#boy grew up in a crisis

[your-stranger-halfblood-things]

This headcanon where Percy thought that he was gay until he met Annabeth, where he then realized he's bi

[anakinh]

life is too short to worry about being cringe

i'm gonna post world of warcraft content

[ailelie]

My younger brother got the name I would have gotten had I been a boy.

(Brother after that got the name my mother was peer-pressured into giving him though she still made his middle name the one she wanted him to have).

Random fact: I'm the only one of my parents' kids who doesn't have a Y in my first or middle name. (Brothers both have Ys in their middle names, sister has one in both her middle and first names).

super curious today about how people feel toward the names they might have been given. apparently i used to ask my mom about my “boy name” several times a week and get really sad i couldn’t have both my given name and that name. being trans this is hilarious to me now so wondering

also curious how this intersects with being trans!! i feel like my fixation with it definitely had a lot to do with that, so idk add in tags? if you feel like being trans makes you more/less curious about it

[silvershayde]

Oh skylar and koinoa are like silvers ancestors btw, they teach him the ways of aqua because darena is noticeably absent from the future where adarr is just going ballistic and burning everything in a rage

I have never played sonic 06 or read the wiki, but i did watch all the cutscenes on youtube when i was like 14 because the title said it was a movie

[barnacles34]

My Greatest Joy

IVE Yujin x Male Reader

16k words

'A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty.' — The Year of Magical Thinking

18+ smut

The Birth Crisis. The Great Vanishing. The Specter of Demographic Collapse. The media couldn’t decide on a name, only that it was happening. Some said Korea would be empty in a century. Others, ten years. Twenty-five, if they were feeling generous. A hysterical pendulum swing between denial and terror, between think-tank white papers and government campaigns urging citizens to bureaucratize what was once spontaneous: love, sex, reproduction.

But in Dunsan-dong, no one talked about it. Not really. Not in any meaningful way. The village shrank in slow motion. Affairs stopped happening—nobody had the energy, or the audience. The local divorce lawyer quietly removed ‘Infidelity’ from his services, then shut down altogether. Playgrounds grew ghostly. The corner food stands, once territorial battlegrounds for unruly teenagers, went bankrupt one by one. ‘Kids these days grow up too fast,’ one ajumma said, as if that were the whole explanation.

And yet, in all this entropy, two were born. A statistical error. A miracle.

Miracle is not hyperbole. In two decades, the birth count had been three. The bureaucratic failure of Love—yes, Love, capital L, the thing that was supposed to be instinctual, inevitable, the thing people built whole religions and K-dramas around—had finally completed its slow bureaucratic death. Love was no longer a force. Love was paperwork.

Except for two people.

For them, Love was everything.

—

'One move and you'll split open like a badly wrapped present.' ‘Is that your professional opinion?' 'That's my twenty years of keeping-you-alive opinion.' She's biting her lower lip, the way she always does when she's trying not to smile at your stupidity. 'And I really don't want to explain to some emergency room doctor why I have a boy bleeding out in my room at 2 AM.'

The gash should hurt more. Six inches of red spite across your forearm, but all you can focus on is how Yujin's looking at it—like she's found something breakable in a world made of steel.

'I really fucked up.' 'Did you?' Her touch finds your good arm, barely there. 'Or did you do exactly what you meant to?'

The lamp makes everything soft. She's wearing your t-shirt—the one you left here that summer when the AC broke. Cotton worn thin enough to catch shadowy curves underneath. Silk pajama bottoms that whisper secrets when she moves. You try not to notice. You notice everything.

'This might need stitches.' 'Are you volunteering?' 'Shut up and hold still.' But there's laughter in her voice, the kind that makes your chest tight. 'Some of us are trying to work miracles here.'

The first-aid kit looks wrong in her small hands. Those hands that used to patch up your scraped knees, that still know exactly where you're breakable.

'Remember that time in third grade?' Her fingers ghost over your skin. 'When you tried to convince me you could fly?' 'I could've.' 'You broke your arm.' 'Minor setback.' She laughs, soft and close. 'Nothing's changed, has it?'

Everything's changed. The way moonlight catches in her hair now, how her perfume makes your head swim, the careful distance she keeps even when she's touching you. But you say, 'Not the important things.'

Her breath hits your arm in warm little puffs as she works. Clean movements. No hesitation. Like she's mapping something she never forgot.

'Almost done.' Her thumb traces the edge of the bandage. 'Next time try not to bleed on my carpet?' 'Yujin-ah.' 'Mm?' 'Thank you.'

She looks up. Those eyes crack something in your chest. Then she smiles and whatever was cracked turns to stardust.

'So how'd it happen? And don't say you just slipped, because I know all your clumsy excuses by heart.' 'Just slipped.' 'Onto what? Did some wandering samurai leave their sword in Dunsan-dong?' 'You never know what you'll find these days.' 'Hey.' Her voice goes quiet, the way it used to when she'd tell you secrets at midnight. 'Tell me? I promise to not scold you…much.'

Face to face now. The universe narrows to this: her eyes on yours, her hands still on your skin.

'Okay.' You gesture with your good arm. 'Window.' 'What did you—' Her voice catches. 'If you've done something wild—'

Then you smile.

You watch her shoulders drop. It's a small thing, being able to do this—turn her static to quiet. Not exactly Superman stuff, but it's the only superpower you'd keep if they were dealing them out.

She knows. You can see it in how she moves—little half-dance steps to the window, taking your words as is—hopefully, something good. The curtain whispers. You don't watch. Can't. Your skin's electric with her lingering smell—something you'd bottle if you could, except that'd ruin it, the particular way her skin holds the perfume.

The silence stretches until you think you might snap. Then—

'What am I supposed to be looking at? Because all I see is Mrs. Kim's cat trying to fight a streetlight again, and—' She stops. 'What's it say?'

'Let me make sure I'm reading this right.' She's still facing the window, but you can hear the smile breaking through, eyes transforming into pure joy. 'Because either someone's confessing to me via Christmas lights at 2 AM, or the neighborhood's having a very very specific power outage.'

'These past years—' 'Wait.' She spins around, eyes catching lamplight. 'Did you seriously string up every Christmas light in Dunsan-dong just to—' She takes three quick steps toward you, stops. 'The lights outside the convenience store. The ones from the coffee shop. Even the ones from—' Her eyes go wide. 'You didn't.'

'Old Mr. Park drives a hard bargain.' 'His birthday lights? The ones he's kept since forever?' 'To be fair, they were already purple. Worked with the aesthetic.' 'And what exactly did you promise him?' 'Just my eternal servitude. And maybe repainting his fence.' 'The whole fence?'

'Both sides.'

She shakes her head, but her smile could light up the whole neighborhood. 'You're insane. Completely insane. Do you know how many people I had to convince about your mental well-being?'

'Had to?'

'Have to. Present tense.' She's between your knees now, playing with your shirt hem like it's suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. 'Though I guess now I'll have to change my story to "dating a lunatic who steals Christmas lights and nearly loses an arm trying to spell out love confessions."'

Your heart stumbles. 'Dating?'

'Well,' her borrowed shirt slips further, showing more shoulder. 'I mean, you did just write my name in stars.'

'They're Christmas lights.'

'Same difference.' Her fingers trail up your arm, careful of the bandage. 'Very romantic Christmas lights.'

'Does that mean—'

'It means anyone crazy enough to risk tetanus and Mr. Park's wrath deserves at least dinner.' A pause, then softer: 'Maybe breakfast too, if they play their cards right.'

'Just breakfast?'

'Don't push your luck.' But she's smiling that smile—the one that's always been just for you.

'Yujin-ah.'

'Mm?'

'All these years, did you ever—'

'Every day.' She doesn't let you finish. Doesn't need to. 'Every single day.'

'Can I—'

Her mouth finds yours: the way her lips part like flower petals at dawn, soft and inevitable. Her breath mingles with yours. There's the perfect arch of her spine, the way her breasts press warm against your chest through thin cotton, how her hips seek yours with an instinct older than thought. The taste of her, sweet milk tea and something darker, something that makes your blood sing. Her hands flutter at your neck, startled, before finding home in your hair, and there's that smell of her—woody, floral, fruity—that makes you dizzy, makes you forget where you end and she begins. Delicate sounds escape her, primal and pure, vibrating through both your bodies like a struck chord. Then she's pulling back, but her body stays honest—trembling, burning: alive with new knowledge.

'Sorry,' she whispers. 'Got carried away. We should probably wait until your wound is healed.' Her smile is so reassuring, masking the softest disappointment that her eyes couldn't hide. 

But she was in luck.

Your fingers circle her wrist mid-fret, right as she's about to check your bandage for the seventh time. Her skin is cool against yours, pulse like a hummingbird.

'Stop fretting.'

'I'm not fretting.' But she's barely holding back a smile, eyes bright with something more than just lamplight. 'I'm calculating how many years Mr. Park's going to make you repaint his fence.'

'Already negotiated.' You tug her closer, feeling the way she pretends to resist. 'Two coats, both sides, and my firstborn child.'

'Bold of you to negotiate with children that don't exist.' She settles between your knees anyway, like she's found her way home.

'Yet.'

Her borrowed shirt—your shirt—slips further off one shoulder. 'You're impossible.'

'Impossible enough to steal every Christmas light in Dunsan-dong.'

'Borrow,' she corrects, fingers playing with your collar. 'We're calling it borrowing. Sounds less felonious.'

'Look who's being responsible.'

'Someone has to be.' But she's leaning closer, breath warm against your mouth. 'Since you've apparently lost your mind.'

'Lost it years ago.' Your thumb traces her lower lip. 'Right around the time you started wearing my clothes.'

She makes this sound—half laugh, half something else entirely. 'Smooth talker.'

'Only for you.'

Her hands find your chest, but there's no real resistance in it. 'If you tear those stitches—'

The kiss swallows her warning. This one's different—deeper, like you're trying to taste every year you've waited. She makes a sound that turns your blood to starlight, fingers curling into your shirt like she's afraid you'll disappear.

'That's cheating,' she whispers when you break apart.

'Is it working?'

The lamp catches gold in her eyes. 'Always will.'

Your hand finds skin at the small of her back. She arches like a cat stretching into sunlight.

'You're staring.'

'Can't help it.'

'Try.'

'Make me.'

She kisses you this time—soft, sweet, dangerous. When she pulls back, her smile could outshine every stolen light in the neighborhood.

'We should probably—' she starts.

'Probably.'

Her fingers find the hem of her shirt. Your shirt. Details.

What follows is an exercise in creative problem-solving. One functional arm between you, too much cotton, not enough coordination. Her hair gets caught. You both laugh. The shirt wins the first round.

'Left,' she instructs.

'My left or your left?'

'Wait—here… I got it.'

The second attempt goes better. The shirt surrenders its hold, and suddenly there's just Yujin—all golden skin and starlight. Her bra's simple beige cotton, but the way it holds her could make Michaelangelo weep.

'You're staring again.'

'Still can't help it.'

She kisses you quiet, hands on your shoulders, pulling you closer. Everything soft and warm and perfect.

