. “i better not catch you staying here after-hours again, alright? now go. scram!” 

sunghoon turns around and smoothly slings your bag over his other shoulder like he always used to, your hand held firmly in his as the both of you run to the exit gates giggling like children.

“girls. he just texted me. said he’ll pick me up in an hour.”

you set your phone screen-down on your vanity. jiwon’s behind you, scrolling through pinterest in search for a proper hairstyle inspo and gaeul’s lying on her stomach on top of your bed, busily typing away as she tries to cram her essay. 

thank god you had the foresight to finish it yesterday because one, that meant you got to reunite with sunghoon— who apparently waited for you by the lockers that day —and two, because he was serious about hanging out today.

he double, no, triple checked that you actually wanted to go with him while he walked you to the bus stop, refusing to let go of your hand until you safely got in. 

“i can’t believe that doofus finally got the courage to ask you out. we were wondering how long he’d take.” gaeul chirps up, fingers still busy tapping on her keyboard. 

“finally? what do you mean finally? and what you do mean we?” your hands pause from applying your blush, head craning towards your bed to stare at your dear friend who just stares back with a straight face.

“oh, y/n. don’t be dumb."

"i'm serious!"

"jake and jay? us? we’ve all seen it since we started hanging out. you’re the only one who gets mister congeniality all nervous and speechless. now look in the mirror before i accidentally burn your cheek.” jiwon says, carefully taking your curling wand and a section of your hair. 

“it’s so cute, it’s almost pathetic. but i’m still mad at him for making you cry like that, you know. he better make it up to you today, or else i’m gonna drag his stupid ass through the school field. by his ears.” gaeul says with a face that let you know she intends to follow up on her words.

jiwon continues to hum whilst curling your hair and you try your best to keep your hands from shaking as you apply your gloss.

when you look in the mirror, you can't help but ponder how much your body knew you needed sunghoon because you’re glowing. you look well-rested despite only catching three hours of sleep because of how badly you anticipated this date.

meanwhile sunghoon, alone in his car, is practically vibrating in excitement. or nervousness. he doesn’t know, really. he thinks he stopped being able to differentiate which feeling is which since he saw you that day.

he spent those thirty minutes routinely checking his rearview mirror: is something stuck between the gaps of his teeth? he flossed again just in case. is his hair styled correctly? didn't prevent him from running his fingers through it a few more times. should he put on his coat or would that look too much? fuck, what if he over dressed and you think he’s cringe? 

god, he wasn't even this jittery with his exes.

it's different because he's never actually hung out with you without the excuse of classes or other university-related events. it's different because he's never actually seen you outside the usual café you spend free periods in or under the flashing strobes of the college frat house.

it's different because it's his first date with you, and he's adamant not to make this the last.

ding.

💬 from: my angel. — hoonieeeeee ! i’m almost done. :D 

he glanced at his watch.

fifteen minutes left.

enough time for him to drive once around your block, get out of the car, walk to the passenger’s side and coolly lean against it while pretending he wasn’t an inch away from having a mental breakdown a few moments earlier. 

and when sunghoon finally sees you walk out in a satin dress, he’s convinced he might actually have one. 

“hey there, big guy. you look handsome today. well.. you always do. but today especially! i really like your fit!” you say, adorning that bright smile that sunghoon found so captivating.

the plan to look cool immediately got crushed.

he tried to stand up straight, he did. but he ended up leaning again on his car— not to look charismatic. rather, he needed to, because he was barely feeling his knees. his heart was racing, his breathing turned short, and he began feeling the all-too-familiar prickling sensation in his throat. 

“don’t go quiet on me again, or i’ll ignore you. forever this time.”

he looks more made-up, different from the usual hoodie and jeans combo you always saw. still knee-buckling attractive, but clean. khaki trousers adorning his long legs, thin black belt around his hips and a loose blue-colored polo with thin stripes, the sleeves folded to accentuate his forearms. 

there’s a small sense of satisfaction that comes to you when you realize your outfits make you look like a couple. it seems gaeul made the lucky choice of getting you to wear a baby blue today, but you’ll just thank her for that later. 

“your hair’s.. n-nice.” sunghoon says, a bashful smile growing on his face. “o-oh! and– and i have this!” he opens the rear door of his car, and you hear it slam again before he turns around to present you with a bouquet of flowers.

white petals with vivid yellow blooming from the center, wrapped in crumpled iridescent foil and pastel blue paper.

“daffodils. the lady at the flower shop said it symbolizes new beginnings. and— a-and i want that. a new beginning. with you.” he stammers awkwardly, nibbling on his lower lip as his hands push the bouquet towards you. 

you can only coo at his words, fawning over how cute and small he looked right now despite his height. so fucking adorable, this one.

pushing past the bouquet, your arms find purchase around his torso and you squeeze him in your arms. it takes him a second to return it and you feel him release a sigh, one done out of relief and longing, before leaving a gentle kiss on your hair as he lets you go. 

sunghoon opens the passenger seat of his car for you with his signature shy smile, tipping his head to the side.

“get in, angel. i have a lot of making up to do.” 

he takes you driving around first, wanting to spend a little more time together with you in the privacy of his car before he shares you with other people. one hand on the wheel and the other keeping yours warm, he aimlessly drove around while narrating how he spent his winter break with his family.

his dad took him and his two honorary siblings, jay and jake, to a skiing resort. his mom bought him a new camera as his holiday present, and he casually slipped in wanting to test it out next time with you.

in between those stories, sunghoon admitted that his younger sister was the one to suggest the idea of leaving you letters. the confession leaves his lips in between sheepish laughter, resulting in both your cheeks turning pink. 

your heart felt full listening him be so engrossed in his stories, at one point even letting go of the steering wheel to imitate how jake wobbled in his snowboard. sure he still stuttered every now and then, still held himself back from cussing too much on the off chance you’d get turned off, but those are tiny details you’re determined to work through with him. 

he asked about you too, and you talked about the boring train ride back to your old little town, how the place looked like it was frozen in time with the same faces, same remarks about how you look like a carbon copy of your mom. sunghoon just listens intently, a smile on his face as he steals glances of your face from time to time.

you also talked about how you spent a week trying to get dye stains off your hands when your older brother painstakingly made you dye his blonde hair to black in preparation for the new season.

sunghoon’s hand tighten around yours. blonde. 

“what about.. uh.. dates? did you go out with anyone while we weren’t in contact with each other?” 

“hm. not that i recall? there were a few boys in my town, but i know they’re just messing with me.”

sunghoon’s right hand leaves yours to grip on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white and lips turning into a straight line as he stares at the road ahead.

perhaps he’d been mistaken. maybe this is just how you get when you’ve grown closer to someone. maybe the hand holding or the comforting touches you gave him were ones you also gave to other people. maybe you had taken his invitation as a hang out rather than a date and that’s why you agreed despite having someone else waiting on you.

“the boys saw him, you know. if— if you’re still talking to him then… t-then what are we doing right now?”

the change in his tone isn’t lost on you, nor the hardened expression he wears. from the side of his eye, he catches the befuddled look on your face like you genuinely cannot remember the accusation being true. 

“him? who? i— hoon, what are you talking about?”

the mere memory of his friends’ words, of that man, urges sunghoon to pull over to the side of the road so he can face you because when call him an presumptuous loser and friend-zone him, he at least wants to see your pretty face do it.

“jay said he saw you come to their game with a guy. long hair. blonde. said he was clinging on you like a damn shirt.” 

when you laughed at his confession yesterday, he’ll admit he found it cute. but when you do it today, it does nothing else but make his scowl look more sour.

“is this little laughing-at-sunghoon thing a habit you’ve developed over winter break? because this isn’t funny to me.” he glowers, brows furrowing as your laughter increases in pitch, palms repeatedly slapping against your knee. 

“you—” your fingers point to him with a snicker, face looking pained as you try your darndest to hold back a laugh but it comes out anyway.

sunghoon crosses his arms over his chest, thick eyebrow cocked up while gazing at you with an unamused expression. “y/n. i’m serious. if you have a guy back home, you can tell me. it’ll break my heart, yes, but i don’t want to take part in whatever open relationship you guys hav—” 

“sunghoon, that was my brother.” 

“what?”

“tall guy. long hair. blonde. my brother.”

“that was... jeonghan hyung?”

“yes, dummy. jeonghan just wanted to take see at how the basketball team was keeping up now after he graduated. he’s an alumni, remember? you know he had blonde hair. you even hogged my phone all to yourself when he facetimed me that one time.”

it’s your turn to have your arms folded on your chest, tilting your head with a little sass, lips curled in a smirk. wordlessly, his body snaps to the front and he attempts to start the engine again, but you clutch his wrist just in time.

“no— you can’t just say that and ditch the conversation. you’re gonna explain yourself right now, park sunghoon.” 

the sound of his full name said in such a stern voice makes him squirm in his seat.

“i– i was jealous, okay? what more do you want me to say?” he grumbles, looking out the window while weakly attempting to shake your hold off of him, letting out a grunt that barely sounds like your name as you refuse to back down. 

he sighs in defeat, and you can see the sharp tic of his jaw tensing up.

“you weren’t talking to me. barely even looked my way. of course i was worried when my friends started talking about how you went to their practice without me. with a new guy, at that. it just.. the thought didn’t make me feel good. c-can we leave it now? this is embarrassing.”

a satisfied smile pushes your cheekbones up as you turn the keys, giving his shoulder a pat. 

“drive, big guy.” 

sunghoon made a reservation for the restaurant you mentioned months ago in passing. it’s nothing upscale or expensive. no wines or steaks. just the regular korean food you���re used to, but elevated just a little bit to make it taste more contemporary rather than home-made.

but you didn’t really care for that. the sole reason you wanted to go was their aesthetic: the dining area looked like the inside of a greenhouse with its sunroof ceiling, leaves and flowers hanging from wooden beams, and the lighting was just warm enough to set the ambience. 

a hand on the small of your back courteously guided you towards your seat, and you’re too enamored by the interior to notice sunghoon staring at you with eyes full of admiration, his elbow resting on the table so he could comfortably continue to look at you in silence while you take in every detail of your surroundings. 

true to his words, sunghoon makes up for his shortcomings.

he refills your drinks, debones the meat for you, constantly fills your plate before your food even runs out, and he apparently even paid for the meal in advance.

throughout the meal, sunghoon indulges you in short stories, letting you take on the role of the listener rather than the yapper this time around. he's telling you about penguins in antarctica and you hum, taking a sip of your drink when you notice one tiny, yet very clear difference in him today. 

he wasn’t wearing his glasses. 

you know he has a collection of them, and he switches things up every now and then. from thick boxy clear glasses, to the trendy ones you’ve seen models rock on social media.

your favorite pair would have to be the rimless silver ones he wore during your department’s post-exam party because they make him look unreal— like a real-life manhwa character. but he usually wore the good ol’ reliable thick black ones to lectures. 

the glasses had their charm but without them, he’s a different kind of handsome. his features look sharper, especially with the warm lighting casting shadows from his tall, unobstructed nose bridge. his eyes look clearer and more expressive too.

on the side of his chin, a tiny mole. and then another one. black dots mapped out across his fair skin, all varying in size and but your eyes lock on the distinct one under his eye, and one on the side of his nose, right below where his glasses’ nose pad would sit.

no wonder you didn’t see it.

“you’re checking me out? so blatantly?” sunghoon pipes up, and you notice how the mole under his eye moves when he raises an eyebrow at you. it makes you giggle, reaching forward to poking the round dot under his eye.

“i didn’t know you had moles.” you mumble, rubbing on the skin with extra gentleness before leaning back. “kind of reminds me of someone i met when i was a kid.”

“hm? do tell.” 

“ah, it’s nothing. there used to be this kid in my hometown who had moles like yours. god, that was years ago. i was really young— around eight or nine years old, i think. i met him at a playground where older boys were making fun of him for it.” 

“let me guess. you defended him from the big bad bullies and he fell in love with you?” 

“defended him, yeah. jesus, they were assholes. the memory is hazy, but i tried to comfort him by chasing him around and stuff. i tried to go back to the playground again the next day after my classes, but he never came back.” you poke at your left overs with your fork, the distant memory making a grin dance on your lips.

“but falling in love? highly doubt it. told him my name but i never got his back. all i remember's his cute moles. he might as well have been an imaginary friend.” 

“i say defending a kid like that can definitely make them fall for you.”

“are you speaking from experience, mister?”

"partly."

you smile, cupping your hands behind your ear, making sunghoon chuckle as he wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

“when i was a kid, i used to be so timid— waaaaay way worse than i was with you.” he says, and the way his eyes widen when he extends his words make you giggle.

“never talked to my classmates, always stayed at home. even my cousins who visited can’t get a word out of me. my parents tried making me do hobbies to get me out of my shell. you name it, i did it. and it helped, but only by a little. then they thought maybe going to the city might help my introversion. my little sister was growing up, too, so they started looking for a place here in seoul.” 

your elbows perch on the table, chin resting above your interlocked fingers as you give him a dreamy nod. “mhm. and then?” 

“and then the day before we moved, i decided i’m gonna try playing with the kids from my town. just to give it a last shot. except they teased me a lot because i wasn’t talking. they made fun of my moles, too. but then—” sunghoon pauses.

“this strange girl came shouting. i’ve never seen her before. think she went to a different elementary school, but she fought the boys off even though they were taller than her. she threatened to throw rocks at their heads and pull their hair out. and you know what? they looked scared. i think that was the first time i saw genuine fear.” he says, breaking out in a fit of giggles.

“picture this: i was half a foot taller than her but she was reprimanding me and pushing me to stand up straighter, saying i should learn how to speak up and fight back. that no one would fight my battles for me but me. since then, i started doing it— practicing my speech skills and self confidence. eventually, i stopped cowering whenever strangers approached me and i learned how to speak without my voice shaking. it's all thanks to her.” 

when his monologue is over, sunghoon just grins at you like reminiscing alone was enough to comfort him. you feel a little irritated, jealous of the way he speaks so affectionately of her memory.

but at the same time, you can’t help but smile back. that's how you feel about your own little friend after all.

“so you fell in love?"

"i wouldn't be so hasty to call it love. perhaps admiration. deep admiration."

"don’t tell me you never told her your name like my old friend?”

his chuckle is mirthful as he shakes his head. “oh believe me, i did. swear on it. either she didn’t hear me, or she’s deaf because she just started calling me ‘pengoo’ instead of my name.”

pengoo. 

it’s familiar. 

you squint your eyes once more as you see the dimple on his cheek appear, the indentation becoming deeper as he flashes you a knowing smile.

pengoo, pengoo, pengoo. 

wait.