'Can I—' your fingers find her back, trace lace.

'Yes.' Another kiss. 'Please.'

The bra falls away like a secret finally told. You forget how words work.

The air hums with the weight of revelation—her body an altar, every contour a psalm. Your breath tangles as you drink her in: the bronze aureoles, the arch of her ribs like a vaulted sanctuary, the pulse fluttering at her throat like a caged sparrow. She shivers beneath your gaze: the raw vulnerability of a soul laid bare.

Your palms ascend her sides, mapping the smoothness, the glory of it all—each sigh, each hitch of muscle, a dialect you ache to memorize. She tips her head back as your thumbs brush the underswell of her breasts, a whimper dissolving. ‘More,’ she murmurs, not a demand but a prayer, a beg; her fingers knotting in your hair as if you might slip away like smoke.

You oblige, slow as honey, mouth tracing the salt-sweet hollow of her collarbone. Her skin blooms beneath your lips—petal-soft, fever-warm—as you chart a path lower, lower, until her nipple grazes your tongue. She gasps, back arching. Her hands clutch at you, anchor and plea, as you worship her with unhurried devotion, savoring each tremor, each stuttered breath.

When her legs part—a silent invitation—it’s your turn to shudder. The heat of her radiates through the last fragile barrier, a molten promise. You press closer, the rigid heat of your unclothed shaft straining against her thigh, a visceral counterpoint to her softness. She rolls her hips, deliberate, and you groan as her warmth grinds against you, friction sparking like flint.

You linger there, foreheads pressed, breaths mingling, the world narrowed to the space between heartbeats. Her eyes lock with yours, galaxies swirling in their depths. ‘I want to feel you,’ she whispers, voice trembling. ‘All of you.’

You move as tides do: inevitable, reverent. Her thighs cradle your hips as you guide yourself to her entrance, the head of your shaft slick with Her. The first breach is a shared gasp—a threshold crossed in tandem. She tightens around you, velvet heat clenching like a fist around your length, and you still, trembling, sweat-slicked and spellbound. Her nails score your shoulders, anchoring you to the agony of slowness.

‘Slowly,’ she breathes, and you obey, each fractional advance a pilgrimage. Her fingers trace your jaw, your lips, as if memorizing the shape of this moment. When you’re sheathed fully, time suspends. Her lashes flutter closed, a tear escaping as she whispers, 'Yes.'

You move in thrusts. Her sighs crest into whimpers, into chants of your name, each syllable a spark in the gathering storm. Her breasts sway with the rhythm, nipples brushing your chest, while your hands grip the flare of her hips, guiding her into the tide. Around you, the room dissolves: there is only her skin, her scent, the liquid pull of her around your shaft—a mosaic of need and nectar, each fragment a revelation.

You kiss her deeply, tasting the salt of her surrender, as the world fractures, reforms, and fractures again.

—

Sheets tangled like an afterthought. A leg hooked over yours, pinning you in place with the quiet authority of someone who has long since decided where they belong. The desk fan ticks through its slow, mechanical arc, stirring the air, stirring her hair, making it brush your chin in the softest, smallest way possible.

She shifts, just enough for her ribs to press against yours. You feel her breathing. Deep. Slow. Listening.

‘I have an audition next week,’ she says, voice barely above a whisper.

‘For what?’

‘Community theater. Spring show.’ A pause. Then, quietly, ‘It’s dumb.’

‘You don’t do dumb things.’

She laughs. A real one. The kind that scrunches her nose a little, that makes her shoulders shake just enough to jostle you.

‘Except this,’ she murmurs. Her fingers trace slow circles on your chest.

‘This was a strategic decision.’

‘Oh?’

‘Carefully calculated.’

She laughs again, softer this time. Her breath is warm where it spills against your collarbone. You could live here. Right here, in the space between her voice and her warmth and the way her hair tickles your skin.

She props herself up on one elbow, looking down at you. The Christmas lights outside flicker purples and blues across her face, her skin, making her look like something caught between a dream and waking. Her smile is quiet. Not big, not blinding. Just there. Something she’s forgotten to hide.

‘Hey,’ she says.

‘Hey.’

Her fingers tap lightly against your chest. ‘Remember when you proposed to me behind the school?’

‘Which time.’

She grins. ‘The time I lost the play to Wonyoung and cried so hard I got a nosebleed.’

‘Ah. I told you it didn’t matter because you’d always be the lead in my story.’

She groans, dropping her forehead to your shoulder. ‘You were so corny.’

‘Still am.’

‘Yeah,’ she murmurs. ‘You are.’

You feel her smile against your skin.

The fan clicks on again, stirring the night, the space between you. The crickets outside hum in harmony with the distant sound of a train—faint, but there. The whole world is slowing down. Breathing with you.

She shifts again, nestles closer. Her lips brush your skin—your collarbone, then just above your heart.

‘I can hear you thinking,’ you say.

She sighs, slow and steady. ‘Just… happy.’

You don’t say anything. Just hold her tighter. Like keeping her close might keep the moment from slipping away.

She pulls back, just far enough to see you, really see you. Her hair is a mess. Her lips are still swollen. The Christmas lights turn her eyes into something impossible, something endless.

‘I love you, you know,’ she says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like she’s never known anything else.

You smile. ‘I know.’

She kisses you. Slow, deep, soft. Like a secret. Like an answer.

The fan ticks. The lights flicker. The night stretches on.

—

It was supposed to be small. A local theater gig, a footnote in her life story. Something that kept her busy while she figured out the rest. That was the plan.

Then a casting director walked into the wrong show on the right night. A single scene, a single line delivered with the kind of weight that makes people stop chewing their popcorn. Two weeks later, she’s everywhere.

At first, it’s just murmurs. Articles in the culture section. Buzzwords like promising, raw talent, the next big thing. Then the billboards go up. Magazines with her face—half-laughing, half-serious, eyes catching the camera like they know something you don’t. The first time you see one, it’s plastered on the side of a bus stop you used to share, back when the only lines she rehearsed were whispered promises and badly sung pop songs.

Now she’s too big for Dunsan-dong.

Not just big. Seismic.

Korea’s sweetheart, the industry's new obsession. Agencies circle like sharks with briefcases, smiling through teeth polished for negotiation. They offer her everything—money, sponsorships, a life where she doesn’t have to wait for the subway or count change at convenience stores. And she takes it, not because she’s greedy, but because this is what she was always meant to be.

You watch it happen the way people watch slow-motion car crashes. Helpless. Horrified. A little bit in awe.

Because here’s the thing they never warn you about when you love someone who's destined for greatness: fame isn’t a door. It’s a chasm. You can’t walk through it holding hands.

At first, you convince yourself nothing’s changed. You still talk, still text. But her replies come slower, her voice more rehearsed. The calls happen between set breaks, her voice filtered through exhaustion and bad reception.

Then the interviews start. The talk shows. The press tours.

She gets good at the answers, the little smiles, the artful dodges. The first time someone asks if she’s dating anyone, she hesitates. Just for a second. Just long enough for the internet to notice.

You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything. That she’s protecting you. That this is just part of the machine.

But a few weeks later, you see a headline:

‘The Nation’s New Star: Who is Yujin’s Mystery First Love?’

And for the first time, it hits you—really hits you—how easy it is to be rewritten.

The tabloids build their own history, constructing boyfriends from old classmates, exes from co-stars. They don’t name you. They don’t have to. Because in the world they’ve built, you don’t exist.

And maybe, you start to think, maybe you never did.

Maybe love isn’t enough when it’s up against the weight of the world. Maybe you were naive to think you could be something more than a footnote in her legend.

Maybe you were never really two. Maybe it was always just her.

Moving forward. Rising higher.

And you—

You’re just the idiot standing still, watching her disappear into the stars.

—

Yujin called you up.

The night was cutting: cold, unrelenting Snow blew sideways, a thousand tiny knives catching on your exposed skin, but you sat there anyway—legs crossed, hands in your lap, all polite.

The bench was old, paint curling at the edges, the kind of place people only sat when they had no better options. You smiled at the irony.

You’d met Yujin in worse places. Loved her in worse places.

And maybe, just maybe, lost her in worse places too.

Then she emerged from the fog, a silhouette first, then a shape, then a person.

Five benches away. Maybe six. Distance had become an abstract concept, like time, like certainty, like the idea that love—real love—was enough to hold the weight of the whole goddamn world.

She didn’t sit. Didn’t hesitate.

‘Let’s break up.’

The words didn’t belong to the girl who used to steal fries from your plate, who used to call you at 2 AM because she saw a cat in the street and thought you needed to know. They belonged to someone else. Someone who had spent hours, maybe days, rehearsing.

Her voice was final. Her eyes were final. Everything about her, from the way she stood to the way the wind refused to touch her, was final.

You should’ve said something.

Anything.

But the air left your lungs in one sharp exhale, stolen by the weight of three syllables arranged in an execution sentence.

The snow caught in her hair, in her lashes, in the hollow curve of her collarbone, and she looked—god, she looked—like something from a dream you had once, the kind you woke from gasping, reaching for someone who wasn’t there.

And then she wasn’t.

She turned. Walked away. Snow swallowed her whole.

You could’ve chased her. Could’ve fallen to your knees, begged, pleaded, made a scene, made a fool of yourself. Could’ve grabbed her wrist, reminded her that you were not just some chapter to be closed. Could’ve thrown every memory, every quiet moment, every touch, every whispered I love you in her face like proof of something sacred.

But you didn’t.

Because Yujin never spoke like this. Not unless she meant it.

And that’s what gutted you most.

You sat there long after she was gone, staring at the place she used to be, like if you looked hard enough, you could rewind time, unbreak whatever fragile thing had finally snapped between you.

The sky stretched empty above you, stars sharp against the ink. You tried counting them. Tried counting anything to stop counting the ways you’d just lost her.

One star. Two. One mistake. Two. Three years. Four. Five benches away.

Maybe six. The wind howled, and you let it.

—

The beer’s flat, but that’s not why it tastes bad.

You lean against the bar, watching foam dissolve into something thin and lifeless, the way good things always do. Three years distilled into neon lights and a tab you don’t remember opening.

She’s 24 now. You keep count because she was impossible to avoid—billboards, subway ads, every damn screen flashing her face like she owns the world. And maybe she does. The brightest star, the nation’s darling, the girl who left and became.

You should be proud. You tell yourself you are.

But pride doesn’t feel like this. Doesn’t sit heavy in your ribs like grief. Doesn’t twist like a blade when you flip through channels and land on her.

The latest drama. Friends-to-lovers, some rom-com fluff. A special kind of hell, watching her fall for someone else, even if it’s scripted.

And the kiss—god, the kiss.

Over and over. Different angles, different takes. The guy has trepid shoulders and a weaker mouth. You want to reach through the screen, grab him by his stupid collar, shake him until he understands: You don’t get to kiss Yujin like that unless you mean it.

The beer in your hand swirls, a storm in a pint glass. You watch it spin, thinking about how everything these days seems determined to drown you.