“his shirt. that was the shirt he was wearing...” you trail off in a whisper, the words barely audible as you point your hands at sunghoon, and he just smiles even wider, nodding his head slowly. 

you sit there in stunned silence, hands crossed over your mouth as you stare at the sunghoon whose look of pride turned into concern, nervous of the crystal clear shock on your face. he's cautious as he offers his open palm on the table, skittish and biting his lip when you still refuse to hold his hand.

he calls out your name with such gentleness that you’re transported back to that day— to the little, but still taller boy who had tears in his eyes, looking ridiculous and snotty while sporting a white shirt with a penguin patch.

the one who you affectionately called 'cookies and cream' for the specks of black splattered across his face, whose tears you wiped using your special barbie handkerchief, whose arm you scribbled your name on with your glittery purple pen that he wanted to taste because it smelled like grape juice.

though the memory isn’t as clear as it was to you years ago, he was a constant in your life. whenever you encountered people who leaned more towards timidity, it's him who appeared in the back of your mind. the nameless friend who you never saw again after his worried mom fetched him from the playground.

except he's not nameless anymore, and he's sitting right in front of you.

the salty tears burn when you try to hold them back, but they're insistent on coming out so you hang your head low and attempt to contain your sniffles. panicked, sunghoon gently holds on your arm and guides you outside of the restaurant to a more secluded spot in the front lawn. 

“y/n.” he calls out again, pale hands gently squeezing on your hips as he bends down, trying to take a peek of your face that you insist to cover. “angel… did i make you cry again?” he sighs and you shake your head, quickly taking him in your arms, hugging him like how a mother would her child who’s come back from war. 

“my pengoo.. my pengoo.” you choke out in between stifled sobs, stroking his head. his arms wrap around your waist, lifting you off of the ground for a moment as his face settles on the crook of your neck, nose brushing against the skin as he whispers back.

“it’s me. pengoo’s here. you're okay. i'm not leaving.” his words do nothing but make you cry harder, tears staining his shirt and fists crumpling the fabric on his back. 

“i can’t believe it’s you. i–”

"do you want to talk about this somewhere else, angel?” sunghoon asks in a soft voice, a tone he reserved only for you, carefully wiping your damp under eyes.

a nod is all he needs.

the travel is silent aside from the small little sniffles you do and the faint melody from the car’s speaker. your eyes blankly stare outside, the view of the buildings just as blurry as the thoughts and memories running in your head. meanwhile sunghoon’s trying his best to console you, his thumb lazily rubbing the skin on the back of your hand while stealing glances every now and then.

“where are we?” you croak out when the car comes to a halt. sunghoon opens the car door, his fingers nimble as they take your seatbelt off for you. “a park near my neighborhood. in one of my favorite spots to rest my head which you need to do.”

his hand return to yours so he can pull you towards the picnic area.

sits down on a bench and you elect to sit on the wooden table itself, head craning as you take in the new environment. the place is beautiful. quiet, serene and full of trees that it looks like a modern glitch in the middle of a forest.

“you’re not gonna kill me for knowing your secret, are you?” you sniffle, feet gently nudging the side of his thigh with a soft chuckle.

“no people, no witness. i’m sorry, y/n. can’t have people knowing i was a loser back in the day.” he says in a gurgled voice after looking around, playfully pinching your arm which makes you squeal and swat his hands away. 

in the middle of play fighting, your eyes catch the swing set nearby and you remember him again. pengoo.

the flashback is so clear you could almost see a younger version of yourselves: you, pushing him on the swing, and him using his voice properly for the first time to scream ‘stop!’ when his seated body lifts too high off the ground.

you turn to sunghoon, the real, grown sunghoon, and he’s already looking up at you with one hand resting on your covered knee, giving it languid strokes with his thumb. 

"penny for your thoughts?"

“why, hoon? i mean.. if you knew all along, why didn’t you tell me?” you reach for his cheek and his eyes close at the contact, letting out a soft sigh of comfort. he holds it in place, tilting his head to leave a light kiss on your palm.

“i’m sorry. if you want me to be honest, i had no plans to let you know. i wasn’t even aware you remembered that day. for all i knew, i was just one of the strangers who got bright little y/n’s help.”

“you… you grew up so well.” salty tears blur your vision again as you lean down to press your lips against his forehead.

“i couldn’t have done it without you. that was a significant event in my formative years— i seriously can’t imagine what kind of life i’d live if i hadn’t met you that day.” he stands up so he can tower over you, looking down to wipe the wetness from your eyes. 

“you're my savior. my angel in every sense of the word.” 

you walk around the area holding each other’s hand, going over your first meeting— the actual one — the one you had before you met again as grown ups.

he tried talking his parents out of moving, and though they were surprised at his sudden enthusiasm, they ultimately refused because the new house in seoul was already paid for. he waited for you that morning, until the last second— until his parents were yelling at him from the car. 'i think i left a piece of my heart in that playground.' are his exact words.

his search didn't stop there. night and day he bothered his parents to contact anyone they could from their previous town, to ask if anyone had a child with your name. but because his parents were like him— aloof and private, nothing really turned up.

but he was a kid determined to keep you alive and present in his mind so when he met you again that fortunate morning in university, he immediately knew it was you without even hearing your voice.

every day he stayed by your side was spent in awe, marveling at the woman you’ve become. 

there wasn’t much difference, physically nor emotionally. obviously you’ve matured and grown into your features— but you still talked in the same cadence, spoke your mind with just as much enthusiasm, and still cared for people the same way you did to the young boy in the playground.

still the same girl who’d get him too flustered to talk properly.

“so jay and jake knew about me the whole time too?” you ask after arriving at the parking area and sunghoon lifts you up to sit on the hood of his car. he nods, comfortably settling between your parted legs as his hands rest on your thighs. 

“of course. they were the first to know about my childhood crush after all.” 

“childhood crush, huh. what about now? am i still a crush?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him and he rolls his eyes, the cute little dip on his cheek becoming more evident.

“you know the answer to that already, angel.” he replies, pulling you closer to him by your hips and your arms naturally loop around his neck like they were always meant to be there.

you don’t know whether it’s the long day you’ve had, or the insane revelation of who sunghoon has been this whole time, but your head’s starting to spin.

perhaps it’s his cologne, how it’s starting to smell is stronger and stronger as his body leans closer to yours. or maybe it’s the way you feel too warm in your own skin whenever his eyes drop to your lips, and how he his sharp fangs poke out when he bites his in return.

it’s like the air turned heavy in a matter of a few seconds and the cool breeze is doing nothing to thin out the tension in the wide empty space.

from this close, you could hear his breath get slower, thicker, eyes never leaving your mouth. he brings a hand up to cup your cheek and your breath hitches when his thumb brushes over your lower lip.

sunghoon closes the distance first. 

the kiss is sweet and gentle but filled with yearning and just a little bit of hesitation. your lips are the softest too, practically erasing any memory left over from the other irrelevant girls he’s kissed before. and you’re so damn sweet.

despite every inch of his body wanting to have more, he does the gentlemanly thing to do and breaks the kiss but not without biting on your plump lower lip first. when his eyes finally focus, your cheeks are flushed, tinted a rosey color like your slightly swollen lips that reflect the distant street lights.

sunghoon's grip on you is as tight— just a hair above bruising. it’s taking everything to hold on his self-control, to not take you for himself right then and there.

he just had you back. he doesn’t want to scare you away by being so forward with his need and indecency. 

but it’s so, so hard to behave when you’re like this, so small and flustered, looking up at him with half lidded eyes and your lower lip trapped between your teeth.

so when he feels you attempt to press your thighs close, his instinct tells him to pull you even closer to keep them open, the movement making your dress ride up, the slit on its side exposing more of your skin. 

and you whine—either from his touch or from the cold air— but sunghoon doesn’t care. not anymore.

the noise you make is more than enough to snap whatever’s left of his restraint and he leans down to capture your lips again. but it isn't soft this time.

it's sure.

it's hungry and handsy.

still full of yearning, but mixed with the raw, physical need to be closer to one another.

your heads tilt to opposite sides, lips weaved together while letting out small whispers of sweet nothings in between.

sunghoon takes your lower lip in between his again, sucking on the flesh while his hand slip underneath the slit of your dress, palm rubbing up and down the skin of your upper thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

while his lips keep your mind fuzzy, he busies his hand by trailing it higher and higher beneath the loose fabric of your dress until you feel his thumb graze your bare hips, just a fraction of an inch below where your panties are resting, making you gasp against his mouth. 

a chance opens up for sunghoon to snake his tongue past your lips, and he greedily takes it, determined to explore every possible inch. you taste like decadence. like the coffee ice cream you had for dessert combined with something celestial.

it's fucking heavenly. 

you try to fight him back with your tongue, and for a while, he lets you. convinces you that you’re winning when you try to push your tongue against his, pink muscles twirling together in a dance full of lust and wanting, but sunghoon eventually grows tired of it and he gives your thigh a reprimanding squeeze, making you moan again, providing him the perfect opportunity to take over the messy liplock. 

you take the small bit of revenge you can by threading your fingers through the jet black locks on the back of his head, tugging on it once, twice, until he’s growling your name against your open mouth.

his lips wrap around yours, your tongue graze on the sharp end of his canines, his fingers wander near the plump of your ass, and you kiss until both of you are literally seeing stars.

you part, heaving oxygen back in your deprived lungs and your foreheads meet with eyes still in steady contact as your heavy breathing mingles.

sunghoon’s hands never leave your thigh or your cheek. rather, he gives them a final brush with his thumb before stealing a quick peck, damp lips brushing against your skin until it reaches your jaw, giving the spot a kiss as well.

“perv.” you say, raising your thigh a little just so you could push sunghoon’s hand away. “first kiss and you’re already feeling me up?” 

“okay, y/n. let’s pretend your eyes weren’t my arms the entire time i was driving. i know you like how veiny they look.” he replies after leaning back, the same canines that were grazing on your tongue a while ago now in full display as he flashes you a cocky grin.

“i.. you noticed that?” 

“i did. i notice a lot of things about you.” 

“like what?” 

he's quiet for a moment.

“like how you’re starting to shiver.” his muscular arms lift you up and safely bring you back down to the ground.

“i think it’s time to get you home, angel.” 

a cacophony of cheers erupt in your classroom as the announcement blares from the speaker. an early dismissal due to seniors needing several classrooms to prepare for something you didn’t care enough to pay attention to. 

all you knew was you needed to get out as soon as possible so you can see sunghoon again. 

from: pengoo. 🐧— heard the announcement yet? :)  to: pengoo. 🐧 — yep!! i'll just grab a few things from my locker and head there. see u! ♡ from: pengoo. 🐧 — see you, angel. :) 

the two of you made the university garden your official hang-out spot. specifically the one near the big ginkgo tree where the both of you have spent hours under either people-watching, eating or reviewing.

and stealing kisses from each other, of course.

so when sunghoon asked to meet you there this morning, the answer was an automatic yes.

just as you sit down on the picnic mat, you see him appear from behind a tall shrub, bag slung over his shoulder and a big plastic bag hanging from his hand.

“did i take too long? i'm sorry, angel. it was lunch rush and there was a line in the restaurant and jake was arguing with a girl and—” 

“hoon. i just got here. it’s okay.” you say, chuckling at his never-changing nervous demeanor.

he leans forward to give your lips a chaste peck, an apology leaving his lips again before he busies himself by taking your lunch out of the plastic and making sure your bottle is uncapped and your utensils are cleaned before tending to his own food. 

a fond smile creeps on your lips as watch him try to talk about his morning in between bites. he really has improved since that date. gone is the boy who shied away from your touches, and replaced by one who openly asks for a hug and whines when he doesn’t feel your hands on his whenever you walk together. 

his hand is always in yours when he drives both of you to school (despite the fact that he has to drive 20 minutes earlier to do so.) his arm consistently curled around your shoulder or your waist when you walk to class together. you always tease him for it too, but he just takes it with a smile because he knows it’s true.

he’s whipped for you. 

after you eat and clean up, you offer to keep the picnic mat in your locker but sunghoon mentions he wants to stay for a bit more, and you appease him, letting him lie down with his head comfortably laying on your plush thighs while you lean back, palms pressed on the mat to support yourself.

silence envelops the both of you, but it doesn’t make your head run through a million thoughts anymore. it isn’t tense this time. 

your eyes wander to him again— your not-quite-boyfriend boyfriend.

your finger pokes at the mole at the side of his nose out of habit, the glass beads in your bracelet reflecting bright spots on his smooth skin. you go from one mole to the next, moving it down the sharp bridge of his nose, then to his jaw, and you giggle upon feeling sunghoon shiver under your featherlight touch. 

you move your middle finger down his neck, choosing to poke at the peak of his adam’s apple before noticing the pink lines on his neck.

again?

before you can even point it out, sunghoon’s voice cuts through the silence. 

“i feel like pengoo whenever i’m with you.”

you sit up properly. “pengoo?” 

he gives you a nod and you stare, giving him a look that spells ‘i don’t know what you mean’, making him smile. 

“whenever you’re around… it’s like i become that kid again. the one that can’t speak or think properly. i don’t know, it’s weird. the same girl that gave me the confidence to talk being the same one i can’t be around without making a fool of myself? i can’t even give you a proper compliment for god’s sake.” 

that’s true. he always compliments your outfits, or your accessories, or compliments you through implications. things like “you’re making everyone stare.” or “that cute puppy looks just like you.” but nothing that’s actually a straight forward compliment. 

you never had the courage to bring it up to him, partly because you’re afraid he might find you too needy, but also because deep down, you know the words he did say already took a lot of courage from him.

“i don’t.. really mind. not that much.” 

“don’t lie to me, angel.” 

“i’m serious!” you laugh, fingers forcibly pushing the edges of his frowned lips upward. “i do have a question though.”

“what is it?” 

your fingers ghost over the exposed skin on the base of his neck, fingers gently pressing on the spot between his clavicles, tracing over the faint red scratches over it.

“have you been scratching your neck again? why do you do it when you know i don’t like it?” 

“angel… i just—” he sighs softly, reaching for your hand. “i get frustrated.” 

“you always say that. but there has to be a way for you to release your frustrations without scratching? the scar from last time isn’t even healed yet.” 

below you, sunghoon releases a soft sigh and raises a hand to poke at the same spot on your neck. “what is this?” he asks.

“my neck…?” you reply cluelessly, to which he just shakes his head, poking at the skin again flinch from the ticklishness of his touch. "what's inside here?"

“my throat?” 

he finally nods, pointing to his own. “they get stuck here.” he opens his mouth, tongue sticking out and points to it as well. “and here.” 

“they? hoon, you have to stop talking in riddles. you know i’m stupid.”

sunghoon runs a hand over his face and sits up, moving behind you until you're settled between his legs, back comfortably leaned against his firm chest.

“okay. i’m doing this.” he whispers mostly to himself before squeezing you in his arms as if to reassure himself. “don’t interrupt me, okay? because if i don’t get this out completely, i might not be able to say it at all.”

you press your palms on the arms wrapped around your waist and nod.

“you see those those?” sunghoon asks, and your eyes follow the direction of his finger pointing at the different florae.

the green leaves of the bushes look even brighter next to different bundles of spring-born tulips— colors of white, red and vibrant yellow scattered throughout the garden. 

you're unsure of where this conversation is headed, but nod anyway.

“it’s like i have that inside me. a garden— of words.” he says slowly, taking pauses between every words.

“at least that’s what i started telling myself after i left years ago to aid me in my quietness and it helped. a lot. i realized that i don’t really have to give people anything of value, and it made talking easier. if i don’t like someone, i can give them dead leaves or even weeds. but if i do, i can give them grass or the most common roses and it’ll do. maybe even an arrangement of better flowers for the people i want to keep in my life.” 

he stays quiet for a beat, and you can feel his nose poke on your skin as his lips press on the exposed skin of your shoulder. “but you… you know you mean a lot to me, right?”

you reply with a hum, eyes glued to the leaves and petals swaying in the wind.

“i'm slow to speak because i take so long walking through the garden. because it's so difficult to choose what to give to you. because i want to pick and gather only the prettiest flowers— the prettiest, kindest words —for you. i want them to be neatly arranged and looking just as beautiful as the way you appear to me. because you’re precious to me... and you deserve nothing less.”

the words tug on your heartstrings in a way you’ve never felt before. to be adored and admired so much to the point of speechlessness wasn’t something you’ve ever experienced, or frankly, ever expected.

so when he speaks of you in such a way, it overwhelms your chest with a sense of safety— of knowing your heart is safe with him. 

and the way he says it too: voice low, shaky, and starkly different from the composed sunghoon you usually hear in classes.

it's then that you realize the apprehension you saw you wasn't done out of malice.

sunghoon only did it because he wanted to protect something dear to him.

he shifts and pulls his hands away from your waist only to sit cross legged in front of you. it seems like you aren’t the only one feeling vulnerable because when you see him, he looks just as flustered.

his cheeks are rosy and his ears are in an even deeper shade, almost matching the petals floating above the grass.

“don’t laugh at me for this, okay?” a defeated chuckle leaves his lips and he reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through yours before looking you in the eye. "jake and jay know about how much i've been rehearsing."

"hm?"

“i’ve dreamt of meeting you again, you know? so when i saw you on our first day, i told myself that i’ll do it. i’ll show you my gratitude. i’ll show you i’ve changed. that i’ve grown. that i’m not the sickly and shy kid in the park anymore.” sunghoon pauses. “so every night in front of my mirror, i rehearse the different ways i could talk to you— and it worked. it always goes smoothly.”

“but i’ll see you again in the morning and it’s like the hours i spent practicing rush out the window— because.. b-because i’ll hear your voice, and you’ll laugh, and you'll smile. and you’ll look at me the way you are right now… and it’s like all the bouquet of flowers get stuck here.” sunghoon explains, finger accusatorily pointing to the still-healing scar on the skin above his throat.

“it feels like their thorns are piercing me from the inside, angel. it sucks and it’s frustrating. and the only way to relieve it is to scratch, but they won’t come out even if i do. and then i’ll beat myself up over it, go home, and the cycle will repeat itself. and— you’re doing that smile again. s-stop it!” he stammers, finger now angrily pointed to you. 

you chuckle because you don’t even know what kind of smile he means and sunghoon just sighs, reaching for his neck again, palm over his throat like he’s trying to relieve the itch without scratching.

he looks annoyed and irritated, nose scrunched up as he clears his throat one, two times.

“i— i love you, y/n.”

the three words he’s been itching to confess for months, now breaking free from the tip of his tongue.

both of you freeze in your spots.

you can’t believe the words he just said, and he looks like can’t believe it either. 

“i love you.” sunghoon repeats, gnawing on the flesh on the inside of his lip while his hands squeeze on the base of his neck as if physically forcing the words out. “i think you’re so cool. and you’re pretty. but even that isn’t enough. beautiful is the closest i can get, but i hope you get what i mean a-and… fuck, i should’ve just written a letter.”

an intense battle of eye contact ensues, his free hand curled tightly atop his lap as he takes a deep breath in.

“i— i’ve admired you since i was a clueless kid in the playground. liked you s-since you talked to me on our first day. and i’ve loved you since our first kiss, but i was too much of a pussy to say it then because i didn’t want you to think i only loved you because of it.” he grunts, knuckles pressing on his temple. “and i’m sorry that i don’t talk much because every time i do, it just makes you cry and i don’t want to see you crying because it breaks my heart too—”

the speed at which his words come out begins to pick up, making it barely understandable so you call out his name in an attempt to slow him down but he just looks at you with determination in his eyes.

“no! listen to me. i know i’ve had my moments, and i’ll probably keep having them, but i want you to know that i love you. sincerely. you’re precious to me, y/n. and i don’t want you to doubt what i feel any longer so believe me when i say i’m trying my best right now, even though i’m babbling.”

he pauses just to take another inhale, and when he finally speaks again, both his voice and his eyes turn softer. so soft you can't hear his words.

"i'm sorry, hoon. i didn't quite catch that."

"y/n. will you please be my girlfriend? you can say no, o-of course. i'm just throwing the idea out there but if you think i haven't proved myself yet then i'll be fine just waiting, i swear i c—” 

you swallow the rest of his words in your mouth as you press your lips against his, eyes closed while you grab sunghoon’s hand by his wrist and guide it to your nape.

he lets out a meek sound of surprise but you can immediately feel him melt into you, fingers tightly holding on the neckline of your shirt as his soft, pillow-soft lips locked against yours in a slow but passionate kiss. 

when you pull away, sunghoon’s eyes are glassy and you can see love pouring out from the way the beautiful chocolate brown orbs gaze into yours.

you leave a gentle peck on the mole under his eye— a thing you’ve picked up after multiple make out sessions —and lean back to appreciate the full view of a flustered sunghoon. 

“i love you too.” you finally reply with an elated smile. “and i’d love to be your girlfriend.”

if humans had the chance to have heart-shaped eyes, you’re convinced sunghoon would have it at this moment.

his cheekbones are pushed all the way up, pearly whites flashed at you before he tackles you down into the picnic mat with a tight bear hug making you giggle loudly as he rolls the both of you from side to side while pressing kisses all over your face. 

“hoon!” you squeal while wriggling in his hold and he relents, standing up to run in a wide circle around the garden, arms spread out wide while yelling.

“she said yes! y/n’s mine! my girlfriend!”

thankfully, the few people meters away only flash the two of you confused looks before going about their business.

"can't believe you're my girlfriend now." he giggles breathlessly as he ends his run in front of you, only to wrap his arms around your figure once more, lifting you off the ground and spinning in place while professing his love at the top of his lungs.

it’s dizzying to be his, literally and figuratively. but you wouldn’t have it any other way. you're his, and he's yours.

you love park sunghoon.

from the thorns, to the long stems and rough leaves, up until the prettiest petals that are finally able to leave his soft lips.

but sunghoon is determined to spend the rest of life growing his garden until he can find the words that'll convince you that he loves you more. 

BONUS SCENE:

"let me get this straight. you're telling me that you got jealous of me.. so you made my little y/n cry three times?" jeonghan's voice is low, face void of any emotion as his arms cross over his chest across the both of you.

"technically it's seven, if we count the times i cried over winter break too." you mumble, meekly raising seven fingers.

sunghoon turn to you with wide eyes in disbelief. why would you throw your boyfriend under the bus? during his first time personally meeting your brother, no less.

"y/n, what the hell?"

jeonghan's hand slammed on the table, making the both of you flinch. "don't look at her. look at me. i was asking you a question, and now you're going to explain."

he thought jeonghan was cool— and he still does— but he reminded sunghoon so much of you whenever you get stern, and it's like deja vu of the time you got serious with him during your first date.

"no, i— it wasn't necessarily because of that, hyung. i just so happen to have made her cry after i got jealous so it isn't really a cause-and-effect scenario—"

"love, you're getting a little off track..."

"he said he wanted me to explain—"

your brother's giggles echo throughout your family home's dining area and he shakes his head, leaning over to tap on sunghoon's shoulder. "nah, man. i'm just fucking with you. but you knew i had blonde hair so you really should've known better."

"i.. y-yes, sir! i mean hyung! sir— i.. i mean... yeah." he sighs in defeat, head hanging low in an apologetic bow while jeonghan just nodded in acknowledgement.

"but if you make my little y/n cry again, i'll make sure you really won't be able to use that throat of your ever again, got it?" the way your brother's able to make those words sound sweet make even your heart race, your hand finding sunghoon's underneath the table to give it comforting pats.

"and you're sleeping in my room. no nicknames or pda as long as you're under the yoon household."

your boyfriend's eyes travel between you and your brother and he only grips your hand, nodding.

he can't wait to go back to seoul.

୨ from ! 🐰 yan ୧ : aaaaaaaaaaa!! it's finally done. i'm gonna cry. ૮₍˶ ╥ ‸ ╥ ⑅₎ა i saw the video of i-lander sunghoon dancing to pretty u again and i just had to. if you can't already tell, this is heavily inspired by the song and the confession part is heavily inspired by it! i'm thinking of writing shorter drabbles of other members so just shoot me an ask if you have an idea. < 3

⌗ taglist — @neozon3nha @zerocoded @firstclassjaylee @yuyita-rosier @chiiyuuvv

[w1theraway]

mechanic!vi x art teacher!reader

synopsis: you're vi's daughter's, powder, art teacher. teacher-parent conference comes up, and vi clumsily wants to ask you out

word count: 960 words

warnings: non arcane AU, vander is alive (and mentioned)

notes: first fic and english isn't my first language so pls go easy on me

the smell of dried paint fills the classroom, the finished drawings of the students hang by the wall near the window, left to air dry and leaving the results for the day after.

you nervously fiddle with your pen, clicking it and twirling it around your fingers as you gaze at the clock. its hands seem to move mockingly slow, knowing you're awaiting a certain someone and making the wait more painful than it has to be.

you've already talked to plenty of parents today, some didn't show and for that you were sort of grateful, saving you the headache of another whining grown adult. they love to claim their child is perfect, that they can do no wrong, and make the teacher-parent conference useless, blaming you for their child's action. sometimes you find yourself thinking their children are much more educated than them, wondering where they get their attitude from.

with a sigh, you break free from your thoughts and look up at the clock as the small hand strikes a new hour. 6 p.m.

"she's late" you whisper to yourself, as if afraid of being heard in a room full of people while being alone, lowering your head between your hands and looking down at your desk.

suddenly a knock is heard, despite the classroom door being already wide open. you look up from your desk, seeing her face peeking through the door with an awkward smile that screamed "i know i'm late and i'm sorry"

you clear your throat, choking on your saliva for a split second and ending up red in the face. sighing, you nod at her "you can come in".

she enter the room slowly, still an awkward look on her face. she sits down on the chair put in front of you, on the other side of your desk.

you give her a small smile, picking up your long abandoned pen again, its click loud among the empty,silent classroom.

"so-" you open your mouth to talk, but she almost beats you to it and interrupts you.

"i'm so sorry for being late, i had a problem at work that was taking too long and-"

a chuckle leaves your lips, reassuring her again with a smile. "it's all good, vi. i mean, at least for me..." you chuckle dryly "the school closes soon, so let's make this quick okay?"

she hums ."okay"

you nod at her understanding, starting to nervously click the pen in your hand, while the other free one plays with the hem of your shirt "there's not much to say about powder, she's a great kid. she spends most of the time playing alone, but she's also a good teammate when there's group projects. i'd say she likes being on her own, but not necessarily because she struggles making friends, rather because she chooses to isolate herself.." you sigh "i think your daughter just enjoys being alone...is that what she's used to at home?" a drop of concern could be heard in your voice, though keeping it light as to not come off as rude.

vi blinks, stunned slightly by the question. she stutters a bit "u-uh no, not really. i try my best to be present, but when i'm at work it's her grandpa taking care of her..not a problem is it? right?" she gives a rigid smile, chuckling nervously through her teeth.

you shake your head "that she has her grandpa looking after her? no, it's completely fine. though her social skills could be impacted for when she grows up if she doesn't make any friends, so you should probably talk this out with her okay?" giving her an understanding look, you reach out and cross a line of professionalism to squeeze her hand in support. "don't worry about it, powder is a smart girl. she'll be fine" you give her a smile, slowly retreating your hand.

with a sigh, you get up from your seat, dusting off your skirt , pushing the chair back into the desk and dropping the pen back into it's cylindrical container. you accompany vi to the door and she swiftly skips ahead of you and blocks the doorway.

you give her a puzzled look, but she talks before you can say anything. "uh sorry, i just wanted to ask if you'd like me to walk you back to your car.." she rubs the back of her neck as she says it.

"oh! yeah, sure." smiling at her nervousness, you gesture for her to follow you. as she walks you back to your car, your hands slightly brush against each other, making you blush and awfully aware of your closeness. you look up at her to see if she's noticed, or at least felt it, but she's looking ahead with a straight face.

once you both get to your car, you turn to her "thank you for walking me back"

she smiles back at you " it's no prob"

there's an awkward silence for a split second, before she speaks up again " soo there's this really cute cafe nearby and i uh..was wondering if you'd like to come with me?" she gives you another one of her awkward smiles, her question making you blush.

chuckling , you decide to tease her a little "so...like a date?". you grin at her, enjoying the change in her facial expressions. she smiles back at you "yeah! exactly!"