Then Roach walks in.

Roach—half philosopher, half walking disaster. A man with too many past lives and a prosthetic eye that glows faintly under bar light, making him look part machine, part ghost.

‘That recovery group, they’re solid,’ he says, by way of hello. His voice is like chewing on gravel. ‘Might’ve been able to quit if I stuck around.’ ‘4.8 stars on Google, right?’ ‘Right. Wait. How’d you know that?’ His synthetic eye sits there while the real one narrows. ‘Been there.’ ‘What?’ ‘Been there. You recommended it.’ Roach laughs, short and sharp. ‘That was the review forum.’ ‘Memory’s fuzzy.’ ‘Fuzzy? You’re getting soft.’ ‘All those reviews read like discount novels, Roach.’ ‘Why the hell would I write reviews?’ ‘Same reason you do anything—to feel something.’ He smacks your chest, hard enough to make you look up. ‘Yujin broke you. Plain as day.’ Your throat tightens. The name alone feels like a switchblade. ‘It’s not like that… anymore.’ ‘Sure looks like it.’ ‘How’s that?’ ‘You’re on the leaderboard in this bar. They’re bleeding you dry, and you’re letting them.’ You don’t argue. Just take another sip. ‘Don’t deserve this money anyway.’ ‘Then give it elsewhere. There’s an orphanage across the street.’ ‘Don’t play saint with me.’ ‘It’s just a block away.’ ‘Fuck off.’ ‘Just a block—’ ‘Fine.’ You press your glass against the table, like the condensation might hold you steady. ‘I’ll think about it.’ Roach grins like he’s won something. ‘Ever watch her show?’ he asks, tilting his flask toward you. You hesitate. ‘Not really.’ ‘Bullshit. Saw you yesterday. That rain scene.’ Your grip tightens around the glass. The rain scene. You were there. Back when “we” still meant something. Holding her coat between takes, watching her shiver between scripted heartbreaks. ‘She always cried pretty,’ you murmur. ‘Even back then.’ Roach nods, takes a sip. ‘Tell me about it.’ You do. You don’t mean to, but you do. ‘Nothing to tell,’ you start. ‘I was nobody. She was becoming somebody. Simple math.’ ‘That’s not what I heard.’ ‘Yeah? What’d you hear?’ ‘That you proposed. Night before Seoul.’ The beer sours in your mouth. ‘Who told you that?’ ‘Does it matter? True though, isn’t it?’ You let out something that’s supposed to be a laugh. ‘Got the ring from my grandmother. Vintage Tiffany, art deco. Yujin loved vintage.’ ‘And?’ ‘And she cried. Not the pretty kind.’ You see it now, clear as the night it happened—her shaking hands, the way she pressed the box back into yours like it burned. ‘Said she couldn’t. Said she wasn't ready. I guess that was the foreshadowing: she broke up with me just a week later.’ ‘A choice between you and fame?’ ‘Between real life and the life she’d dreamed of since she was six. No contest, really.’ Roach doesn’t speak for a while. Just stares at the bar like it’s holding the right words. ‘Where’s the ring now?’ You smirk, but it tastes like blood. ‘Pawned it. Bought a week of blackout drunk and a ticket anywhere else.’ Roach exhales, long and low. His eyes flick to your watch, but nothing gold can compare to what you lost. ‘And here you are.’ ‘Here I am.’ Bass pulses through the walls, someone screams about love on the dance floor, and the bartender slides another drink toward you like it might fix anything. Roach downs the rest of his flask, claps a hand on your shoulder. ‘Well. Good luck with that. Got a missus waiting. Let me know when you find one.’ You don’t look at him. ‘We might never speak again.’ ‘Doubt that.’ A pat on the back, one final grin. Then he’s gone. You scoff. If ever. And you leave.

—

Seoul in summer is a thing that sticks. To your skin, to your thoughts, to the spaces between breath. Heat rises off the pavement, thick and wet, settling in your lungs like something permanent.

The city is wide awake, but softer at this hour. Convenience store fluorescents hover in the humidity, blurring edges. Subway vents exhale something metallic, ghostly. The crickets don’t know they live in a city. They just keep singing.

You walk. Not home, not anywhere. Just walking, because it’s better than stopping.

Stopping means remembering.

Every street corner holds a version of her. The Yujin who stole fries off your plate, who could sleep through a fireworks show, who once convinced you that every ice cream cone tasted better if it was half-melted. She’s there, tucked into flickering billboards, frozen mid-laugh on subway ads, threaded between the chords of songs you don’t mean to hear.

You take the long way. Five, six corners. Maybe more.

Then the bus stop appears.

Half-forgotten. Almost overgrown. A bench with its paint peeling like old skin, weeds curling around the edges like they might swallow it whole.

You sit. Elbows on knees. Hands folded. Thinking. Not thinking.

The streetlight buzzes. The air is thick with waiting.

Then—

A shadow falls across your feet.

A shift in pressure. Not wind, just something. The moment before a storm, before impact, before memory collides with the present and makes a mess of everything.

‘What are you doing here?’ Soft. Not a blade, not a wound. Just a question that lands like an old habit.

You don’t need to look. But you do. Because some habits don’t break.

Yujin stands there, framed by sodium light, hands tucked into the pockets of a hoodie that looks too soft to exist. No cameras. No entourage. Just her.

And god—just her is enough to knock the breath out of your chest.

‘Hiding?’ Soft. Like the question isn’t a question, just something to fill the space between heartbeats.

You don’t look up right away. You know the shape of her. You’ve spent years knowing it. The way she stands, weight slightly to one side. The way her voice lands, gentle, edged with something only you ever got to hear.

But you look anyway. Because it’s her. And some rules of the universe don’t change.

Yujin.

Not the Yujin on billboards, the Yujin on magazine covers, the Yujin who belongs to a nation that adores her.

Just Yujin.

Hair a little messy. Hoodie swallowing her frame. Hands tucked into the sleeves like she’s bracing against a cold that doesn’t exist.

And—god. Her eyes. Still warm. Still familiar. Still Dunsan-dong in their quiet, endless way.

She tilts her head. Smiles. The kind of smile that makes you feel seventeen again, like you just said something stupid and brilliant in the same breath.

‘Hiding?’ she repeats, softer this time.

‘Hiding implies I have something to hide from.’

‘And do you?’

A pause. Then—

‘Maybe.’

A hum. A small shift in weight. Then she sits. Just like that. No asking, no hesitation. Just sits, close enough that her knee brushes yours, like muscle memory, like the past hasn’t completely given up on you yet.

The air smells like street food, like summer. Somewhere, a neon sign hums its last flickers before shutting off for the night.

She bumps her shoulder against yours.

‘Missed you, you know.’

You turn your head. Blink. She’s watching you, like the sentence wasn’t a trap, wasn’t something heavy. Just… true.

You swallow.

‘Yeah?’

She nods, pulling her sleeves over her hands. ‘Yeah.’

The night stretches. Not awkward. Not tight with something unspoken. Just easy. Just… there.

‘How’s life?’ she asks.

‘Oh, you know. Full of bad choices.’

‘Any good ones?’

‘Still deciding.’

She breathes out a laugh, soft.

You glance at her, at the curve of her nose, the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear like she’s done since she was a kid.

‘You look…’ she starts, then tilts her head.

‘What?’

‘The same.’

You huff a laugh. ‘That’s a lie.’

‘No.’ She nudges your knee again. ‘You’re just… still you.’

And it’s so simple, the way she says it. So casual, like she hasn’t just pulled the breath from your lungs.

You don’t answer. Not yet.

She leans in slightly.

‘Still drink too much coffee?’

‘Still sleep through earthquakes?’

Her grin widens. ‘Still remember that?’

‘Some things don’t change.’

‘Some do.’

A small shift. A glance. A fraction closer.

And the city moves around you, oblivious.

But you?

You stay still.

You stay here.

Yujin sighs, long and soft, tilting her head back, watching the streetlight cast flickering halos through the humidity.

‘Seoul’s different at night,’ she murmurs. ‘Seoul’s different all the time.’

She hums, half in agreement, half just because she likes the sound. You forgot about that—the way she used to make tiny noises when she was thinking, little musical notes that filled in the gaps between words.

‘Feels slower now,’ she says. ‘That’s just you.’ She turns to you, eyes warm. ‘Yeah?’ You nod. ‘Everything moves too fast for you these days. You forgot what slow feels like.’ A small smile. ‘Remind me?’ Something tightens in your chest. She doesn’t mean it like that. Doesn’t mean it like anything more than what it is—a quiet moment, a quiet ask. But still. You shift, leaning back against the bench, stretching your arms across the top like you own the night. Like it doesn’t own you. ‘Alright,’ you say. ‘Lesson one: sitting still.’ She huffs a laugh but follows your lead, sinking deeper into the wood, legs stretching out. Her foot knocks against yours. ‘Like this?’ ‘Yeah.’ A beat. ‘And then what?’ ‘Nothing.’ She raises a brow. ‘That’s it?’ ‘That’s it.’ She exhales, slow and thoughtful. ‘You always made things feel easy,’ she says, voice quiet, like she’s afraid of disrupting the moment. You glance at her, and she’s not looking at you—just at the night, at the city, at something only she can see. ‘Not sure that’s true,’ you admit. ‘No, it is.’ She pulls her sleeves over her hands again, eyes flicking toward you. ‘You made me feel easy. Like… breathing.’ Something inside you curls at the edges. ‘Yujin—’ ‘It’s okay.’ She shakes her head, soft, smiling like she’s telling you not to carry it too heavily. ‘I’m just remembering.’ The city hums around you both. A distant motorbike rumbles past. Somewhere, an old radio plays a song you half recognize. You look at her again. Hair slightly mussed. Eyes bright, soft, familiar. Like she was never gone at all. She shifts, tucking one leg under the other, hands still hidden in her sleeves.

‘You ever think about calling?’ Her voice is light. Not demanding. Not accusing. Just... wondering. You let out a slow breath. ‘You ever think about picking up?’ A small laugh, exhale-soft. ‘Yeah.’ You glance at her, and she’s already looking at you, chin propped against her knee, smile barely-there but real. ‘But I figured you needed time,’ she says. You swallow. ‘Did I?’ Her fingers twitch against the fabric of her hoodie. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I just told myself that so I wouldn’t call.’ The honesty knocks something loose in your chest. You don’t say anything for a moment. The city moves around you both, neon humming against the wet pavement, the smell of night air thick with too many things. Then, quietly— ‘Three years is a long time, Yujin.’ ‘I know.’

She shifts, slow, careful, like she’s turning over a fragile thought in her hands. ‘But I never wanted it to be forever.’ Your throat tightens. You want to ask her then why did you leave like it was? But you don’t. Because you already know the answer. Because she was always meant for something bigger. Because she was scared, because you were scared, because maybe—just maybe—back then, love wasn’t enough to hold everything steady.