"then sure, i'd love nothing more"

nodding excitedly, she gives you a big smile "great! i'll text you the details tomorrow!" and with that, she hurriedly runs off for unknown reasons, leaving you alone in the parking lot as you chuckle to yourself "must've been in a hurry.." you think to yourself, getting in your car and driving home.

soo lmk if i made any mistakes/any way to improve my writing! :3

[vanillaxbambi]

+*#behind the camera — ch. 3 || lee heeseung

+*pairing: childhood crush-> idol!heeseung x make-up artist!femreader

+*wc: 6.2k

+*content warnings: smut (18+), heavy emotional angst (i had to throw in some realism and cry cry content okay, i can’t help myself), dom!heeseung, sub!femreader, dom/sub dynamics (sir , toy, slut, amongst other softer nicknames), dumification, dacryphillia, LOTS of dirty talk (mainly on heeseung’s part… he’s A YAPPER), CHOKING, manhandling, size kink, degradation/praise, cum play(plz wrap before you tap), oral (reader receiving), light impact play, orgasm control/denial, overstimulation, secret relationships, and idol industry power imbalances.

reader discretion is advised. this is a fictional piece written for entertainment purposes only and does not reflect the real personalities or actions of lee heeseung. by continuing, you’re acknowledging that you are of legal age and comfortable engaging with these themes.

synopsis: the tension finally breaks. heeseung shows up and for one night, you let yourselves have what you’ve both been craving. and you let him in—completely. it’s hot, slow, and everything you swore you wouldn’t want. but after the high, reality waits quietly at the door. nothing was ever supposed to feel this real.

m i k a 🌷: took me a while to actually figure out which way i wanted to wrap up this story into a bow that was both realistic and bittersweet. i hope you read this knowing that its not supposed to work out and that its a gut wrenching feeling to experience this kind of relationship with someone as famous as a kpop idol. otherwise, i hope you like it and i look forward to all the comments, pms, and reblog tags!! thank you for reading this far!💕

🎀taglist: @heegyukeluv @fatherwound @str8ykids @twancingyunhao @nctrenjunie @allygator-98 @jay-scenarios @hansungie01 @jadedxfemme @sagegreenhairclip @lveegsoi @ninistranaut @srhnyx @simj4ke @jiyeons-closet @hxonieverse @fangirl125reader @his-seung

chapter 2 << chapter 3 (final) || m a s t e r l i s t.

chapter 3.

you don’t know how he finds you.

the stairwell isn’t on the map. no signage, no route markers—just an empty industrial corner of the venue with concrete floors and flickering lights and the kind of silence that feels too still for a city this loud.

but he does.

heeseung finds you.

the door clicks softly behind him. your phone is still open in your hand, but your fingers stop scrolling the second your eyes lift and meet his.

he looks… frayed.

hood up. mask hanging loose under his chin. lips parted like he ran here, or didn’t know what to say until right now.

“you okay?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

he doesn’t speak right away. he just stares at you. at your frame. your face.

and then—quiet, like he hates himself for even admitting it—

“no.”

your heart stutters.

he walks toward you slowly. not with purpose—just with momentum, like standing still hurts more than anything else.

“i can’t do this,” he mutters. “i keep telling myself not to, and then i see you, and—”

he cuts off. his hands press into his pockets. his head dips.

“i shouldn’t feel like this.”

you breathe in, but you don’t interrupt.

“it’s not just…” he glances at you again. “it’s not just about wanting to fuck you. even though god, i do. i think about it all the time and i hate how much i do.”

your breath catches.

his voice stays low, but heavier now. raw.

“but it’s more than that. i want your voice in my ear. i want your fingers brushing mine when no one’s watching. i want you leaning your head on my shoulder when we’re backstage and i’m trying to act like i’m not falling apart.”

he laughs. it’s not funny. “and it’s so fucking stupid, because we both know this doesn’t work. we can’t work. not in this world. not with who i am. not with who you are. it’s not possible.”

your throat tightens.

he finally steps close enough that your backs are almost touching the wall, and his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them.

“i can’t sleep,” he murmurs before chuckling dryly. “well– more than i usually cant.. i can’t rest. i go through ten hours of filming and i still walked off stage looking for your face. and if you’re not in the room i feel like i’m suffocating.”

your breath catches.

he laughs once. bitter. “this is bad.”

“heeseung, we can't–”

“i know,” he cuts you off gently, eyes soft yet burning with a passion that similarly mirrors yours. “i know… but texting you isn’t enough anymore. calling you at night and pretending it’s casual, pretending i don’t notice how breathless you sound when i say your name… it’s not enough. i can’t keep pretending this is harmless.”

he’s breathing harder now. jaw tight. eyes bloodshot from exhaustion, or maybe something else.

“i need more. i need you near me. with me. i want to touch you when i say things. i want to kiss you when you laugh. i want to put my hand on your back when we walk into a room and not have to worry who sees.”

you’re silent. heart slamming against your chest.

“and i want you,” he adds, voice dropping even lower. “so bad it fucking hurts.”

the words echo in the concrete stairwell.

“i text you and it’s not enough. i call you and it just makes it worse. i watch your videos over and over like a sick fuck because it’s the only version of you i’m allowed to have.”

neither of you move.

heeseung swallows. something sharp in his throat.

“and i can’t stop,” he says, breathless now. “i can’t stop needing you, and i don’t know what to do anymore.”

he reaches out, brushing his fingers against your wrist. not holding. just grounding himself.

his next words are softer. quieter.

“just say something. anything. because if i’m the only one feeling like this…”

he doesn’t finish.

he doesn’t have to.

you can see it in his eyes. “you’re not the only one… you think it’s easy for me not to care about you?”

a beat before he continues.

“i’m tired of holding back. of pretending like you’re just some backstage coincidence. could have more than that… i hate that we have to move secretly and be like this…”

his voice honest. broken. burning.

the space that’s forced between the two of you is straining and nearly unbearable. but required and absolute. you both cannot be together. not in the light with so much eyes monitoring.

“i know it’s messy,” he whispers. “but tell me you don’t want me, and i’ll walk away.”

your lips part and the overwhelming feeling of the consequences of being public eats the back of your mind.

you want him. you want him badly. possibly just as much as he wants you. you want him so much that it’s a terrifying feeling to even admit outloud.

but no words come out.

heeseung steps back first. just a little– like he’s afraid if he stays one second longer, he’ll do something irreversible.

the war between what he wants and what he can’t have. the way he’s already grieving a decision neither of you has made. the guilt. the craving. the way he’s so close to you and still doesn’t touch you like he wants to—like he aches to.

and once that line breaks, there would be no coming back.

you take a slow breath.

you don’t know how long you’ve been standing in the stairwell—heeseung’s hand barely brushing your wrist, his words still bleeding into your skin. even though he just acknowledged this can’t work—you know he’s waiting for you to give him a reason to believe it could.

and then, finally, he speaks again.

quieter, steadier but not calm. never calm.

“after san diego,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “there’s a break before LA. just a few days in california. media stuff, interviews, brand shoots, rehearsals.”

you nod slowly. not sure where he’s going with this.

heeseung swallows. hard. his gaze drops—like it’s easier to say it when he’s not watching you search his eyes for vulnerability.

“my schedule’s full. they’ve got me stacked from morning to night.”

your heart sinks.

but then he adds—“except one.”

your breath catches.

“just one night.” he lifts his eyes again.

“the night before LA’s concert. i’m free after rehearsal around 5pm to relax. i don’t even know how that happened, but that will be the only time no one will be watching me– us.”

“us…” you echo as your stomach twists. finding yourself staring up at him with apprehension.

“if we’re going to do this,” he says, low, raw, real, “if we’re ever going to stop pretending this isn’t killing us… that’s the only night.”

he steps closer. his voice is a whisper now. not because he’s hiding– he’s tired of running.

“i want you,” he breathes. “in every way i’m not supposed to. and i know we can’t keep going like this.”

you stay frozen.

“so if you don’t want this,” he says, softer, “if this isn’t something you want to carry with you after…”

his hand lifts. he brushes a strand of hair from your cheek like it’s the only touch he’ll allow himself.

“please…tell me now and i'll let go.”

your throat is tight.

you don’t speak.

you can’t. because you do want it.

god, you need it, bad.

you want that night more than anything you’ve ever let yourself admit.

even if it can’t happen again. even if it destroys you afterward.

heeseung nods slowly at your silence. his fingers linger a second longer.

and then, you speak up, quietly. “i’ll send the room number.”

he pauses, breath shaky. eyes glittering.

a sound from behind the door makes you jump.

a yell possibly from staff. too close of a call.

heeseung has to go now if he didnt want to get your career ruined by being caught alone with him.

he curses underneath his breath before rushing to your body, pulling you into a quick but steady kiss.

a promise. a secret.

before he leaves, he looks at you one last time—like he already knows what you’re thinking.

“i’ll come to you, baby. i’ll be yours.”

then he’s gone.

and you’re left in a stairwell with your hands shaking, lips tingling, your lungs burning, and only one thought in your head:

one night. just one night

* * * * *

you feel like you’re being dragged across the continent in pieces.

city after city. night after night. too many hours spent powdering faces and checking mic wires while pretending your hands don’t tremble when he walks into the room.

heeseung hasn’t spoken to you since the stairwell.

not directly, anyway.

not in front of anyone.

but you feel him everywhere.

you feel him in the way his eyes track your hands when you prep the others. In the way he lingers near your station before heading to wardrobe. in the way he stands closer during group huddles, even when he doesn’t say a word.

he never asks. never crosses the line again.

but he doesn’t pull back, either.

not like he should.

not like you need him to.

and now—three days before California—you find yourself standing on the side of the road in the middle of fucking Arizona because the crew van broke down.

you’re all en route to venue soundcheck. three vehicles total.

yours—the second van—lost power without warning.

and as luck would have it, the only two staffers in this van were you and heeseung.

it’s quiet now. too quiet.

you sit on the bumper while the driver calls logistics and road side assistance.

heeseung leans against the hot metal siding beside you, one foot up on the curb, arms crossed, hair pulled back in a messy low bun.

he hasn’t looked at you since the van died.

but you can feel it.

the tension, the unspokenness between you is so loud that it hums in your throat.

“well,” he says, finally breaking the silence, “i always wanted to see Arizona.”

you laugh. quiet. dry.

“we’re literally in a gas station parking lot.”

“i’m trying to be romantic,” he mutters.

you glance at him.

he’s watching the sunset over a strip mall. his jaw’s tense. his eyes tired. always so tired.

you often caught your stare lingering over him through the mirrors of the dressing rooms the past few venues. between your channel’s shots that you take of the tour, under very strict guidelines, you hated that you couldn’t help but notice when he’d wrap a blanket that didn’t quite cover his body. never enough to warm him.

you’d purposely wait until his eyes blink open to start talking louder in your videos or to others, even if it didn’t exactly make a difference due to the loud volume from others–it made a difference to you.

his insomnia was barely a thought to other people but to you it was the thing that concerned you the most when the hours ran long and the other members were just as exhausted. you could only imagine how tired his body was.

but he’s doing what he loves. although your support was silent and in the shadows, you wanted to do whatever you could encourage him.

now here he was seated next to you on the bumper of the van, trying to mke you feel better about this inconvenient situation.

he smiles—just barely.

“you don’t have to be romantic heeseung,” you say softly. “you barely slept on the car ride.”

His smile fades.

“I know.”

the quiet stretches again.

the wind kicks up desert dust. the heat clings to your spine. your palms are sweating even though the sun’s low.

heeseung shifts closer. he’s still not touching you, but you can feel the electricity crawl down your arm just from his presence.

“you been thinking about it?” he asks.

your breath catches. you don’t ask what it means. you both know.

he’s talking about the stairwell.

you nod slowly. ‘“too much, i’m afraid.”

He looks down. “yeah, me too.”

You stare ahead at the glowing horizon.

And then—so quietly, so carefully, it almost sounds like guilt:

“i don’t want it to feel like a mistake.” you turn to him with your fingers fidgeting over your sweater.

he’s still looking at the ground. fingers tapping lightly against his elbow.

“i know it’s just one night,” he murmurs, “but if I’m gonna remember it for the rest of my life, I want it to be worth it.”

your throat tightens. you want it to be too…

he finally meets your eyes and that look right there…

it isn’t just lust. it’s longing. hunger. sadness. hope.

the things he can’t say out loud.

the things he won’t ever be allowed to show in public.

“but it’ll be enough,” he says softly. “even if it ruins me a little.”

you don’t reply. there was nothing else to add.

and still—you sadly smile toward him.

it was always going to be worth it.

even if it only lasts one night.

* * *

he’s late. not by much, just an hour.but youre not surprised or even upset. you're used to waiting for his schedule to end before talking on the phone.

you're used to waiting for his schedule to end before talking on the phone.

used to getting a message in the early morning saying he just got back to the dorm while you leave your ringer on to wake up just in time to fall asleep again with him on the line…

what you arent used to, is the sound of a keycard sliding into your hotel room door lock.

the high pitched beep makes your stomach do things it shouldn’t.

he doesn’t say hi—just enters quietly. black hoodie pulled low over his brow, a black mask around his wrist and damp hair still curled around his temple from shower steam.

he kicks off his sneakers, and drops his tour bag on the floor.

it’s dangerous. him being here. this entire escapade is so risky…

you’re still his assigned makeup artist.

still supposed to be professional.

still on a schedule with the rest of the crew.

still so early into the tour.

on the second leg of the tour where there's at least a day's rest for the boys.

one perfect—stolen—night to finally ravish each other.

heeseung steps into the dim light of the hotel room. his eyes scan the way you’re perched at the edge of the bed, legs tucked beneath you, oversized tee riding up the soft curve of your thighs.

you don’t speak.

neither does he.

both of you know what’s about to happen.

he reached behind him– a small click.

he's locked the door.

heeseung’s hoodie’s half-off before he even reaches you. he drops his hoodie to the chair, and turns to look at you like you’ve been keeping something from him.

god, he’s so beautiful.

his voice is quiet when it finally breaks the silence. “you stayed up for me, sweetheart?”

“you’re late,” you murmur, eyes searching his. “was about to fall asleep if i wasnt so anxious about you coming by.”

he does that slow blink he usually does over facetime down at you while listening to you speak.

you haven’t even touched him yet and your stomach is already curling at the edges. heat flickering low behind your belly button. it’s almost humiliating how easy he gets to you.

heeseung says nothing at first. just brushing his thumb along your jawline. not quite fully touching you. “couldn’t get away. manager stuck around too long.”

you hum softly, peering up at him. not upset. not exactly.

just… already anticipating the time you’ll have to give back the second he gets a text or call. a rapid second and this quiet little world between you might soon have to slip into secrecy.

his fingers brush your arm and your breath stalls in your throat.

“stand up,” heeseung says lowly.

you do.

he moves like he’s done this before.

he doesn’t rush. just watches the way your shirt shifts when you exhale. watches your pulse flutter at your throat when he steps in closer.

“look at me.”

you do.

and god, he looks tired.

not just tired—haunted.

maybe from the stage. maybe from the pressure. maybe from holding back the way his hands are already gripping your waist like he’s starving.

“how long do we have?” you ask softly.

“long enough.” his voice is quieter now. "been thinking about this all week," heeseung mutters, lowering his posture to your level. "about you. what you would sound like in person when you fall apart."

his fingers trace the hem of your shirt.

"take this off for me."

you don’t speak.

you obey.

lifting the flimsy fabric over your head and toss it aside, your bare chest on display like you’ve been waiting to be seen. his eyes drop immediately. widen. jaw clenching like he’s trying to memorize the sight before it disappears.

heeseung sucks in a sharp breath and shakes his head like he can’t believe what’s standing in front of him.

“fuck, y/n… you’re so fucking perfect.”

before you can say anything else, his hand curls around your neck—firm, steady, grounding. just letting you know that you’re his, for however long this moment allows.

enough to make you slightly dizzy.

"you gonna let me ruin you tonight, baby?"

you nod.

"words."

"yes."

heeseung leans in closer. "yes, what?"

your breath hitches. “yes, sir.”

his lips curl into a wicked, smug smile. like you’ve handed him the keys to the kingdom.

“good girl.”

his lips crash into yours like he’s punishing you for making him wait. tongue hot, needy, searching. his hands roam everywhere—your sides, your ass, the soft dip between your ribs. every place he couldn’t touch on camera. every place he’s only imagined in the dark while whispering your name into his sheets.

his thigh presses between yours and you moan into his mouth.

he pulls back enough to speak. “on the bed.”

you move without thinking. your thighs rub together as you crawl onto the mattress, nerves frayed and clenching around nothing. he follows, crawling over you slowly, shirt finally pulled off and tossed behind him.

“god, i love how shy you get when i tell you what to do,” heeseung breathes against your mouth. “your brain just melts from being ordered around doesn’t it, baby?”

“heeseung—”

“uh-uh,” he levels you with his eyes, thumbing over your bottom lip. “try again.”

“…sir.” you correct yourself.

heeseung’s hum of approval brings another wave of heat over your skin. “you’re all mine tonight, you understand me?” although he's desperate and clinging to you like you’ll dissolve into thin air, his eyes are searching. aware of what’s happening— gaze fixed and analyzing every inch of your body to etch into his memory.

“let me pretend you’re mine and i’m yours completely tonight…”

This is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

your chest aches with a feeling similar to fear and anxiety but the burning sensation of subspace dizziness jars you back into focus.

”do you understand me, y/n?” he demands, firmly— desperately that if you weren’t being held so strongly you would hear his tone as a plea rather than a command.

you manage a nod.

because if you open your mouth, you’ll beg.

not to fuck you— which you wanted badly.

that; you’ll beg him not to leave.

no time to pump the breaks.

it starts with him on his knees.

mouth hot on your thighs, then higher—lips ghosting over your underwear before he yanks them down with a sharp tug and groans when he sees how soaked you already are.

“so fucking wet. is this all for me?” he asks, mouth hovering right over your clit.

“yes,” you breathe.

“of course it is. no one else gets to see you like this. no one else gets to taste.”

and god, he does.

he devours.

his tongue is slow, precise, practiced. he moans into you like you’re the one feeding him.

you whimper, thighs trembling as you grind down on his face without meaning to.

“needy little thing,” heeseung growls against your cunt, dragging two fingers through the mess he’s making. “can’t sit still, can you? bet you’d let me eat you out for hours if i don’t stop.”

you’re panting. hands in his hair, legs shaking.

your vision goes white when he curls two fingers deep inside you.

“that’s it. ride my fucking fingers. show me how desperate you are.”

you cry out—loud, shameless.

he pulls back, wipes his mouth on his wrist, and smirks.

“so fucking messy already. you’re gonna soak the sheets, for me?”

“please,” you gasp, not even sure what you’re begging for.

“please, what?”

“please, sir… please— i need, please, fuck me.”

heeseung blinks like his world’s tipped over, then drags you up from the bed like you weigh nothing.

“since you asked so nicely, like a good girl...”

he kisses you. a pure deep, open-mouthed kiss.

his tongue tangles with yours and his hand grips the back of your neck while he walks you backward toward the bed. you fall onto it in a tangle of limbs, and he follows with slow, calculated movements.

once he strips, you can practically feel your saliva collect in your mouth.

he’s bigger than you imagined.

the screen definitely didnt do him any justice.

his cock standing strong, flushed, and leaking at the tip.

you make a sound—something between a gasp and a whimper—and heeseung laughs, low and dark.

“you think you can take it like a good girl for me?” he asks, fist wrapped around his cock as he strokes it slowly, other hand sliding up your torso before wrapping firmly around your throat. “or are you gonna cry for me like you did on the phone?”

you nod so fast your vision spins.

heeseung’s hand doesn’t leave your neck.

not when he’s pushing you down into the mattress.

not when he’s grinding his cock between your slick folds, teasing you, splitting you open slowly like you’ll break if he doesn’t take his time.

and god—he loves that idea.

“you feel that, baby?” his voice is low, ragged, teeth gritted as he nudges the thick head of his cock inside you. “so fucking tight. can barely get in.”

you’re already gasping. legs spread wide, thighs trembling, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other gripping his forearm where it’s curled around your neck.

“so big, fuck—heeseung—”

“sir,” he growls, snapping his hips forward, forcing you to take more. “that’s not what you call me, sweetheart. i wont fucking remind you again.”

“sir—sir, i’m sorry, i—” your words melt into a moan as he bottoms out, cock buried to the hilt, filling you so deep your vision whites out at the edges.

“yeah?” heeseung’s eyes burn into yours. “you sorry for being a dumb, fucked out slut for me?”

you nod frantically, brain barely keeping up with the stretch.

“then say it,” he demands. “say what you are.”

you whimper, hands scrambling to hold onto something—him, the sheets, your sanity.

“i’m your dumb little slut, sir.”

heeseung smiles.

a slow, wicked thing that doesn’t reach his eyes—because his eyes are busy watching you come undone beneath him.

“fuck, i love hearing that pretty mouth...”

his hand tightens just a little around your throat—not enough to hurt, but enough to make your head swim. enough to remind you who you belong to.

he starts moving then.

slow, deliberate thrusts, the weight of his cock dragging against every nerve inside you.

your body arches under him, already teetering on the edge from the stretch and pressure and the way his grip never leaves your throat.

“you love being used like this, huh?” heeseung pants, sweat beading at his temple. “love being fucked stupid on my cock?”

you can’t even speak.

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out except a desperate moan.

“god, you’re so tight baby—fuck. this pussy was made for me.”

you mewl, head falling back against the pillow.

“say it.”

“it's—“ his thrusts interrupt you. “i’m made for you…” you choke out, tears pricking your eyes from the stretch.

“damn, right you are baby… made just for me to use and abuse…” heeseung presses his forehead to yours, hips moving slowly. so deep. so slow. like he’s savoring you.

“you’re so, so good, babygirl. such a good fucking girl. all mine, yeah?”

“yes, sir.”

“you like being fucked like this? stretched open and stuffed full of my cock?”

“yes—yes, i do—”

“i can feel you clenching, sweetheart. you gonna cum already?”

“i—i don’t know—”

“look at you.” his hand slides up to your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks until you’re forced to hold his gaze. “already cock-drunk. not even halfway through.”

you’re crying now—just a little.

tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as your legs tremble and your cunt squeezes around him like your body knows it won’t be able to take much more.

but he’s not stopping.

you could swear you see a flash of a smile etch his face before your vision blurs with more tears.

heeseung pulls all the way out, then slams back in hard enough to knock a cry from your lips.

“you don’t cum until i say,” he warns. “you understand me, dumb girl?”

“yes— yes, sir! i’ll try—”

“no, you won’t try.” he cuts you off, voice sharp. “you’ll obey. you want to be my good girl, you take everything i give you. don’t you dare fucking cum yet.”

your nails dig into his bicep, your thighs squeezing around his waist as your body bucks beneath him.

he doesn’t slow down.

in fact, he presses your thighs apart forcefully with his much wider frame.

he fucks you through it—deep, punishing thrusts that leave you twitching and sobbing, pleasure building so tight it hurts.

“so fucking wet,” heeseung grunts. “you hear that? listen to how soaked you are for me… messy little toy.”

your cheeks burn.

your body’s trembling uncontrollably now, tears rolling faster, mouth falling open in a broken cry as he keeps going.

and going.

and going.

“sir, please—please i’m gonna—”

“don’t.”

“i can’t—”

heeseung slaps your thigh. hard.

you scream—your cunt clenching so tight he chokes on a moan.

“fuck! you’re such a fucking brat,” he growls. “can’t even follow simple instructions. guess, i’ll have to fuck obedience into you.”

he changes the angle—grips your hips tight, drags your ass flush into his lap and starts pounding into you, fast and brutal. your breasts bouncing with every thrust.

your eyes roll back.

heeseung grabs your chin again, forcing your eyes on him.

“keep your fucking eyes open. you're going to watch me while you fucking break.”

he fucks you harder. rougher. hands gripping your hips as he slams into you with enough force to knock the air from your lungs.

your weak arms do nothing to stop him from pummeling into your helpless body.

“cmon baby, take it. take all of me.”

you’re sobbing now, gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing tethering you to earth.

your orgasm hits you like a train.

oh, fuck.

it tears through you in white-hot pulses, your mouth open in a silent scream, legs shaking, cunt fluttering violently around him.

“you didn’t ask,” he snarls, still fucking you through it. this time gripping your face hard. “again.”

your core reflexifly tries to shove him out, to spasm and clench more than what his girth was allowing you to.

“oh no, you don’t.” heeseung laugh isn’t humorous— it’s angry. he pushes down on your lower abdomen and pins you in place with his dick shoved deeper inside. “greedy fucking brat. didn’t even ask to cum.”

you’re sobbing now—overstimulated, your body locked in place, every nerve ending raw and trembling.

heeseung doesn’t stop.

he doesn’t even slow down.

“don’t think we’re done yet,” he pants. “i’m not finished with you, baby. not until you give me another.”

“sir, i—i can’t—” still drowing in your high.

“no. you will.” he growls. “you’ll give me another like the good little slut you are. i want to feel you fucking gush all over me. cum.”

he slaps your clit. not hard but enough to tip you over the abyss.

you scream.

and then you cum again—harder, messier, your body seizing under him.

heeseung curses, hips stuttering.

“fuck—you’re clenching so tight—“ he throws his head back, before sucking in a sharp breath— lunging forward. “oh, fuck— i’m gonna cum! where do you want it?”

you’re too gone to answer.

“where, baby?” he growls, hand tightening again around your throat. “you want me to make a mess all over you?”

a breathless gasp leaves your lips. his hand tightens its grip. “answer me.”

“yes—sir—please, please, cum—”

he lets out a sound you’ve never heard before. half-growl, half-groan, pure desperation as he slams into you one final time.

heeseung groans—loud, long—and pulls out just in time, spilling hot and heavy across your stomach, breathing hard as he collapses over you. holding himself up with shaking arms.

you shudder, gasping as your body registers the shots of warmth over your sticky skin.

heeseung breathes, face nestled into your neck for support.

“you did such a good job baby…” he whispers. his forehead pressed to yours, while his hand’s still gently curled around your throat.

“my good girl…”

you’re gone.

wrecked.

and for a moment… all you can do is let him hold you there. his fingers smoothing over your aching muscles. your bodies tangled, sweaty, soaked, and clinging to the last thread of something neither of you can name.

for a while, there’s only the sound of your breaths.

then the silence creeps in.

heeseung’s hand finds yours.

you stare at the ceiling.

you feel the reality start to settle in again. the walls of the hotel room close around you.

the clock ticking on the nightstand reminds you this is temporary.

you turn your head to look at him.

he’s already looking at you.

and for a second… you let yourself believe he’ll say it. something more.

but he doesn’t.

he just squeezes your hand.

once.

hard.

then he presses a kiss to your shoulder and says, “you mind cuddling for a bit before…”

he doesnt need to finish his sentence.

you nod. because you already know—

he can’t stay.

that makes it hurt worse when you move against the most logical thing to do; which is leave immediately—and snuggle into his warmth.

because that’s all you can do.

you had this much. this has to be enough, even if it doesn't feel like it ever will be.

you’ve both been fantasizing about this.

and now that it’s happened, you finally understand what it means to have something under your skin.

something that won’t leave.

even when he does.

you’re the first to move.

it’s not much—just a shift of your arm, the turn of your head, the way your chest rises unevenly as you catch your breath.

heeseung doesn’t say anything at first.

he just lies there. facing you. one hand playing with your hair, the other still lightly grazing your thigh like he doesn’t know how to stop touching you.

you glance at him through your lashes. everything feels too still. too quiet. your body’s warm, messy, and sore in ways that make your heart squeeze.

you wish it was enough.

but the seconds keep ticking.

and you know how this ends.

heeseung finally exhales, his deep colored eyes drawing you in.

"you okay?" he asks, voice hoarse from effort. from restraint.

you nod, not trusting your voice.

his fingers find yours in the sheets and squeeze.

you squeeze back.

no declarations. just touches. just these small, impossible moments stitched together by hands that tremble a little more each time they let go.

you want to say something.

want to ask if this means anything to him.

but you don’t.

because you already know what needs to be said and done.

because he’s lee fucking heeseung.

because you’re not supposed to share a bed with him, much less talk to him outside of work.

and because you’ve spent the last few years building something his fans could ruin for you with one single headline.

“i should shower,” you say quietly, the words sticking in your throat.

heeseung’s hands fall away from your body reluctantly.

you miss it instantly.

you sit up, pulling the sheets with you. the ache between your legs is still fresh. raw. a reminder that what just happened was real—so painfully real—and already slipping through your fingers.

he doesn’t stop you when you move toward the bathroom.

but you catch him watching you go.

his jaw clenched. his eyes tired.

the light clicks on. the water runs. and for a second, it’s just you staring at yourself in the mirror.

your hair is a mess. your lips are kiss-swollen. your chest is marked where his mouth lingered too long.

you look ruined.

but not in the way you expected.

when you come out wrapped in a towel, he’s already half-dressed. sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand.

his expression is unreadable.

your stomach drops.

“manager’s asking where i am,” he says.

you nod.

"you should go."

heeseung doesn’t resist or make a move to leave urgently.

time lags.

he just nods while rising up from the bed slowly.

he watches you find your shirt on the floor like it hasn’t already been peeled off of your body before you both shared tonight so passionately.

“you’ll be at rehearsal for the day 2 concert tomorrow?” he finally says.

“yeah.”

a beat.

then softer: “you okay?”

you nod. but you don’t smile.

because the ache between your legs is nothing compared to the one settling in your chest.

you’ll see him again tomorrow.

you’ll have to be around him all afternoon before he performs in the evening.

you’ll touch up his foundation like you weren’t falling apart underneath him just hours earlier.

he looks at you. really looks.

eyes glossed over with unspoken anguish that you can only reflect back with a sad smile.

and for a second—just one second—you swear he wants to say something that might shatter your world and piece you back together..

all he says is:

“you make it really hard to walk away like this, you know that?”

you’re still smiling, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “had to make it worth your while. even just for a little bit..”

he flinches.

just barely.

and you hate yourself for noticing it.

you step closer, pulling on your shirt from earlier, trying to keep your hands from shaking. “it’s okay, heeseung. this was never supposed to be more than a moment.”

he stands, towering over you now, eyes searching your face like he’s memorizing it.

"you don’t believe that."

"doesn’t matter what i believe. our jobs—us. won’t work. no matter how much the fans ship us."

he hesitates. like he wants to say something that would undo it all. that would make this feel like the beginning instead of the end.

his phone buzzes loudly in his hand again. you dont need to look to know who’s calling.