Instead, you say, ‘You look good, you know.’ Her lips curve, soft. ‘You do too.’ You scoff, tipping your head back against the bench. ‘Liar.’ ‘I never lied to you.’ That shuts you up. For a moment, you let it sink in. The weight of her voice, the way she says it like it’s a fact, like it’s something you should’ve never doubted. Then, softer— ‘You really never called?’ she asks. ‘I really never called.’ She doesn’t look away. ‘Why?’ You inhale. Let the air sit heavy in your lungs. ‘Because I thought you’d be better off without me.’ The words land, quiet and unpolished. Yujin blinks. Then— ‘You idiot.’ And then she’s moving, shifting closer, her fingers finding your sleeve, gripping just slightly, just enough for you to feel her there, to feel her warmth against the fabric. ‘Do you know how many times I almost showed up at your door?’ she says, voice soft but steady. ‘How many times I wanted to tell you that I was still here? That I—’ She stops. Exhales. Looks away, looks back. ‘That I missed you?’ You swallow. She’s close now. Not quite touching, but nearly. The air between you charged, something slow, something waiting. Your heart does something complicated in your chest. ‘You missed me?’ you murmur. Yujin smiles, small, fond. ‘Of course, you idiot.’ The city hums. The night exhales. And you— You don’t move away. Yujin stays close. Close enough for you to count her breaths, to feel the warmth of her body radiating through the space between you. You should say something. You should do something. Instead, you just sit there. And Yujin—Yujin lets you.

Her fingers stay curled into your sleeve, loose but certain. Like she’s testing gravity, checking to see if you’ll stay, if you’ll shift, if you’ll remind her that you’re real. She tilts her head, watching you the way she used to—like she’s memorizing you, like she’s trying to fit you back into the version of her life where you were always supposed to be. And maybe she is. Maybe she’s wondering how you look the same but feel different. Maybe she’s cataloging the way your shoulders have set a little heavier, the way your mouth curves in thought before you speak. Or maybe she’s just looking. Like she never stopped. ‘So,’ she says, voice light, careful. ‘What now?’ A question too big for this moment. A question you can’t answer, not yet. So you do what you always do. You deflect. You lean back, arms stretching across the top of the bench, looking at her out of the corner of your eye. ‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that?’ She lifts a brow. ‘You were always the planner.’ She snorts. ‘Hardly.’ ‘Oh? I seem to remember someone who had color-coded schedules for summer break.’ ‘That was one summer.’

‘Still counts.’ She exhales a laugh, tipping her head back against the bench, looking up at the sky. ‘Okay, fine. Maybe I was a little obsessed with plans.’ ‘A little?’

She shoots you a look, but it’s all warmth. All familiarity. ‘You liked it,’ she says. ‘It was efficient. It was cute.’

You hesitate. Just slightly. But she catches it. Of course she does. Her smile softens.

‘You can say it, you know.’ You tilt your head, pretending to be confused. ‘Say what?’ ‘That you missed me too.’

Something about the way she says it makes your stomach pull tight. Not teasing. Not fishing. Just true. You turn back to the street, watching the way the neon catches in the puddles, turning them into something like galaxies.

‘You already know.’ Yujin hums. ‘I want to hear it anyway.’ You exhale.

Three years of distance. Three years of silence. Three years of trying to unwrite the part of your life where she belonged.

‘Yeah,’ you say, voice quiet. ‘I missed you.’

Yujin doesn’t say anything right away. Then—

Her hand slides fully into your sleeve, warm against your wrist. A small thing. A quiet thing. But it’s enough.

‘Good,’ she murmurs.

You sit there like that for a while. Neither of you moving. Neither of you pulling away. And for the first time in years—

The silence between you doesn’t feel like an ending. It feels like a beginning.

Her hand stays there. Not gripping. Not holding. Just resting, warm against your wrist, like it belongs there. Like it never left.

You let out a slow breath. Three years. Three whole years. And somehow, this—her, the quiet press of her skin against yours, the way she’s just here—feels so natural it makes your ribs ache.

‘What are we doing, Yujin?’

Soft. Not accusing. Just—just needing to know if she feels it too, if this night is supposed to mean what you think it does.

She tilts her head, slow. Her hair slips over her shoulder, catching the streetlight in its strands. ‘Talking?’

A small, careful smile.

You huff. ‘Is that what this is?’

She hums, shifts a little closer, foot knocking against yours. ‘I don’t know. Feels nice, though.’

Nice. Nice, like it isn’t everything. Nice, like you aren’t suddenly breathing her in again, like your body hasn’t been on high alert since the moment she walked into your orbit tonight.

You roll your wrist slightly, just enough so that your fingers brush hers. She doesn’t pull away.

The city hums. The night exhales. And then—

‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ she asks.

It’s an easy question. A simple one. But something about it knots itself into your chest, makes your throat tight. Because that’s always how it was with her. Yujin never asked for big things. Just small ones, one after another, adding up to something impossible to resist.

Do you want to get ice cream? Do you want to climb onto the roof? Do you want to watch the rain with me? Do you want to stay?

And you had always said yes.

You glance at her now, at the way she’s watching you, hopeful but not pushing, patient in the way only she could ever be. A walk. A moment. A step toward something you don’t quite know how to name.

You exhale, slow. Then you stand.

‘Lead the way.’

Her smile—god. Her smile.

She slips her hand fully into yours, easy, thoughtless, like muscle memory. Like no time has passed at all.

And you— You let her.

The street hums around you, the last traces of night shifting toward something softer. The vendors have mostly packed up, but the scent of grilled meat and frying oil still lingers, floating warm through the thick summer air.

Yujin’s hand stays in yours. Not tight. Not hesitant. Just there. Like it was always meant to be.

You walk without direction. Just moving, side by side, the way you used to. Her footsteps match yours easily, a quiet sync neither of you planned.

‘Where are we going?’ you ask, voice low.

‘Nowhere,’ she says.

It makes you smile.

A few years ago, that answer would have annoyed her. Yujin, the girl with color-coded schedules, with plans so detailed they might as well have been carved into stone. But now she just says it like it’s enough. Like it’s the whole point.

She swings your hands slightly, absentminded. ‘You always walked like this,’ she murmurs.

‘Like what?’

She shrugs. ‘Like the city doesn’t own you.’

You breathe in, slow. The neon of old convenience stores, the occasional flickering of a streetlamp. ‘I guess I never let it.’

She hums. ‘I did.’

You glance at her. ‘Yujin—’

‘It’s okay,’ she cuts in, smiling. ‘I wanted to. I just—’ She exhales, presses her lips together for a moment, then shakes her head. ‘I forgot how good it feels to walk like this. Without thinking.’

You squeeze her hand just slightly.

She notices. Her thumb brushes the edge of your palm. Not an accident. Not a mistake.

The city stretches ahead of you, quiet. ‘You ever think about coming back?’ you ask.

She doesn’t answer right away. Her fingers tighten around yours, just a little.

‘I used to dream about it,’ she says, voice softer now. ‘I’d wake up thinking I was still in Dunsan-dong. That I’d step outside and find you waiting, like always.’

Your throat goes tight. She turns her head, studies your face in the flickering light.

‘But I was scared,’ she says, gentle. ‘What if you were different? What if I was?’

You don’t look away. ‘And now?’

A breath. A small, small smile. ‘I think I was scared of the wrong thing.’

Your heart stumbles.

She slows, pulling you toward the edge of the sidewalk, toward a tiny park that barely qualifies as a park—a patch of grass, a few trees. The kind of place nobody notices. She stops. Turns to face you.

You should say something. You should say everything.

But she beats you to it.

‘You were always the best part of my life,’ she says, voice steady, firm, like she’s decided something for herself.

Your pulse jumps. ‘Yujin—’

‘I just needed you to know that.’

She’s looking at you like she’s bracing for impact. Like she’s not sure what you’ll do with this thing she’s handing you.

So you take it. Carefully, quietly, the way she deserves.

You lift your hand—the one she’s not holding—and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Her breath catches.

‘Yeah?’ you murmur.

She nods.

And then, softer—

‘I think you were always mine.’

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Because the next thing you know, her hands are on your face, and your mouth is against hers, and the whole city dissolves around you.

She tastes like everything you remember. Like fine tea and something sweeter, something that was always just hers. She presses closer, hands slipping down to your collar, holding you there like you might disappear.

You won’t. Not this time.

When you pull back, she’s breathing fast, forehead resting against yours. You smile.

‘Still walk like the city doesn’t own me?’ you murmur.

She laughs, breathless, and pulls you back in.

Yujin kisses like a memory you never let go of. Like muscle memory, like breathing. Like the space between your ribs was always meant to make room for her.

She pulls back, just enough for her nose to brush yours. Her breath is warm, uneven. Her hands are still curled into the collar of your shirt, holding, gripping, keeping.

You open your eyes. She’s already looking at you.

Not like the girl on the billboards, not like the actress on screen. Just Yujin. Soft, real, right here.

Her lips are pink and kiss-bitten. She blinks slowly, dazed, like she’s trying to piece together what just happened. And then—

Then she laughs.

Not a big laugh. Not loud. Just this tiny, incredulous little sound. Like she can’t believe it. Like she can’t believe you.

‘What?’ you murmur.

She shakes her head, smiling, fingers still resting against your collar. ‘I don’t know.’

‘That’s a first.’

She huffs. ‘Shut up.’

‘Make me.’

A flicker of something in her eyes. Amusement. Mischief. Something else.

She tilts her head, considering. Then, in one slow movement, she leans in—

Not kissing you, not quite. Just close enough that her lips barely graze yours. Close enough that you can feel her smile.

‘Tempting,’ she murmurs.

Your heart stumbles.

But then she pulls away, slipping her fingers from your shirt, stepping back onto the sidewalk, like she’s giving you space to breathe.

You don’t need it. But you let her.

The city hums around you, the distant rumble of a car engine, the occasional flicker of neon against damp pavement.

You watch as Yujin tilts her head toward the sky, stretching her arms out, exhaling like she’s just remembered how.

‘I forgot what this feels like,’ she admits.

‘What?’

‘Not thinking.’ She lets her hands drop to her sides, flexing her fingers. ‘Not planning every second of my life in advance. Just… being.’

You shift, watching her.

‘I don’t think I’ve done that in years,’ she says.

A pause. Then, softly—

‘Stay with me.’

Your heart does something complicated in your chest.

She looks over, a little hesitant now, like she’s not sure how the words sound out loud.

‘I mean—’ she starts, but you shake your head.

‘Okay.’

Her lips part slightly.

Like she expected you to hesitate. Like she thought she’d have to convince you.

You step closer. Just enough that the space between you disappears again.

‘Okay?’ she echoes.

You nod.

Then, quieter—‘Anywhere.’

Yujin’s face softens.

And god, it’s so easy, the way she looks at you. Like you are something known. Like she is something understood.

She lets out a small, breathy laugh, reaching up to brush her thumb against the corner of your mouth.

‘You’re so stupid,’ she murmurs.

‘You love it.’

‘Yeah,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Yeah, I do.’

She slips her hand back into yours, fingers threading together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like she never left. Like you never let her.