“see?” you press your lips into a sad, tight lipped smile. “duty calls.”

heeseung sighs, eyes filled with a million words that you could easily decipher as longing, regret, dispair.

there’s a weight on both of your shoulders that neither of you can name out loud. not at this moment. not when you both feel how viciously swept up the situations gotten the both of you.

you walk him to the door anyway.

because that’s what you do when someone doesn’t belong to you.

its the right thing to do.

you both knew this moment would come after your short lived fling.

and just before he leaves, he leans in and plants a kiss on your lips.

once. soft. slow.

like an apology that comes too late.

when he pulls away, his voice cracks just a little.

“sleep well, sweetheart.”

“goodnight, ace.” you add nothing else after that.

because that’s what this is.

a goodbye.

a moment.

a secret.

something that doesn’t exist outside these walls.

but god—you’ll remember it.

you sit on the edge of the bed after he’s gone, the scent of his cologne still clinging to your sheets.

you wonder if he’ll think of you when he wakes up tomorrow in another hotel room or when he’s back on stage with ten thousand voices screaming his name

you wonder if he’ll miss the way you whispered his name like a secret meant only for him.

most of all… you wonder if you’ll ever be able to touch someone else again without thinking of the way he said,

let me pretend you’re mine and i’m yours completely tonight…

and how, just for a night—

you let yourselves believe the illusion.

a secret only the two of you will remember and seal away for good.

yet… you will never forget the way he looked at you like you were the only real thing he’s had in years.

and maybe, for now… that’s enough.

[ e n d ]

chapter 2 << chapter 3 ( final )

m i k a🌷: god this was insane to write, i had to pace around a couple times before actually continuing. MY FREAKING HEART mELTED…. may or may not continue the story in a different series, depending on how well this does;)

if you’re looking forward to more stories like this in the future send me a message, ask, or private message me to be added to a main taglist to get notified of future works by me. i’ve got my masterlists pinned in my bio if you want to check more of my work out! (some links don’t work since i changed usernames… but if you seach “masterist” most of them pop up!)

[blossomcola]

pls write abt sub!kazuha who has a breeding kink and desperately asks gp!reader to fill her up 🥺 thank you!

pairing. sub!nakamura kazuha x dom!gp reader.

content warnings. breeding kink, creampie.

kazuha being shy and at the same time having obscene thoughts is not a good combination because her ideals clash quite a bit with her personality :( she really wants to be passionate and try certain things, but being somewhat shy and quiet limits her a lot and makes it difficult for her to be herself and achieve her goals.

it’s good that you know how to read kazuha perfectly and you know what she wants based on the shy looks she’s giving you, even though she is always quieter and shyer, her eyes say something different this time… of course she won’t tell you what she wants without filters, but you don’t need much to know what’s going on in her head.

“do you want to be bred, zuha?”

more direct than kazuha would have liked, but she appreciates it! talking to her like that somehow gives kazuha confidence, and of course she takes advantage of it because she can finally talk to you without feeling dirty 🥺 she may hesitate when acting, but you just have to reassure her and give her confidence so that she feels more ready and can act without dying of embarrassment in the process! stepping out of her comfort zone is something that clearly impacts her but kazuha can quickly adapt to it.

and she is the happiest girl once you are finally giving her what she wants :( cheek pressed against the pillows, knees nailed to the mattress to keep her hips in the air and make it easier for you to fuck her from behind, kazuha even goes so far as to spread her own buttocks to present her dripping holes to your view and show you what she needs??? she gains enough confidence to act, but she struggles to take responsibility for her actions and would be embarrassed if you said anything to her about it, probably blushing right away if you try to make fun of her the moment she starts acting like a slut and almost begging you to give her what she wants, but you end up joking with her anyway! actually, it’s more provoking and teasing her... but kazuha has no right to complain! not when she’s busy squealing with her face buried in the pillows until you fill her to the brim with a warm load of cum that will have her smiling for the rest of the day.

[ransomwrite]

Hi Hi Hi

I Read through all you're current date everything fics (love them btw)

I was hoping to make a request?

I got this Idea from someone a few days ago tho I dont remember who .

So the setting would be like after realizing everyone, after everyone started to live out their lives.

Reader/player when realizing the dateables essentially dontated their own life force (Unbeknowst to them) so after realizing everyone Reader/Player falls into a deep slumber they dont wake up from.

Everyone forgetting they existed in the process as if they never realky existed.

How we feel about this???

(Aslo tysm if you fill this request but if not then ty anyway for reading this :D )

Mmm i dunno how to feel about this so sorry if its badd and really short. Also i got no title idea so if yall have ideasss.

Date Everything x Reader

Summary: After getting the Dateviators and realizing them, you expected them to stay, but instead you fall into a deep slumber.

✧.*✎~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~✎*.✧

When you took the first step into that house, everything felt quiet and empty. Working away to make this house feel a bit more homey. Then as time slowly passed, you got used to the loneliness that came with it.

When the Dateviators appeared on your steps after getting fired, things started to change.

As Skylar explains how you can interact with everything in the house, you took no hesitation in meeting every single object inside your house.

Beginning to make a deeper, more personal connection with them than with anyone you've known in your life.

You worked around the Breaker Box, entertained the others' hobbies and passions. Helping them with whatever problems they had and becoming friends or lovers.

Your house had never felt livelier before as you met every single one of them.

Then Skylar explained the process on how to realize someone. The thought of turning them all into humans was exciting, and you were looking forward to it.

Skylar gave you the rundown, then began the process when you chose someone to realize. The energy not only flowed through the glasses, but also pulsed from your entire being.

It was a chill running down your spine, a sudden shot of energy blasting out of you before your senses came back, and there- standing before you- a different version of them.

They smiled at their new look. They grinned at you and made sure to show how much they appreciated you and all your hard work.

You expected them to stay with you forever or even until tomorrow. But instead they walked off with a mission that was set onto their mind from the very start.

You waited patiently for them to come back, maybe one day they'll sit down with you and speak about their adventures.

But as each and every last one of them left, the house had never felt emptier, you had never felt so lonely. And this time, there was no one around who could comfort you.

They tried to keep you updated, you tried to make plans to visit at least one of them. But you couldn't bring yourself to leave your bed.

Your body felt like it was drained of everything, your mind struggled to even properly form a thought. There was a heavy weight that pressed over you, and no matter what, you couldn't shake it off.

Something in you said that this was for the best, that it was worth it to give a piece of yourself so that they can be free and live a life.

As your eyes grow heavier, you start to recollect your memories with them. A smile creeps onto your face as you remember how much they impacted your life, how even for a few days, each one of them leaving a mark of a memory onto you.

Some have noticed that you weren't responding to them, and grew a bit worried. Making a mental note to visit you if they find the time to. But work gets in the way, and they forget all about you.

Now you shut your eyes, even if something told you that once you slept, you'd never wake.

Even if it meant that you wouldn't get to see them again, you were proud that they were out there, doing something, maybe making a difference.

[fury-brand]

In defense of Aline

We don't really have a lot of specifics on what Aline was doing with her painted family. We do know that for a time before the fracture, though, they were a pretty normal family. They went on ski trips, verso played piano and moved out of his parents home and lived above a bakery, and there's really nothing to suggest strife from that particular period in old lumiere. We don't know how long that was - how long Aline was indulging in this somewhat-creepy coping mechanism - or what it was that convinced Renoir that she was a danger to herself.

I think because Renoir's love is real and his motivations are understandable people tend to downplay the extent to which his behaviour worsened the situation. The last 100 years of the canvas - I would wager a far longer time than the painted family's original run in Old Lumiere, which seemed largely happy - has been a battle of attrition between Aline and Renoir. Besides the impact that has on everyone around them it's been deteriorating their relationship.

Aline is quite lucid at the monolith. In fact, she's angry with Renoir and disagrees that she's in danger. She says he has his way of grieving and he should let her have hers. In the absence of evidence of her decline, and with the knowledge of the relative timelines on before/after... Is she wrong? And did Renoir showing up to declare full scale war on her model village actually help her, and provide her with the support that she needed to return to their family, and her complicated feelings of losing one child and blaming another?

Clea's inclined to agree with Aline in her Endless Tower dialogue and suggests that really the problem was not that Aline was drawn in, but that Renoir was distressed at seeing her like this and trying to stop her has occupied all of his time. Clea clearly resents Aline's creepy facsimile of her, but finds Renoir's no better and helps Renoir mostly for practical purposes rather than because she's legitimately worried about her mother. Her suggestion that "they've been in other canvases longer" suggests that she might even think he's overreacting.

And maybe he is. He just lost his son and he loves his wife above all things and the way that she is coping involves isolating herself from him. He wants her support through this time. He also shares a story about how he lost himself in a canvas, and how she pulled him out because she's an experienced painter who taught him his own limits. Now, Aline is far from at her best during the story, but we can infer from what Renoir says that Aline was good at knowing her own limits, and that one of the things driving Renoir is fear.

The portrait Aline paints of Renoir is one of a protective patriarch. While painted Renoir looks more firm and imposing than the real one, they both share that as their most forward and relevant trait as characters; they want to protect their families and they will do so by dictating which decisions their family members should make and forcing them onto the path they think is correct. Renoir's audio logs to each of his children and his portraits of them are really quite harsh, and certainly opinionated about what each of them needs to do to have a good life (or be a good artist) (same thing to Renoir, it would seem). Renoir is the penultimate boss of this game specifically because he can't find it in him to trust Alicia to make her own decisions about her life until he's been literally forced into doing so.

Clearly, Verso picked it up from somewhere.

Anyway, I'm not arguing that Aline did nothing wrong and there was no cause for concern - but I am arguing that what plays out between Verso and Alicia is an echo of what played out between Aline and Renoir. That Renoir is not simply "the reasonable one," but that fear and trauma and lack of trust on Renoir's part eliminated a path to a "third ending" where nothing had to be so black and white.

I really think Clea's entire role in the narrative is to illustrate this, the ways in which both of her parents are flawed. Aline very rarely speaks for herself and Renoir sounds very definitive and persuasive despite being highly emotional about the situation - and the information that Clea provides you in conjunction with the fact that she's apparently sided with and against both of them is meant to help illuminate the truth. Ultimately it's not the vague war against the writers that best illustrates why she's the "hauler" for her family, but the way she winds up standing in the center point of the conflicts between both Aline and Renoir and later Alicia and Verso.

And speaking of Clea and the Hauler - if Old Lumiere was painted on her back, then wasn't Renoir collaborating with Aline at some point? There's a story there that we're certainly missing.

[weaselle]

I work with dogs and am great at training dogs, and this is 100% the reason i do not seek training clients. I run and walk dogs, and i personally address behaviors that occur during these activities, from jumping while greeting to leash pulling, but, while i do occasionally agree to a training session for existing clients, i purposefully downplay my dog training services because, while i can train most dogs in most situations, i have a much more frustrating time training the clients. Which is actually like 80% of the job when doing dog training for dog owners.

I recently had a client that hired me to both walk their dog and teach them how to get good leash behavior from their dog. They spent more than $200 with me for 4 short training sessions over the course of a month (where basically i went on a walk with them and their dog, first two sessions modeling the techniques and showing their effectiveness, and then having them do the walk and correcting their attempts at the techniques during the second two walks, including asking their neighbor with the dog their dog always barked at to come out and let us walk past them for practice.) A month later they told me there was noticeable improvement, but they were still having issues.

I said "did you do the one thing i told you would have the most impact out of all the things you could do?" and of course their answer was no.

their dog, btw, had perfect leash behavior with me by the second walk i ever took him on. Being a dog trainer is actually MOSTLY about training the people, and most of those people just don't do what you explain needs to be done. Many of them seem like the are incapable of following the training program you lay out, because they are incapable of things like achieving consistency in their own behavior, and they can't readily recognize dog communication or intent even after you explain what to look for. These clients had an issue with their dog barking at dogs they passed on the walk, but in 5 years had never noticed the raspy breathing he did as a build up to the barking. And i could tell them to look for that specific thing so they could interrupt the behavior early, but i can't teach someone how to pay enough attention to their dog to know the intention the dog is broadcasting in every situation. And these clients are very passive people. I cannot teach them how to be assertive enough to communicate properly with their dog, they are always asking their dog to behave in a way that indicates they have already given up and accepted that the dog won't listen to them, which of course will never get their dog to listen to them.

And on the other end of things about People I Wish Would Not Be Dog Trainers, I've noticed many dog trainers have the same problem a lot of restaurateurs had that i saw all the time when i worked in restaurants.

People think "I love food, i know how to cook a meal, i should totally open a restaurant with zero education, training, or experience in the food industry"

In much the same way, many of these trainers are just like "i love dogs, i taught MY dog how to sit, i should totally be a professional even though i have zero qualifications or experience." And they can often make things worse in the long run.

anyway, yes, 100%, being good with dogs does not make a person a good dog trainer.

Let's talk about being a dog trainer. I hear this a lot from folks considering the career and, sadly, from some folks in the career - I don't like people but I love dogs.

And my friends, I'm sorry but I have bad news for you. To be a truly good and effective dog trainer you have to care about your human clients. No amount of amazing training holds if you do not teach the human half how to reinforce and utilize it.

I'm not saying every person has to be your favorite. But if you do not find a way to connect with and impart your skills to the human half - it's all for naught. Your group class, private lesson, or board and train dogs are all going to go home to live with their people. Hell even your Service Dog raise and trains are going to work for someone else. All of these people need to understand how to motivate the dog to do what you've taught them to do.

And if you spend the whole time despising those people you are not going to be able to help them learn and grow as guardians/handlers.

I've worked with difficult human clients - people who are unpleasant or straight up insulting towards me. I've worked with people who start with the mindset of the dog should do as told because they're a dog. Sometimes I have to dig deep for kindness and compassion. But giving grace has netted me some of my most loyal, consistent, and most importantly, successful clients.

Dog training is a misnomer. This is a business of people teaching with a speciality in dogs.

[literaila]

MWAAHAHAHAHAHAA IM BACK (after finishing myself cuz I just gave the toughest of the toughest exam and I'm texting from hell tehe~)

Megumi x reader when?? 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

(Ik bbg you already gave us one. Your writing is too good to be real what can I say, so yeah yum yum 😋😋)

“hey.”

when you walk into the kitchen it’s early, your hands rub at your eyes, your mind still fogged over from sleep, body moving solely on muscle memory.

and megumi is already there. it can’t be later than eight in the morning, but he’s usually there.

you might jumped at the sound of his voice but it’s not like you’re waking up early for no reason.

your bed is always so warm in the mornings. the blankets are so soft, and the pillows so comforting. there is value of laying in bed for several more hours, maybe scrolling through social media or playing some low-impact game just so you don’t have to move.

but maybe there’s value in this, too.