And the city stretches ahead, wide open, waiting.

You should take a taxi. That would be the smart thing. A quiet, unremarkable way to disappear from the city before someone notices Korea’s brightest star walking hand-in-hand with someone who isn’t famous, isn’t scripted, isn’t anything but hers.

But Yujin shakes her head.

‘Not yet,’ she says.

So you walk.

She keeps close, hood pulled low, fingers curled into yours. The streets are thinning out, the city exhaling into its quieter hours. The air smells like fried oil and pavement, the ghosts of dinner service still hanging in the air.

She bumps into you once, then twice.

‘Are you always this bad at walking?’ you ask.

She grins, breathless. ‘I think I forgot how to do it with company.’

Company. Company.

You’re not sure if you’re relieved of that; that she was too busy to even meander through lazy lovers.

You squeeze her hand. She squeezes back.

Your place isn’t far, but when you reach it—when Yujin stops at the entrance, tilting her head back to take it all in—something shifts.

‘Huh.’

That’s all she says.

You fight a smirk. ‘Huh?’

She makes a small noise, arms crossed, like she’s trying not to look impressed.

‘You kept acting like you lived in a shoebox.’

You raise a brow. ‘Did I?’

‘Yeah.’ She gestures vaguely to the high-rise, the massive glass windows catching the city lights. ‘I was expecting something small. Modest. Maybe a bachelor pad with an ugly couch and a tragic little coffee table.’

You scoff. ‘What do you take me for?’

‘A very humble man, apparently.’

You shake your head, leading her inside.

The elevator is empty. Too bright. Too quiet.

She rocks on her heels. ‘So, do I get the grand tour?’

‘I don’t know,’ you say, pretending to think. ‘You might not be able to handle it. Very overwhelming.’

She elbows you in the side, laughing. ‘Shut up.’

The doors slide open.

She steps out first, into the hallway, waiting while you fish your keys from your pocket.

She glances over. ‘I still can’t believe you live here.’

‘Why?’

She shrugs. ‘It’s just weird.’

‘Weird how?’

She scrunches her nose, like she doesn’t quite know how to explain it. ‘I don’t know. You just never cared about stuff like this.’

You unlock the door.

She steps inside.

And immediately—

‘Oh my god.’

You roll your eyes, shutting the door behind you. ‘What now?’

She turns in a slow circle, taking everything in. The high ceilings, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the soft lighting that spills across the polished wood.

‘Are you kidding?’ she says, spinning toward you, mouth open in faux outrage. ‘This is beautiful.’

You snort. ‘What, you thought I was sleeping in a broom closet?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wow. Faith in me is strong, I see.’

She grins, moving toward the living room. ‘No, it’s just—’ She shakes her head, fingers brushing over the back of the sleek, perfectly chosen couch. ‘You were always so… comfortable with less. I figured, even if you had money, you’d still live like some struggling artist in a shoebox.’

You scoff, kicking off your shoes. ‘What does that even mean?’

‘Like, I don’t know, sleeping on a mattress on the floor. A single sad chair. Stacks of books everywhere.’

You raise a brow. ‘So your image of me is basically a broke philosophy major?’

She shrugs. ‘It suited you.’

You exhale a laugh.

‘But this,’ she gestures around again, ‘this is… grown-up.’

‘Was I not grown-up before?’

She grins. ‘No.’

‘Wow.’

‘But,’ she continues, stepping toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the city spills out in front of her like a living, breathing thing, ‘I like it. It feels like you.’

You pause.

Not expensive. Not fancy. Not over-the-top.

It feels like you.

You scratch the back of your neck, looking away.

‘Yeah?’

She nods. ‘Yeah.’

She turns back to the glass, resting her fingers lightly against the frame. ‘You can see the river from here.’

You step up beside her.

It’s a view you see every day, but somehow, with Yujin here, it looks different.

She breathes in. ‘It’s nice.’

You breathe her in.

‘Yeah,’ you murmur. ‘It is.’

She turns.

And then she kisses you.

Not careful. Not planned.

Just Yujin.

She tilts her head, presses up slightly on her toes, and meets your mouth with something warm, something easy.

It’s not perfect.

She misses, just slightly. Laughs into the kiss. Her hands fumble for your collar but find your wrist instead.

But god—

It’s real.

You breathe her in. Hold her waist. Feel her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt like she’s trying to pull you closer, closer.

She hums against your lips, smiling.

You grin. ‘You missed.’

She exhales a laugh. ‘Shut up.’

‘Make me.’

She does.

The kisses are clumsy, messy, soft. The kind that happens when two people are trying to remember, trying to relearn each other in real-time.

She tugs at your shirt.

You trip over the edge of the couch.

She gasps.

You land in a heap, tangled together, breathless.

Silence.

Then—

She laughs.

Bright, full, head tipped back against your chest.

You groan, letting your head fall back against the cushions. ‘Unbelievable.’

She grins, shifting so she’s straddling your lap. ‘I don’t know, I think it’s fitting.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah.’ She leans in, pressing her forehead against yours. ‘Clumsy love suits us.’

Your breath catches.

Then, softer—

‘Yeah,’ you murmur. ‘It does.’

She cups your face, fingers warm against your jaw.

The city hums outside, unaware.

And you—

You stay here.

With her.

You don’t know who says it first.

Maybe her. Maybe you. Maybe neither of you—maybe it’s just implied, wrapped up in the way she’s still sitting in your lap, fingers absently tracing patterns over your collarbone, skin warm against yours.

But at some point, between the teasing and the breathless little ohs that slip between kisses, it just becomes a fact.

You’re both too warm.

Too sticky from the night air, from walking too long through humid Seoul streets, from the thick summer heat pressing against the glass of your windows.

‘Shower,’ she murmurs.

You’re not sure if it’s a request or a declaration, but either way—

‘Yeah,’ you say.

And then you’re moving.

Yujin laughs when you lift her off the couch, stumbling slightly as you navigate through the apartment. She doesn’t let go, arms slung loosely around your neck, breath warm against your ear.

‘Are you always this dramatic?’ she asks.

‘You love it.’

She hums, not denying it.

The bathroom is bright, too bright, the kind of brightness that makes everything feel a little more real than you’re prepared for. But Yujin doesn’t hesitate—just pulls her hoodie over her head, shakes her hair out, steps closer like she’s done this a thousand times.

Like she’s never left.

You watch as she turns toward the mirror, tilting her head slightly.

‘Haven’t been in a place like this in a while,’ she muses.

‘A bathroom?’

She snorts, shoving you lightly. ‘No, this kind of bathroom.’ She waves a hand vaguely, indicating the open shower, the marble walls, the soft lighting. ‘It’s fancy.’

You roll your eyes, reaching for the faucet. ‘You act like you don’t stay in five-star hotels every week.’

‘That’s different.’

‘How?’

She steps behind you, pressing her chin against your shoulder. ‘This feels like you.’

You don’t know what to say to that.

So you don’t say anything at all.

The water warms between your fingers, steam rising slowly.

Yujin hums, stepping forward, slipping her fingers under the hem of your shirt. ‘Come on.’

You don’t move.

She looks up, amused. ‘What, suddenly shy?’

You scoff, shaking your head, but your pulse jumps when her fingers skate lightly against your stomach.

She grins. ‘Cute.’

‘What is?’

‘Three years apart, and you’re still so you.’

You exhale a laugh, finally pulling your shirt over your head. She does the same, tossing her clothes into a messy pile, and then—

Then it’s just you and her, standing too close, bare skin meeting for the first time in what feels like forever.

Her breath catches.

You hear it. Feel it.

And god—

She’s so beautiful.

All golden skin and soft curves and the kind of warmth that could make the whole city feel like home.

She watches you, expectant, waiting.

You don’t make her wait long.

You reach for her—

And she lets you.

Lets you pull her in, lets you kiss her slow, deep, careful, like you’re memorizing her all over again.

She sighs into your mouth, hands trailing up your arms, curling into your hair.

‘Come on,’ she whispers.

And this time—

You listen.

The water is hot, almost too hot, but neither of you care.

Yujin steps under first, exhaling as the warmth rolls over her skin, tilting her head back so that her hair darkens, slick against her shoulders.

You’re distracted.

Too distracted.

Because—

Because she’s standing there, all bare skin and soft curves and Yujin, looking at you like she already knows exactly what you’re thinking.

‘Are you going to keep staring?’ she teases.

You swallow. ‘Maybe.’

She laughs, stepping forward, reaching for the shampoo.

You should move. Should help. Should do something.

But instead, you just—

Just watch.

The way she hums under her breath, the way she lathers the shampoo into her hair, fingers massaging small circles against her scalp.

You’re so lost in it, in her, that you don’t even realize she’s finished—

Until she suddenly turns, tilts her head, and smiles.

‘Come here.’

You don’t hesitate.

She tugs you forward, fingers threading through your hair, working shampoo into your scalp like it’s something sacred, something worth taking her time with.

And god—

God, you forgot how good this feels.

Forgot what it was like to just be, to just exist under someone’s hands, to let yourself be cared for in a way that doesn’t feel heavy, doesn’t feel like a transaction.

Her fingers move slowly, carefully, her nails scraping lightly against your skin.

You close your eyes.

Breathe.

Let yourself lean into it.

Let yourself lean into her.

And she—

She lets you.

She’s still rinsing when you reach for her.

‘What—’

You shush her, hands skimming up her sides, guiding her under the water’s warmth.

She lets you.

Lets you tilt her chin slightly, lets you press a kiss just below her ear, lets you work your fingers into her hair like she’s something holy.

Her breath catches.

You hear it, feel it, let it sink into your bones.

‘Close your eyes,’ you murmur.

She hesitates—just a fraction of a second—then obeys.

The water slides down her face, over her lips, down the elegant curve of her throat.

You watch, transfixed.

Then you move.

You reach for the shampoo, work it between your hands, and Yujin’s confused—’Again?’—but when your fingers find her scalp—

She melts.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen her this undone.

Head tilted slightly, mouth parted, body soft beneath your touch.

She hums, a small, quiet sound, like she’s just remembered something she’d long forgotten.

You barely breathe.

Just keep going, keep moving, keep tracing slow, deliberate circles, letting your fingers tangle through her hair like it’s something sacred.

Because it is.

Because she is.

Yujin, the girl who never stopped moving, who never let herself stop thinking, who planned every step of her life down to the last decimal—

She’s still now.

Still, and warm, and yours.

You rinse the shampoo carefully, letting the water do the work. Your fingers trail down, down, past her neck, past her shoulders, past the delicate slip of her collarbone.

She sighs.

Leans into you.

Lets herself fall.

And god—

You’ll catch her.

Every time.

You reach for the soap next, work it slowly over her back, over her arms, over every inch of her that you can touch.

She exhales, barely above a whisper.

‘Feels nice.’

You smile.

‘Good.’

You don’t rush.

Not when she’s like this. Not when she’s letting you do this, letting you love her with something as simple as this.

Your hands trail lower, down her spine, over the dip of her waist. She shifts slightly, breath hitching just a little.

You pause.

Press a kiss to her shoulder.

She shivers, but not from the cold.

‘This okay?’ you murmur.

Her fingers curl around your wrist, stopping you.

For a moment, you think she’s going to pull away—

But instead—

She guides your hand lower.

Presses it against the soft warmth of her stomach.

Holds it there.

She exhales, slow and deep. ‘Don’t stop.’ You don’t. God, you don’t. You let your hands move slowly, carefully, exploring her the way you’ve always wanted to—like she’s something to learn, something to understand. And Yujin— Yujin lets you.

She lets you wash away the last three years, lets you trace something new into her skin, lets you relearn every inch of her with soap and steam and careful, careful hands.

She turns in your arms, pressing her forehead against yours. The water slips between you, catching at the spaces where you don’t quite meet. She’s smiling. Soft. Sweet. Yours. You cup her face. She leans into it, eyes fluttering closed. For a long, long moment, neither of you move. You just stay. Right here. Right now. Like this. Like always. Then— She opens her eyes. And she kisses you.

The water trails down her spine in slow, careful rivers, catching in the dips of her back, rolling down the curve of her waist. You follow its path with your fingers, mapping her skin like something sacred, something known.

She doesn’t move. Just lets you touch. Lets you care.

You start with her back, palms gliding down the slope of her shoulders, the delicate stretch of muscle beneath warm, damp skin. Your thumbs press gently into the knots there, kneading, coaxing, working out tension she probably doesn’t even realize she’s holding.

She exhales, long and slow, tipping her head forward. ‘Mmm,’ she murmurs, voice thick with something close to sleep. ‘That feels good.’ You smile. Press your thumbs in a little deeper. Let your hands drift lower, following the curve of her spine, tracing each ridge, each shadow, each memory pressed into muscle. You smooth circles over her lower back, fingers pressing into the dimples there, trailing down— She shivers. Your hands pause. ‘Ticklish?’ you murmur.

She huffs a quiet laugh, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. ‘A little.’ You grin, but you don’t tease. Not now. Not when she’s letting you do this, letting you love her in the simplest, softest way. You reach for the soap, work it between your hands until it foams, and then— Then you really start. You start with her arms, sliding your palms over smooth, damp skin, tracing the delicate lines of muscle beneath. You lift her wrist, turning it over, running your fingers along the pulse point there. Her breath catches. You watch, mesmerized, as water beads along the inside of her forearm, trailing down to the soft bend of her elbow. ‘You’re so careful,’ she murmurs. You hum. ‘You deserve careful.’ Something flickers across her face. Something soft. She lets her fingers curl around yours. You smile. Run your hands over her stomach next, tracing the subtle rise and fall of each breath, the warmth of her, the realness of her. She shifts slightly, the movement pressing her closer, pressing skin to skin, pressing warmth to warmth. You exhale. Let your hands drift lower, over the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip, the length of her thigh. You take your time. Because she lets you. Because she wants you to. You kneel then, water rolling down your shoulders, down your back, pooling against your skin. You press your lips to her hip. She exhales, shaky, fingers threading into your hair. ‘You don’t have to—’ ‘I want to.’ You slide your hands over her legs, smoothing your palms down her thighs, over her calves, down to her ankles. She watches, breathing slow. You work the soap into her skin, rubbing warmth into her, sliding your thumbs up the backs of her knees, over the gentle curve of her calves. She sighs. Soft. Deep. Content. You let your fingers skim up again, over the dip of her waist, the gentle swell of her stomach, up— Up— To her chest. Her breath stutters. You pause. Look up. She’s already looking at you. Eyes dark, lips parted, cheeks flushed from the heat of the water. She lifts her hand, pressing it against yours. Guiding you. ‘Go on,’ she whispers. And you do. God, you do.

You cup her, trace the delicate slope of her, run your thumbs over warm, wet skin, over the soft peaks of her breasts, watching the way she reacts, the way she shivers under your touch.

Her lips part.

Her fingers tighten in your hair.

‘You’re—’ she starts, voice barely a breath, barely a sound. ‘You’re so—’

You stand.

Tilt her chin up.

Kiss her.

Not hungry. Not desperate.

Just deep.

Just certain.

Just her.

And when you pull back, pressing your forehead against hers, she exhales a laugh.

‘This is dangerous,’ she murmurs.

You smile. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

She lifts her arms, looping them around your neck, pulling you in, pressing against you, warm and wet and perfect.

And you—

You let her.

The steam rises. The water beads against her skin, gliding down slow, tracing paths over the soft slopes of her body, catching at the delicate points where warmth meets shadow, where light bends just so, where she is golden and bronze and endless.

You follow it.

With your eyes first, then with your hands.

Fingertips grazing along the soft valley of her stomach, skimming over her ribs, pressing gently into the places where she is most tender, most real. You watch the way the droplets gather at her collarbone, suspended for just a moment before slipping down, down, disappearing into the delicate dip between her breasts.

It feels unfair, almost, that something as simple as water gets to touch her like this before you do.

So you take its place.

Your lips find her collarbone first, brushing against the damp skin, warm and reverent. She exhales, tilting her head slightly, letting you have her like this, letting you take your time.

You do.

You always do.

Your mouth trails lower, following the path of the water, tracing its descent. You press a kiss against the gentle swell of her chest, right where her heart beats beneath, steady, certain, alive. You linger there, letting the moment stretch, letting yourself feel it, letting yourself remember what it’s like to love someone in a way that has nothing to do with time or distance or the years lost in between.

She breathes in, slow and deep, her fingers threading through your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp. Not pulling. Just holding.

And then you go lower.

The water clings to her, catching at the nipples, glistening like liquid gold against the dark-bronze warmth of her nipples. It drips, slow and deliberate, down the soft curve of her, over the places where she is most tender, most beautiful.

You chase it.

Your lips press to her sternum, then lower, following the water as it rolls over the swell of her breast, catching it before it can disappear.

She makes a sound then, a soft, breathy thing, like something breaking open inside her, like something unfolding, something giving way.

And god—

You love her like this.

Love the way she lets you worship her, the way she lets you press your mouth to her skin like it’s something sacred, like it’s something worth kneeling for.

You take your time.

You kiss along the curve of her, letting your tongue flick against her skin, letting yourself taste the warmth of her, the salt, the sweetness, the Yujin of her.

She trembles. Not much. Just a little. Just enough. You kiss the the peak of her breast—nipple, lips closing around the dark, glistening bronze of her, taking her between your lips like something meant to be savored. And she— She gasps. Soft. Sharp. Her fingers tighten in your hair, her back arching just slightly, just enough to press herself further into your mouth, to offer herself up like this, to let you take her in a way that feels like praise. The water slips between you, forgotten, but you don’t need it anymore. She is all the warmth you will ever need. And you— You are drowning. But you don’t mind. Not one bit.

You don’t know how long you stay like this—your mouth on her, your hands tracing slow worship into her skin, your tongue moving against the dark-bronze pebble of her like you’re tasting something sacred, something forbidden, something you never stopped craving.

She doesn’t rush you.

Just feels.

Just lets herself be felt.

Her fingers tremble against your scalp, gripping just enough to keep you grounded, to keep herself from falling apart entirely. The water sings against the tiles, drowning the rest of the world out, leaving just the sound of her soft gasps, her breath catching, the delicate whimper when your teeth graze over where she is most sensitive.

‘You’re—’ she tries, but the sentence breaks, dissolving into something else entirely.

You hum against her, half-smirking, half-dazed.

‘Say that again?’

She exhales sharply. Then, in a voice softer than the steam curling between you—

‘You’re ruining me.’

You smile against her skin.

‘Good.’

But then she’s moving.

Slow, steady, deliberate—sliding her hands down to your jaw, guiding you up, forcing your mouth away from her skin so she can see you again.

You lift your head, meeting her gaze, and god—

She looks like something devotional.

Like she’s burning and melting and breaking and remaking herself in the same moment.

And then she cups your face.

Runs her fingers down the sharp edge of your jaw, down your throat, down the planes of your chest like she’s trying to learn you all over again.

‘My turn,’ she whispers.

You exhale. ‘Yujin—’

But she’s already pressing her lips to your palm.

A slow, wet kiss against the skin there, warm and reverent.

You tense, watching the way she does it—how her mouth lingers, how her breath spills against your hand like she’s praying into it.

Then another.

And another.

Each kiss deliberate. Each one softer than the last.

Your fingers twitch.

Your heart stutters.

And Yujin—

Yujin just smiles.

Like she knows what she’s doing to you.

Like she knows the effect of her lips, her mouth, the heat of her pressing into you like this.

Then she goes lower.

Tracing fire against your wrist. Down to your forearm.

She’s taking her time.

Like she knows what’s coming. Like she wants you to feel every second of it before she even starts.

Softly, she lowers herself to the shower floor, folding her legs beneath her like someone praying—like someone preparing for something sacred. Water cascades over her, tracing the delicate angles of her face, slipping down her shoulders, clinging to her lashes. She doesn’t blink it away.

She looks up at you instead.

‘Just so you know,’ she murmurs, fingers curling around your thigh, pressing just hard enough to make you feel it, ‘I haven’t had this for three years.’

Your breath catches.

‘You poor thing.’

She hums, tilting her head slightly, eyes flickering with something playful, something edged with heat. ‘If only you called.’

Her grip tightens on your shaft—subtle, knowing, cruel.

Your pulse slams into your ribs.

‘Regretting everything as we speak,’ you manage, voice rough, because god—three years of waking up alone, three years of knowing what her body felt like against yours and still having to live without it, three years of not having this—

Yujin presses her lips to your hip, slow, warm, reverent.

‘Don’t,’ she whispers, breath ghosting over your skin. ‘From now on, let’s not waste a single breath.’

And that was that.

No more lost time. No more distance.

She presses another kiss, right below your navel. Cheating.

Your entire body tenses, twitches, a sharp current running through you.

She notices.

She smiles.

‘This is punishment,’ she murmurs.

Your fingers twitch against the tile. ‘For what?’

She looks up at you, lashes wet and mussed and dripping, lips parted just slightly—ruinous.

‘For almost forgetting me.’

Your jaw tightens. ‘That’s blasphemy.’

‘Is it?’

‘Every waking moment, every—’

Her hand slides along your wet shaft. Tight. Destitution incarnate.

You stumble against the back wall.

She grins, a little smug, a little knowing, a little dangerous.

‘I don’t want excuses,’ she says softly.

And then—

Then she presses another kiss, open-mouthed, slow, dangerous, right where on the tip of your cock—collecting whatever desperation you had bottled up.

You let out a slow, shaky breath.

She hums against you. Then, another kiss.

‘This,’ she says, hands curling against your hips, ‘is mine.’

And god, you believe her.

You always have.

Her mouth forms a tight ring right on your tip. She’s sucking everything out of you. Caring not for a single second how much this ruins you, how your knees intend to buckle.  