“morning,” you murmur back to him, careful to keep your voice quiet even though there’s no one else you might disturb but him.

megumi is sitting at the table, his posture perfect, his clothes freshly washed and impeccably ironed. he’s got a mug in front of him and you wonder how long he’s been sitting there.

if he’s been waiting. like he might see something to this, too.

but probably not. megumi likes the quiet, the peace, and the only time he can ever effectively get that is here, in the morning, when everyone else is too exhausted to follow.

you’re disrupting that. taking some of the peace. using what you know about him to sneak in these moments like it’s a drug, some gateway to something you probably don’t want the end of.

or maybe do. you don’t even really care.

no, you try to stay quiet, but you still walk in, you still watch him for a moment, and you still sit down right next to him, smiling.

“sleep okay?” you ask, tucking your feet under your legs.

he makes a noise, slightly nodding, and then taking a sip of his coffee—you assume. “you?”

“well, yuji showed nobara and maki this game and i watched them play until one in the morning at least, so.”

“what game?”

“red death… something something?” you answer, giving him a sheepish, half asleep look.

megumi licks his lip, doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then pushes his mug towards you.

you raise a brow.

“so you don’t crash later,” he claims, almost like a taunt.

your mouth twitches and you take a sip just to accept whatever unspoken dare is on his face.

then you abruptly set it down and push it back towards him. “aw, yuck,” you say, the loudest you’ve been so far. your assumption was far too correct. “how do you drink that stuff without gagging?”

megumi looks at you sideways, and when he takes another sip of his drink you almost swear there’s a smug tilt to his mouth. “it’s good.”

“yeah, maybe if you purposefully burn off all of your tastebuds.”

he shrugs. “i have it every morning.”

“i think the taste of that is going to put me to sleep. like, sleep sleep. i think i might die.”

“i’ll call a supervisor. they’ll probably help you.”

you roll your eyes. “oh, thanks, fushiguro.”

you shake your head and look at him for a moment, taking in the change of his eyes in the morning light, the lack of irritation, the peace.

maybe you haven’t stolen that from him yet. maybe you can just share.

you always feel calm around him. like anything that might happen won’t even matter. or maybe that’s the sleep talking.

it’s quiet for a minute or two, megumi sitting in the silence like he usually does, occasionally sipping on his coffee, barely shifting.

and then his leg nudges yours. “itadori was supposed to make breakfast. any chance of that still happening?”

you grin. “i mean… he might still make lunch. if we’re lucky.”

“when did they go to bed?”

“not sure. sometime after me. they could still be up, for all i know.”

“no, i could hear snoring when i woke up.”

you laugh, tapping on the table. “i can make some breakfast, if you’re hungry. probably just for two though.”

megumi nods. then shakes his head. “no, it’s fine. i’m not hungry.”

“me neither.”

for just a second, he’s looking at you.

for just a second, he meets your eyes and you feel wide awake and completely asleep. it’s strange how you can never tell exactly what he’s thinking. that after all of these months there’s still that little part of you that keeps trying to guess.

then he clears his throat. “you want to study later?”

you blink, looking down at the table for a second, then him. “yeah,” you murmur. “that’d be nice.”

“okay.”

he doesn’t say much after that—but you don’t wake up this early for conversation, really. the two of you just sit there for a little while longer, barely moving, barely breathing.

and that’s fine. this is better than sleeping in.

[davetheshady]

Murderbot TV and the Idiot Ball Problem

For the record, I quite liked the show! But this is about an adaptational choice that bothered me more as the season went on and I think undercut the emotional impact of the finale. 

(Spoilers for all ten eps)

Ok, so in the novella, PresAux is naive and ignorant about the Corporation Rim and is WAY out of their element as people keep trying to murder them, but from the beginning one of the things Murderbot appreciates about them is that they don’t act like idiots. Not only do they have common sense (which they actually use) but because they all get along, in times of crisis they support each other (even Murderbot), and this allows them to make better decisions instead of panicking and doing something stupid.

In the show though, this is, uh… less evident. 

An early example of this is Mensah not keeping her hands at 10 and 2 while flying. In the novella, doing so is a practical safety measure that has already endeared her to Murderbot, and then it prevents one of many murder attempts. Engaging autopilot and wandering away from the controls in the show doesn’t have any plot consequences; they largely avoid the sabotage storyline. This isn’t that big a deal, really, except that it highlights that show!PresAux doesn’t really pay attention to basic safety measures in mundane situations as well as extraordinary ones. 

And then there’s Mensah’s assertion that parts of Preservation are scared and want to join the CR. I mean, do people make bad decisions during hard times where they sacrifice liberty for security? Yes. Yes they do. ::thousand yard stare in American:: But Preservation in the books is pretty self-sufficient and does not seem to have any problems worse than selling yourself into indentured servitude, so, like, why is this being brought up? Maybe this will be a thing in the future, and it does heighten the tension, but since things are already tense and it doesn't play a further plot role now, it just feels like a whole planetary system was handed an idiot ball.

This started to bother me even more in episode 7, where MB getting them to leave the habitat is basically like pulling teeth despite the now multiple attempts to kill them and the fact that there is no good reason to shelter there. It's literally the exact opposite of their reaction in the novella. And then, at the end of the episode, they just turn around and go back! Even though as far as we know nothing about their situation has changed and become less murdery! The point is supposed to be that they put others before themselves, but you cannot in fact get Gurathin to the medbay if everyone else dies! This may have become an outsized annoyance with me since it actually gets resolved fairly quickly in the next episode, but I had gone camping and couldn’t catch up for a few weeks as I defended my campsite against elk (successful) and bison (less successful), so the annoyance lingered, not unlike the bison outside my tent. 

But episode 10 bothered me even more, because we start with Murderbot helpless because it’s alone. Then it gets its memory wiped. And then it gets a brand new governor module installed, the worst possible outcome! And finally we cut to the scientists, who have all showered and changed and are only now starting to wonder what’s going to happen to MB after they handed it back to the very shady company who has a vested interest in not having any evidence about how much they fucked up, doesn’t care who lives and dies as long as it’s cheap, and also, enslaved Murderbot in the first place. Like. COME ON. Not only does it mean they’ve gained no wariness of corporates after ten episodes of mayhem, but it also means they didn’t pay ANY attention to Murderbot and its worst fears. 

This is a pretty big idiot ball to carry just in terms of what has gone on in the show, but in comparison to the novella? SO MUCH WORSE. In the novella, when MB wakes up, Ratthi is already there to supervise as it’s being repaired in the cubicle. Pin-Lee has already gotten an injunction to keep its memory intact. Mensah has already bought its contract! It’s obvious PresAux recognized Murderbot was still in danger even if they weren’t and made a plan to keep it safe and get it out of there. It shows that not only are they smart, but they care! They’re trying to protect Murderbot the way it protected them! 

And like, I understand why “oh no! The worst is happening!” is more interesting to watch than “ok, we talked about it offscreen and we have prevented the worst from happening”. But the problem is not that bad things happen to Murderbot, it’s that you can have the exact same plotline without the idiot ball. There actually is a good reason to hand Murderbot over to the company: it was catastrophically injured and needs to be repaired. If you simply had the first scene be of PresAux worrying about what happens to it, and trying to make plans and get information from the unhelpful corporates, only to find out they’re too late? Heartbreaking, not idiotic. Then the rest of the episode is about their persistence to save their friend, NOT about trying to undo their fuckup because they weren’t paying attention and didn’t take its safety seriously. 

Honestly, I think – well, I hope – that a lot this is just due to sheer convenience of storytelling, and the adaptation is prioritizing the ease of plot mechanics (go here, do this, experience the exciting thing) over constructing dynamic character arcs where they actually learn from their mistakes. There's also probably a side of the false dichotomy of logic vs emotion that sci-fi loves so much.

But the reason it stands out so much is because the books specifically AVOID doing that, and I hope future seasons start adapting that as well. One of the great joys of The Murderbot Diaries is the competence porn, and you can’t have that when 99% of the cast is incompetent. 

Gurathin puking because of all the Murderbot in his head was pretty funny though, ngl.

[willows-wysteria]

Red Hot, Ice Cold

.synopsis ✰ When fists fly and sparks catch, something's bound to burn. With a gun pointed to Dante's head you suddenly get a different idea of how to win.

.featuring ✰ Dante x GN!Reader

.warnings ✰ Violence

READ MORE

You slammed the stairwell door open, the sound of your boots clacking against the concrete floor echoing through the hollow garage. The lights above you were emitting a low buzzing sound as they flickered. Blood — some yours, most not — dripped from your face and arms.

Dante was right behind you, his laugh bouncing off the walls, and you could almost feel a blood vessel pop in your forehead.

“What a show!” He chuckled, clearly not bothered about the situation that had just occurred. You spun around and gave him a sharp glare that could kill.

“Fun?! You call that shit fun?!” You exclaimed, your voice louder than you expected. “You dragged me through three floors of demon bait without a plan!”

“Worked out, didn’t it?” He said, flipping Rebellion back to its sheath on his back. “We’re still kickin’.”

“Yes — barely!” You snapped at him, “You didn’t even look before you charged in like some invincible, sword-swinging jackass!” Your voice was hoarse and dry. This idiot of a man is easily going to be the death of you.

Dante let out a low whistle and placed his hands on his hips, giving you his signature smile that currently felt more like a shit-eating grin that was making fun of you. “Woah, looks like someone is cranky!”

Suddenly, all you could see was red — and it definitely wasn’t because of the crusted demon blood on your face. You lunged forward, grabbing Dante by his collar and slamming him into the nearest concrete pillar. The whole impact made the building shudder. He let out a grunt of surprise, not fear. He was amused, his face saying — ‘of course you would try that’. Dante caught your wrist mid-swing, nails digging deep into your skin, grinding bone against bone. You growled, clenching your jaw and pushing through the pain. With your free hand, you unsheathed your knife and pressed it against the side of Dante’s throat. Icy tendrils snaked across his skin as the demon arm glowed, the cold stinging against his fiery skin. And finally, finally, his cocky grin slipped.

His voice dipped low. “So that’s how we’re doing it?”

You pressed the blade harder, close enough that you saw the skin beneath it redden and crack. But Dante's grip tightened too, fingers locked like iron, crushing your wrist until you felt your bones threaten to snap. You gasped; whether it was from pain or frustration, you weren't sure.

Then, he twisted.

White-hot pain shot up your shoulder like lightning. Your knife clattered to the ground. You let out a raw scream and stumbled, off-balance. Dante took this as his opening — he slammed forward, shoulder first, and drove you back towards the wall.

He was too close. Too fast. Too strong.

His full weight bore down on you, pinning you. You struggled, breathing hard, back aching under the pressure of his body caging yours. He got you. 

If this had been a real fight — one meant to kill — you'd be dead already. 

But it wasn't.

And you weren't done yet.

You grit your teeth, drop your weight, and twist. It was as if your body moved on instinct. Fast and brutal. You drove your knee into the side of his leg with all your might. You felt a jolt ripple through your thigh as he buckled. Another strike — this time a low, sweeping kick. Dante went down.

He hit the ground with a crack, skull bouncing off the concrete. The sound echoed like a gunshot through the abandoned building.

You stood over him, chest heaving, hands trembling. He wasn't moving — not yet, at least. You knew it wouldn't last. He'd be back on his feet in mere seconds.

But you didn't need seconds.

In one smooth motion, you dropped to your knees, straddling his legs, pistol drawn and levelled at his forehead. You clicked off the safety, finger hovering over the trigger.

“Gotcha,” you breathed, lips curling into a grin.

Dante doesn’t say anything, his icy cold stare studying you. The garage is dead quiet;  the only sounds are the humming of the overhead lights and the drip… drip… drip… of blood hitting concrete. Your ears ring from the fight, and your whole body buzzes — electric, twitchy, like your nerves haven't realised the fight’s over. The stench of copper and sulfur overwhelms you, clinging to your lungs. You swallow hard, bile rising.

He stays quiet. You can hear his heart beating. Yours too.

Your grip on your pistol falters just slightly.

You should move. You should get up. You should say something snide, something that ends this stupid standoff and keeps the upper hand intact. But your muscles refuse to listen. You can’t say anything, not when he stares at you like that. Not smug, not cocky — just… watching you. Unreadable. 

Heat rises to your chest as you recall the fight that happened minutes ago. How close you were, your back against the wall. Dante’s body pressed against yours, and the tension that was sparking between you two.

You try to shake the thoughts out of your head, you have to speak up, anything to break the deafening silence.

You finally speak, barely a whisper, “You're an idiot.” 

Dante's lips twitch, not exactly a smile. “Takes one to know one.” 

Without really thinking, you grab him by the front of his coat and smash your mouths together. It’s a hot, rough kiss that involves teeth clashing against each other and blood mixing with saliva. His breath gets caught in his throat, and then he's kissing you back just as hard. Like he's been waiting for this moment the whole damn time.

Dante's hands find your waist, anchoring you against him, fingers digging into the curves of your side like he's still trying to win the long forgotten fight.

The pistol falls from your grasp and hits the floor with a dull clack, something neither of you notices.

It's not until a deep, low growl echoes through the garage that you two break the kiss.

You sigh. “Guess foreplay’s over.”

Dante’s grin returns in full. "Don't worry. We can pick up where we left off later.”

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event v 2025

Reader Style: fem!reader Character: Sir Crocodile Vibe: dub-con Rating: Eviscerate Me Ending Style: Ambiguous (it's not terribly ambiguous, sorry ^^; ) Prompt: The Club Gift Giver: @suna-suna-no-mi

Summary: Crocodile has decided that you're going to be punished in front of a crowd. Maybe now you'll learn your place.

Content Notes: Public punishment, bondage, impact play, nipple play, pain play, forced orgasm, sex, exhibitionism, 18+ minors dni

The metal bit in your mouth wasn’t too big. It was there to keep your mouth open and let you sing for the fine audience seated below, not to allow someone to use your mouth, so it was a little smaller than usual.

The heels of your feet are tucked against your ass, and your knees are set on plush leather benches. The benches are set far enough apart that you have to keep your legs spread to stay balanced, but close enough you’re not aching from the stretch while you straddle the gap between.

Your wrists are tucked against your shoulders, ropes keep your limbs in place, and your body on display for the Club Members. 

Thin ropes lace down your front, a trail of clothespins holding onto your skin. They start at your nipples, going down either side of your torso, and stop just above your labia. While Crocodile had put them on you, he’d explained to the audience that the thin rope beneath them was so he could pull all of them off at once.

Assuming you earned such a treat.

Your whimpering mewl had been genuine, you didn’t like the clothespins. You didn’t like being put on display for the club members either, but you were being punished. So it wasn’t about what you liked.

He sets up a vibrator, nestling it into your clit and turning it on low, before grabbing you by your hair and leaning you back.

“Be good. Don’t let that wand off your cunt and I’ll forgive you.” He explains, leaning down to place a heavy kiss against the crook of your neck. The tender kiss coupled with the low vibrations makes you moan.

You weren’t tied down to anything, forced to keep your balance between the benches you had been set on, and the vibrator between your legs. The set up was harsh enough, but it was going to get worse.