The cool wall slides against your back, and her mouth gentles now—less tight, slower, deliberate. Her lips part, wet and swollen, spit-strung as they glide over the flushed head of you. A slick sound escapes her, obscene and tender. You feel every ridge of her tongue, every warm drag, the way her saliva pools and drips down the length of you. She moans softly, and the vibration travels straight to your gut.

‘Easy,’ you rasp, fingers threading into her hair—not to push, but to feel. To guide her rhythm, your thumb brushing the shell of her ear. ‘Just like that…’

She obeys, but not meekly. Her eyes flick up, dark and gleaming through her lashes, her lips a glistening ring around you. The head glistens under the shower’s spray, spit-slick and ruddy, and when she pulls back just to breathe, a thin strand of saliva stretches between her bottom lip and your tip. She watches you watch it snap.

‘Yujin—’

‘Shhh.’ Her breath ghosts over the wetness she’s made, cooling the heat. ‘Let me.’

Her tongue swipes the slit, slow, too slow, and your hips jerk. She laughs—a soft, husky thing—and catches the bead of precum with her thumb. Holds your gaze as she sucks it clean.

‘All those years,’ she murmurs, nuzzling the inside of your thigh. Her voice is a frayed ribbon. ‘You let this ache. Let it go untouched. Why?’

You tighten your grip in her hair, not harsh, but present. ‘You know why.’

She hums, lips pressing to the vein throbbing beneath the skin. ‘Tell me anyway.’

‘Because it was yours.’ The admission tears free, raw. ‘Even when you weren’t.’

Her breath hitches. For a heartbeat, her composure cracks—lips parting, eyes glassy. Then she surges forward, taking you deep, deep, until your tip brushes the back of her throat. Her nose presses into your pelvis, her cheeks hollowed, and the wetness is overwhelming. Spit spills down her chin, drips onto the shower floor. You watch, wrecked, as she works you with a reverence that borders on worship.

‘God—Yujin—’

She pulls off with a gasp, lips swollen and slick. ‘Look at me.’

You do. Her face is flushed, water clinging to her lashes, hair plastered to her neck. Ruin has never looked so soft.

‘Never again,’ she whispers, palm cradling your jaw. ‘You don’t starve yourself. Not of this. Not of me.’

You nod, breathless, and she smiles—a fragile, aching thing—before bending again. Her mouth is softer now, languid, savoring. Every suck, every lick, pours honey into your veins. You let her take you apart, let her rebuild you, until the world narrows to her lips, her hands, the spit-slick sounds of her devotion.

The climax coils, inevitable—a wildfire in your spine, a tremor in your thighs. You feel it there, the precipice, and your hands fly to her shoulders, gripping hard. ‘Yujin—wait—’

She resists at first, brows furrowed, lips sealed tight around you. But you tug her back gently, your cock slipping from her mouth with a wet pop, her lips swollen, glistening. Her confusion flickers only for a heartbeat before you fist your cock, rough and hurried, and the first hot stripe of release paints her cheek.

She gasps, eyes fluttering shut as the next pulse hits her chin, her throat, the tip catching her collarbone. Thick, pearly streaks splatter across her skin—her eyelids, the bridge of her nose, the bow of her top lip. A ragged moan tears from you as you empty yourself onto her, the mess pooling in the hollow of her throat, dripping down her sternum.

For a moment, she’s perfectly still, breath held, face tilted up as if in prayer. Then her tongue darts out, just once, catching the spill on her lip—not to taste, but to feel, to savor the proof. Her eyes open slowly, lashes sticky, gaze molten.

For a second, she just blinks.

One eye.

The other one is… well.

You watch her process it in real time.

Her lips part slightly, her breath still uneven, chest rising and falling as she takes in exactly what’s happened. Your release is everywhere—everywhere—glossing her cheekbones, slipping down the slope of her throat, pooling in the dip of her collarbone like some kind of offering.

She tilts her head. Blinks again.

‘Oh.’

Then she laughs.

A breathy, disbelieving sound, half-amused, half-are-you-kidding-me?

You’re still pressed against the shower wall, still trying to function, your brain short-circuiting between the mess you’ve made of her and the fact that she’s actually—laughing.

‘You—’ she starts, touching her cheek, then stopping, fingers hesitating before they smear through the mess, ‘—you got it in my hair.’

She looks up at you then, eyes bright, glistening—partly from you, partly from water, partly from the sheer absurdity of this situation.

You swallow, still breathless. ‘Uh.’

She blinks. A slow, lazy flutter of lashes.

Then her mouth quirks.

‘You should’ve warned me, you beast.’

You can’t help it—you laugh, too, scrubbing a hand down your face. ‘I tried. You didn’t stop—’

‘I was busy,’ she huffs, wiping at her cheek again. ‘And now I’m busy. Because look at me.’

You are.

You really, really are.

‘I mean—’ you gesture vaguely to her face, her throat, the trail of evidence marking everywhere she’s been—‘I think it’s a good look.’

She glares.

‘No, seriously. We could brand this. “Dewy Glow” or something. Sell it in high-end skincare stores. “Celebrity Secret.”’

She snorts, shoving at your thigh. ‘You absolute menace.’

And then—

‘Oh, wait.’

She freezes.

Her smile vanishes.

Her expression shifts into something far more serious.

‘Oh no.’

You blink. ‘What?’

She doesn’t say anything.

Just slowly, slowly, slowly raises a hand to her right eye.

You know what’s coming before she even speaks.

‘Oh my god, I can’t see.’

You wheeze. Actually wheeze.

She jabs a finger into your thigh. ‘Don’t—don’t laugh. This is serious. This is—I might never recover—’

‘Yujin.’ You’re still dying, but you reach for her anyway, cupping her face with both hands, thumbs swiping over her cheeks, carefully wiping away what you can. ‘Baby, blink—’

‘I am blinking.’ She’s being so dramatic about it, blinking furiously, tilting her face up to the water like it might cleanse her soul. ‘Oh my god. Oh my god.’

‘Okay, okay, come here—’

You guide her fully under the stream, hands in her hair, rubbing circles at her temples as she half-laughs, half-groans against your chest.

‘Three years, and this is how it goes?’

‘I mean,’ you murmur, fingers tracing down her jaw, ‘technically, this is a good thing. This means I really missed you.’

She gasps, smacking your chest. ‘That is not how this works.’

‘No, no, it is. You should be flattered.’

‘I am blinded.’

‘Listen, some people pay a lot of money for facials like this.’

‘Oh my god, shut up—’

She’s laughing now, still rubbing at her eye, still squinting slightly, but you tilt her face up, press your lips to her forehead, her nose, the water-warm curve of her cheek.

‘Here,’ you murmur, ‘let me see.’

She lets you, tilting her chin up, letting you wipe at her lashes, the bridge of her nose, the soft hollow under her eye. Your fingers are gentle, your touch slow, careful, as you rinse the last of it away.

Her hands find your ribs, gripping lightly, grounding herself.

‘I’m keeping score, you know,’ she murmurs, voice softer now.

You kiss her temple. ‘Yeah?’

She hums. ‘You owe me for this.’

You grin, pressing a kiss to her cheek. ‘I owe you?’

‘Mhm.’ Another soft blink, this one slower, more considering. ‘Big time.’

You exhale, pressing your forehead to hers. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’

She pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes warm, searching.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

A beat.

Then she grins, pressing a quick, mischievous kiss to your lips.

‘Good.’

And then—

‘Now help me get this out of my hair, you absolute monster.’

You laugh, tilting her back under the water, already reaching for the shampoo.

You barely make it out of the shower before Yujin is already reaching for a towel, scrubbing at her hair like she’s trying to erase all evidence of your existence.

You watch her, arms crossed, towel slung lazily over your shoulder. ‘You know, I could help with that.’

She gives you a look. A very specific you-are-the-reason-I’m-in-this-mess look.

‘You’ve helped enough,’ she mutters, aggressively drying her face.

You grin. ‘Want me to dry your back?’

‘No.’

‘Sure?’

‘I don’t trust you.’

You press a hand to your chest, mock-wounded. ‘I am offended by this blatant accusation.’

‘You are plotting something. I know that face.’

‘I literally only have one face, Yujin.’

‘Yeah. And I know it.’

She sighs, shoving her towel at you. ‘Fine. You want to be useful? Dry my hair. But no funny business.’

‘Define funny business.’

She glares.

You chuckle, grabbing another towel, stepping behind her. She exhales as you gently towel-dry her hair, rubbing slow, deliberate circles into her scalp.

Her head tilts slightly, unconsciously leaning into your touch.

You knew she’d enjoy this.

She hums, closing her eyes. ‘Okay. Maybe you can be trusted.’

‘Told you.’ You press a kiss to the crown of her head. ‘I am a professional.’

‘A professional nuisance.’

‘A professional lover.’

She snorts. ‘Oh my god, shut up.’

You grin, setting the towel aside, reaching for the hairdryer.

She shifts slightly in her seat. ‘Wait—’

‘Hm?’

She peeks up at you, tilting her head back, cheeks warm. ‘...I like it when you do it slow. With your hands.’

You pause.

Look down at her.

Oh.

Oh.

You set the hairdryer aside. ‘You should’ve said so earlier, baby.’

She exhales, smiling, closing her eyes again as your fingers slip into her hair, raking through the damp strands, slow and careful.

This is— This is intimacy in its simplest form. You, standing behind her, fingers combing through her hair, working through knots with gentle patience. Her, sitting still, trusting you, letting herself be taken care of. ‘You’re soft,’ you murmur, pressing another kiss to her temple. ‘Mm.’ Her shoulders relax completely. ‘Just don’t mess up my parting.’ You chuckle. ‘I’ll do my best.’ It takes a while—because you like taking your time with her—but eventually, her hair is dry, loose waves tumbling down her back. She stretches, arms overhead, and that’s when you realize— She’s still wearing your shirt. The one she stole post-shower, hanging off her like it was made for this moment.

You stare. Your thoughts are not wholesome. She catches you looking. Her lips curve. ‘You’re plotting something again,’ she says, amused. ‘Maybe.’ ‘You need to control yourself—’ ‘Nope.’ She laughs, batting you away when you attempt to grab her. ‘No. No, sir,’ she warns, scooting to the bed. ‘You said you’d be good.’ ‘Did I?’ ‘Yes. You did. You explicitly said you’d behave.’ ‘And you believed me?’ She pauses. Then groans, rubbing her face. ‘God, I’m an idiot.’ You grin. And then you pounce.

She yelps, barely managing to roll away before you trap her under you, laughing as she dodges your grabby hands.

‘No,’ she gasps between laughs, ‘we are doing the normal nighttime routine first!’ ‘This is the routine.’ ‘No it is not!’ You chase her across the bed. She giggles, swats at you, then suddenly—miraculously—manages to flip you over, straddling you with a triumphant grin. ‘HAH.’ She plants her hands on your chest. ‘Got you.’ You blink up at her. Pause. Then smirk. ‘Yujin,’ you murmur, voice low. ‘Baby.’ Her smile falters. ‘…What.’

You cup her waist, slowly sliding your hands up, over the fabric of your shirt, over the nothing she’s wearing underneath.