Closing your eyes, take a few quick breaths before the flog slices through the air and snaps across your back. Even knowing it was coming, it still stings. You tense, managing to keep your balance and keep the vibe in place.

If you knocked over the stand it was on you were going to get punished worse.

The flog dances against your back, leaving bright red lines with every strike. You whine, cry, and struggle - not just to put on a good show for the crowd, but because Crocodile is skilled, and there’s no deception in your reactions.

He turns the vibrator up, warning you not to cum before he goes back behind you, taking a crop to your ass. It has more bite than the flog, and you’re certain you’re going to have a hard time sitting for a couple days at least before he’s done. 

The sharp strikes have you practically screaming, more in frustration than pain, before he finally stops. Everything feels more than usual with the eyes of so many people on you, the stage lights putting you and your situation in high definition.

Crocodile steps beside you, his gloved prosthetic hand at your throat. He braces you, and you cry harder, shaking your head and trying to beg through the gag. If he’s holding you then whatever he’s going to do next is going to be intense. 

You don’t want intense, you want the punishment to be over.

His hand tightens, and he brings the crop down on the sole of your foot. You nearly come up off the bench from pain in a place you hadn’t felt before, pulling in a shuddering breath of surprise that you used to scream when he left a mark on your other foot.

Dropping the crop, he holds you and turns the vibrator up.

“Don’t you dare cum.” He growls, hand tight against your throat. It’s not enough to cut off your air, but it’s enough to hold you still while he presses the wand mercilessly against your clit. 

The pain from the crop has turned into something less painful and more tingly, making it harder to ignore the pleasure between your legs. You shake your head, whimpering and trying to move away from the vibrator, but Crocodile doesn’t give you the relief you’re begging for. 

His lips are by your ear, words for you and you alone. “Don’t cum. If you cum I’ll let one of the audience members fuck you.” You sob, squirming against him and trying to say no, trying to shake off the pleasure. If he let someone else have you, he might truly decide to be rid of you, and he’s not the type to simply let you leave.

“Oh, but you’re mine, aren’t you? No one else gets to have you.” Crocodile pulls the wand away before you cum, leaving you to gasp and shiver against him.

“Isn’t she a good girl?” He asks the crowd and the round of applause makes the heat rise up into your face.

Once Crocodile is certain you’re stable on the benches on your own, he walks around behind you again. This time he moves one of the benches away, steadying you by holding the ropes that are keeping your leg bound, leaving your other knee against the remaining bench.

“Her reward then.” 

Crocodile’s cock pushes up into your pussy, in front of the crowd. They’re all sitting below you, so they have a perfect view of him pushing up into you. It was embarrassing, but you couldn’t help being turned on by it. Knowing there was no one in that crowd that could do anything unless Crocodile allowed it. There might be several sets of eyes on you, but you were safe.

Even in the midst of a punishment, you were safe.

Your pleasure drips onto the floor. Your body shivers from the building euphoria, and your breath cascades past the metal gag, coming out in short, hot bursts. 

Whether you defied him, or obeyed him, it didn’t matter. He knew your body almost better than you did at this point, and when you feel your legs shiver from the impending orgasm, you know he’ll keep you upright through it. 

A light tug at the rope makes you whimper, shaking your head in fear even though you can’t stop it.

You’re going to cum. He’s going to make you cum and there’s nothing you can do to avoid it. Even as tears flood your eyes in terrible anticipation, your body is tensing against his cock. If you cum he’s going to pull all those clothespins off.

And you can’t stop it.

Your body goes taut, pleasure making you shiver against his grip, the bone deep sensation freezing the air in your lungs for a moment as everything is too tense to allow you to breathe. Tears streak down your face, and you finally breathe in.

Crocodile pulls the line, yanking all thirty clips off your body at once.

Just as you have air enough to scream.

[vigilskeep]

irt adoption if I'm being honest I'd argue it's fully something the writers never really think about or what it's impact would mean. Esps since we do have two canon examples with non-biologically related people inheriting stuff with Leliana and Sera. Though I do think it's notable neither of them inherent titles, they do obtain land and money, in Leliana's case a villa and Sera's case an estate with funds.

I wouldn't know what this would be overall, like if they're outliers or this could be the norm, since off the top of my head there's no other adoption/adoption-related plot beats? But these at least show it can happen.

(And also showing at least one instance of an orphan elven girl being removed from her community with Sera with your rb commentary...)

yes i think adoption definitely exists as a concept. in both those cases though, it’s less formal adoption and more “as a noble or anyone with the means to do so, you can decide to keep a random child around (and nobody will intervene or even look into that situation). and then you have the right to pick that child to inherit your stuff, if there’s no-one else”. i think both leliana & sera, but especially sera for obvious reasons, would have had a very hard time if they tried to get that inheritance but any other more socially legitimate heir had been around to contest it, or if the inheritance had been more important to society at large by coming with a title or long heritage. (sera’s codex entry has josephine mention that “lady” emmald probably had that title from recent wealth rather than being long-established nobility so that all checks out.)

all i mean to say is that i don’t think adoption is a “norm”. sure it happens and you hear heartwarming stories (bodahn & sandal are also adoptive family and the warden doesn’t seem astonished or anything). but it stands out, and it doesn’t seem to be a bond you can go get legally established afaik, thus i don’t think it would hold up against a blood claim under most judgements. (not when those judgements are universally being made by royals & nobles who naturally have every interest in defending the certainty of blood claims.) it’s not the typical average way a family unit is formed or an heir is chosen in thedas, and institutions & legality haven’t been built around the idea that it happens often or as anything other than a last resort, is the point i’m making

(with the fun caveat that adoption does seem to be more of an established mechanic in dwarven society, where people can be taken into a house to circumvent the rigidity of the caste system when it becomes inconvenient. but if we get into dwarven lore rn we will be here all day.)

[iamvegorott]

Ego Art Week #1 Jackieboyman

I decided to join in on Ego Art Week this year and went with a two-for-one for the first week by giving Jackie some love for his birthday as well.

----------

Night Watch Surprise

Jackie chewed on the side of his thumb as he crouched on the edge of a roof. He was watching the city below him, ears open for any sounds that didn’t fit the usual noises. This was the most peace he’d had in a long time during a night patrol. Maybe the city knew it was his birthday and was being kind?

Although Jackie found himself wishing it were different. Some chaos would mean he was doing something that wasn’t being stuck with his cycling thoughts. He knew growing up meant that birthdays didn’t really have big parties anymore, and Jackie missed those. His favorite episodes were birthday ones. Seeing the cast all going out of their way to do something nice for their friend. Jackie’s friends had been busy like they always were, but that didn’t mean he still didn’t want…something. A quick ‘happy birthday’ as they went past, or a cupcake, or anything that showed they were happy he’s been around for another year. 

Was that a selfish thought? 

He knew he was overthinking and needed to get out of his head, but he didn’t know how to do so.

“Hey, hero-boy!” A familiar voice called from behind. 

“What?” Jackie stood up and turned around, getting less than a second to register what was happening before Anti was suddenly tackling him off the roof. 

Jackie waited to feel and hear the sound of rushing wind in his ears, bracing for impact on the ground or into a dumpster, but instead, he landed in a soft chair. His brain spun from the sudden shift in locations, and he had to take a moment to steady his vision. 

Wait.

He knew this room. He knew this chair. This was in the Septiceye living room. How did he get here? 

“Happy birthday!” Chase called out, carrying a cake and placing it on the table that had been brought in from the kitchen. Jackie blinked some more in shock, looking around the room to see Henrik and JJ chatting, Anti sitting on the couch, and Marvin walking into the room as well. 

“You guys set this up for me?” Jackie asked as he stood up, watching Chase light the candles on the cake. 

“It’s your birthday, duh.” Chase chuckled. “It’s later than we planned because there were some troubles with the cake.”

“I gave them an earful on the phone and a curse.” Marvin scoffed. 

"He's joking about the curse."

"No, I'm not."

"Marv."

“It is your birthday. It is time to celebrate,” Henrik stopped the back-and-forth while JJ nodded in agreement. 

“I’m only here for the cake.” Anti shrugged as he picked at his nails. 

“This is…so nice,” Jackie said with a sniff. 

“Are you okay?” Chase asked, going to Jackie and placing a hand on his shoulder. He made a sound of surprise when Jackie suddenly hugged him and hugged him tight. “Lungs and bones, dude. Lungs and bones.” Chase wheezed out as he patted Jackie’s back. 

“Sorry.” Jackie softly laughed as he let Chase go. “Just really happy, is all.” He added as he reached over and plucked a strawberry from the cake, popping it into his mouth. 

“You’re supposed to blow the candles out first,” Marvin reminded. 

“Oh! Whoops.” Jackie puffed out some air and blew out the small fires.

“Did you even make a wish?”

“I’m good.”

“Gross,” Anti said with an eye roll. 

“I’m hugging you next.” Jackie threatened. 

“Don’t you dare!” Anti jumped to his feet.

“Come here, or you don’t get cake!” Jackie laughed as he vaulted over the table, somehow managing to prevent the cake from flying away. 

“Get away from me!” 

“Take the hug!”

“No!” 

[dovahkinniez]

ִֶָ🦇.݁ᛪ༙ . . . ` NSFW Alphabet with Vilkas !

A N: We are so back with the NSFW Alphabet's, I've missed these. 🫀

C O N T E N T: 18+ content; MDNI.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Vilkas — as a general note — is a rough man. He doesn't own much gentleness in him, not whilst fighting nor when he's pinning you down into the sheets — but in those moments afterwards, he's the sweetest and kindest. He's tired, and he wants nothing more than to relax with you. After a nice bath (if you both have enough energy...) he will lay down with you, enjoying the feeling of his hands roaming your skin and your fingers through his hair.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On him: his dick. Simple. He likes how it makes you feel. He likes how it allows him to feel when he's deep inside of you.

On you: your back. He loves to trace his fingers across your back. He's got it memorised in the back of his mind, and his favourite view is your back as he's going to pound town. ♡

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He's a clean man, I'd say. He may be a dirty bastard, but he's still a civilised member of Whiterun — he prefers to cum inside of you rather than make a mess of it. He also views it slightly disrespected to cum on you, he's a gentleman like that.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves the idea of fucking you in a place where you could potentially get caught, the excitement and recklessness is what gets him going.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's experienced! He acts like he isn't. He never brings up his past sexual partners. He isn't like that. But he shows his experience in his actions. He knows what he's doing.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Since he loves your back so much, he loves back shots. Or if he's lazy and tired, reverse cowgirl. He also likes to watch your ass bounce in those positions.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Does he look goofy to you? No. He doesn't.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

On him: he maintains it. But he doesn't really care.

On you: he doesn't give a single shit. He's prepared to go foraging if you don't shave.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He fucks hard, but he is a romantic to his core, you just need to dig deep enough.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't masturbate often, never has. He's always busy or generally not interested enough to do it.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Vilkas is a choker. He likes impact play and loads of teasing. He's also into edging, you of course.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

Anywhere. That's it. As long as he's with you, he's down.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

After a bad day, he's ready to fuck it out of his system. But he gets turned on simply by you biting your lip, stretching, and showing your stomach. Simple acts that are innocent.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He's possessive. Nobody else can touch you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers to receive it, but he's always down to go down under, too. He's very talented in that area, and when he does it, he can't hold himself back from touching himself as he works his mouth on you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and rough. He's a pounder.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He prefers actual sex, quickies aren't for him. He hates to feel rushed. He wants to take you in complete and for you to take him in... literally.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I'd say he does take risks, but nothing that will hurt you or ruin both of your reputations (like actually getting caught...)

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He has a lot of stamina, and he can pace himself, but he needs to recharge afterwards.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He never really thought about them, but if you asked about it, he'd get into it. He'd enjoy the use of them, too.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He's a massive tease. He likes to watch your reactions.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's not that loud. He's a grunter and buries his face into your neck to hide his moans.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Vilkas is obsessed with the sounds you make, so he will always aim to make you loud and begging for him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Big? Yes. Thick? Yes. Veiny? Yes. He's not a monster, but he's definitely got that D, and yes, the D is fire.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Average, I'd say. He's always ready if you are. But it's rare that he's the one to initiate it.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Hella fast. He's ready to sleep like he's never slept...

៸៸៸ Reupload.

[annabelle--cane]

hey, feel free not to answer this, as i don't see it as your responsibility to educate ppl on fandom etiquette, but you're one of the big tma blogs to me and you've been around for a good while as far as i can tell. i'm personally super new to the magpod fandom (only really got into the show earlier this summer) and this is my first time really being in a fandom where there are regular updates that contain spoilers. i was pretty careful about avoiding spoilers while i was catching up, but now i am caught up and i'm on the other side. i really appreciate that i was able to avoid spoilers fairly well for a show that's been around and has a sizable fanbase for so long, so i really wanna be able to pay that forward to current and future fans.

so my question is: what's the best way to tag spoilers (if there is one), and is there any sort of timeline for when it's okay to not tag them? or should i just keep tagging spoilers indefinitely for anybody else who is where i was (that is, listening to a podcast with major revelatory moments that they want to be surprised by)? there's also an obvious difference between episodic spoilers about like the contents of a statement vs major spoilers like a character dying, so is there a good way to differentiate between those? the latter sounds like it would be important to tag indefinitely, while the former could probably be dropped off when most or all of the fanbase is caught up, no?

again, no pressure to answer all or any of these questions—i'm genuinely wanting to make my blog friendlier to any other fans who are new like i was (and am), and i'm just looking for some tips since i have no experience, but it's hardly your obligation! thank you! :D

(i wrote this like an email. i feel like i should sign it or something. best, ace.)

dear ace,

many thanks for your cordial letter. I shall readily admit that I'm far more lax about this kind of thing than many others, because for weekly episodic release schedules I only usually spoiler tag for a few days after a drop to give the main body of active audience members time to get around to the newest episode. my rule for protocol episodes is that I spoiler tag anything to do with the new material from the time it releases on thursday to whenever I wake up on monday, and then repeat this cycle for each successive episode.

however, I know other people are often more conscientious about this sort of thing, and I believe they tend to spoiler tag all major narrative revelations basically indefinitely if the spoiler is super blatant in the post. ex., I don't tend to see people spoiler tag discussions of later seasons that vaguely imply certain character deaths, but I do see people tag "god it was so impactful when blorbo bleebus beat glup shitto to death in episode 69 at timecode 04:20." I also see some people use different sets of spoiler tags for individual seasons with the idea the new fans can mute and unmute as they go along. if a person has listened through to the end of season two then they wouldn't need spoilers filtered for mid season one stuff anymore, but they might still not want to know what happens in three through five.

hope that helps!

dutifully yours,

marina

[alkemylabz]

when wide scale political protests happen again i want every white fanfic writer out there to shut the fuck up