She realizes. Her eyes widen. ‘Wait—’ And then you flip her back over. She gasps. ‘Noooooo—’ You laugh, pinning her down, watching as she squirms, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with warmth and amusement. This. This is the routine. Laughter. Teasing. The way you move around each other like gravity has always existed between you. She exhales, chest rising and falling beneath you, fingers curling around your wrists. Her voice, when she speaks, is softer. ‘You win,’ she murmurs. You press your forehead to hers. ‘I always do.’ She sighs dramatically. ‘Ugh. Fine. Manhandle me, then.’ She’s still beneath you, chest rising and falling, fingers curled loosely around your wrists where you’ve pinned them. Her breath is quick, her pulse erratic, and you know it’s not just because of the weight of you pressing her into the mattress—it’s everything. The warmth between you, the years leading to this, the understanding that what’s about to happen isn’t just want, isn’t just release—it’s reclamation.

She swallows, lips parting slightly, pupils wide and dark in the low light. The dark strands of her hair are fanned across the pillow, tangled from your hands, a mess you’d memorize blindfolded. There’s a flush blooming across her chest, creeping up the column of her throat, a heat that you feel mirrored in yourself.

You watch her, watch the way she shifts slightly beneath you, pressing up just enough to remind you she’s waiting, waiting, waiting. You could draw this out forever. But that’s cruelty. Or maybe, maybe, that’s worship.

You press your lips to the tip of her nose, then her cheek, then down, trailing a path over her jaw, her throat, the faint dip between her collarbones. You can feel the hum of her laughter before she even releases it, a small breath of amusement, her fingers twitching against your hold'

‘You’re teasing,’ she murmurs, voice wrecked already. ‘No,’ you answer, dragging your mouth lower, tasting the salt of her skin. ‘I’m remembering.’

Because you are. You’re remembering the way her body curls into yours when she’s overwhelmed. You’re remembering the tiny, trembling exhales she makes when your hands slide over the slopes of her ribs. You’re remembering that she loves when you take your time, that she loves to be adored, that she wants to feel every inch of you.

And she is so easy to adore.

You shift lower, your hands tracing slow, lazy patterns down her sides, feeling the way her muscles twitch beneath your touch. The shape of her—long lines, soft curves, skin warm and impossibly smooth beneath your lips.

Your name escapes her in a breath, a barely-there sound that settles somewhere behind your ribs, inside your chest, like it belongs there.

You kiss lower. Down, down. Your fingers slip between her thighs, ghosting over her bare glistening pussy, and her breath stutters, a sharp intake that punches straight through your gut. ‘Look at you,’ you murmur, dragging your knuckles up the inside of her goosebump-ridden thigh. ‘Fidgeting.’ She doesn’t answer. Just glares, lashes damp, lips parted, so achingly beautiful you feel winded.

‘Is that frustration?’ you tease, dragging your mouth back up, scraping your teeth over her hip bone. ‘It’s—’ She exhales, trying for control. Fails. ‘It’s you taking too long.’ You hum. ‘I thought you liked it slow.’ ‘I do,’ she grits out. ‘But I also like it when you—’

Her voice catches as your fingers press a little harder into her. A single stroke, just enough to make her body jolt, enough to make her curse under her breath, enough to feel the sticky wetness of her—inside.

Then you do it again. And again. Until her hips are moving against your touch, until her nails bite into your shoulders, until her breath is a series of broken, unsteady exhalations, ‘Yes, yes, oh fuck~’

You kiss her then. Hard. Deep. Drinking in every shiver, every sound, every breathless plea she won’t voice but you understand anyway.

And then— Then, finally— Her thighs part wider, welcoming you; knees hooking around your hips, heels digging into the small of your back. You press your shaft along her golden-soft navel, hard enough to get her whimpering under the heat of your shaft. You drag slowly along her soft—yet firm—navel, coursing the map lower and lower—until the nub responsible for her heat—all swollen and beautiful and pink—meets your tip. She lets out a sudden whimper; She glares, and you press a kiss on her temple once again—sorry baby, sorry. At the end of the map, you feel the slick heat of her cunt against the head of your cock, her entrance fluttering, pulsing, as you grind around the clit in slow, torturous circles. Precum smears her folds, mingling with her arousal, the glide obscenely wet. ‘Fuck,’ she hisses, nails raking down your spine. ‘Stop—stop toying—’ You catch her wrist, pinning it above her head again. ‘No.’ Your other hand grips the base of your cock, guiding it through her slit, the swollen head catching on her clit with every pass. She jerks, a broken moan tearing free, her hips bucking—but you hold firm, denying her friction. ‘You wanted slow. This is slow.’ Her cunt weeps, glistening, her inner lips swollen and flushed. You watch, transfixed, as your cockhead nudges her entrance, spreading her open incrementally. A single inch sinks in, the velvety grip of her walls clenching reflexively, and you groan through gritted teeth. ‘Christ’ She whimpers, her clit throbbing against your shaft as you retreat, dragging your tip through her folds again. ‘Please—’ Her voice cracks, tears spilling down her temples. ‘Just—fuck me—’ You lean down, lips grazing hers. ‘Where?’ She glares, chest heaving. ‘You know—’ ‘Say it.’ ‘Inside—’ ‘Inside what?’ You press forward, another inch sheathed, the stretch burning sweet. ‘Use your words, Yujin.’ Her thighs tremble. ‘My—my cunt.’ ‘Good girl.’ You sink deeper, the thick ridge of your cockhead massaging her front wall, that spongy patch of nerves that makes her sob. Her cervix yields, soft and pliant, as you bottom out, hips flush against hers. Her cunt clenches, a vice of slick muscle, and you swear, forehead dropping to her shoulder. ‘You’re gonna milk me dry—’ ‘Move,’ she demands, her ankles locking behind your back. ‘Move or I’ll—’ ‘You’ll what?’ You pull out almost completely, leaving just the tip seated, her clit rubbing against your shaft. ‘Beg?’ She keens, back arching, breasts pressed to your chest. ‘Yes—yes, god, please—’ You snap your hips forward, sheathing yourself in one brutal thrust. Her scream is muffled by your palm as you clamp it over her mouth, your other hand sliding between you to circle her clit. ‘Quiet,’ you growl, grinding deep. ‘You’ll take it. All of it.’ Her cunt ripples around you, fluttering in erratic pulses, her clit swollen and pebbled beneath your thumb. You fuck her with shallow, punishing rolls of your hips, each stroke dragging your cockhead over that sweet spot, her thighs shaking, her breath coming in ragged, choked gasps. ‘Look at me,’ you snarl, removing your hand from her mouth. She obeys, eyes glassy, lips bitten raw. ‘Whose cunt is this?’ ‘Yours—’ ‘And whose cock?’ ‘Mine—’ You slam into her, hilt-deep, your balls slapping her ass. ‘Louder—’ ‘MINE—’

The word cracks through the room, ragged and raw, and you reward it by slamming into her hilt-deep, your pelvis grinding against her clit as you still inside her. Her cunt clenches, a vice of slick heat, and you hiss through your teeth, your grip bruising on her hips. ‘Again,’ you demand, pulling out until only the swollen head of your cock remains lodged in her entrance. Her inner lips cling to you, reluctant to let go. She whines, back arching off the bed. ‘Yours—your cunt, your everything—’ You thrust back in, slow, savoring the way her walls ripple to accommodate you. ‘And what do you want?’ 'You,’ she gasps, nails carving half-moons into your shoulders. ‘Inside me—claiming me—’ 'How?' You drag your cockhead over that spongy patch of nerves again, deliberate, watching her thighs quake. 'Cum,' she begs, tears streaking her temples. 'Fill me—mark me—' You still, your hand sliding up to grip her throat—not restricting air, just owning. 'Ask nicely.' Her breath hitches. 'Please—please, I need it—need you to paint my insides white, need to feel it—' A dark thrill curls in your gut. You lean down, lips brushing hers. 'Since you asked so sweetly.' You start a brutal, precise rhythm—deep, grinding thrusts that punch the air from her lungs. Each snap of your hips drags her clit against the base of your cock, each retreat leaves her clenching around nothing. Her cunt weeps, arousal slicking your shaft, the obscene slap of skin on skin echoing off the walls. 'Look at me,' you snarl, tightening your grip on her throat. Her eyes fly open, hazy but obedient. 'You take me so well,' you murmur, your free hand sliding between you to circle her throbbing clit. 'This greedy cunt—my greedy cunt—sucking me in like you were made for it.'

She sobs, her walls fluttering. 'Yours—always yours—'

'Prove it.' You pin her wrists above her head with one hand, your other still working her clit. 'Come. Now.'

Her orgasm rips through her violently—back arched, cunt spasming, a scream tearing from her throat as she soaks your cock. You ride it out, fucking her through the pulses, your thrusts turning jagged, erratic.

'Mine,' you growl, feeling your balls tighten. 'Say it—say it—'

'Yours—god, yours—'

You slam into her one last time, hilt-deep, and hold. Your release surges—thick, hot ropes of cum flooding her cervix, painting her walls in stripes of white. She whimpers, oversensitive but greedy, her cunt milking every drop as you grind your hips in slow, possessive circles.

'Take it,' you grit out, watching her stomach quiver with the force of your spend. 'All of it.'

She nods, dazed, her thighs trembling around your waist. You collapse atop her, still buried inside, your lips finding the sweat-damp hollow of her throat.

—

Yujin’s lashes flutter against your chest, and there’s a moment where she seems to wrestle with something—embarrassment, vulnerability—but it dissolves when she feels your fingers tracing gentle circles against her back. She shifts, propping herself up just enough to look at you, her eyes dark and soft and entirely too honest.

‘You know,’ she whispers, voice almost shy, ‘I used to dream about this. You and me, like this. Just… here.’

‘Here?’ You brush a damp strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. ‘In bed, sweaty and gross?’

A soft laugh escapes her, warm and tender. ‘Yeah. Exactly this.’ Her fingertips graze your jaw, light as the touch of a memory. ‘I’d think about waking up to you, about how it’d feel to fall asleep in your arms. It’s stupid, I know—’

‘Not stupid,’ you murmur, cutting her off with a kiss—soft, lingering, like you’re trying to pour every unspoken word into it. ‘Never stupid.’

Her gaze softens even further, and she buries her face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent like it’s something she needs to breathe. You feel her lips press against your pulse, a delicate kiss that sends warmth flooding through you.

‘I don’t want to let you go,’ she confesses, voice muffled. ‘Not tonight. Not ever.’

‘Then don’t.’ You trail your fingers up and down her spine, feeling the subtle curve of her back beneath your touch. ‘Hold on to me. I’m not going anywhere.’

She shifts, looping her arms around your neck, pressing her body flush against yours. The contact is warm, grounding, and you let yourself sink into it, let yourself feel the weight of her, the steady thrum of her heartbeat against your chest.

‘You’re too good at this,’ she mumbles, the faintest hint of a pout in her voice. ‘Making me feel safe. Like I belong here.’

You tighten your hold on her, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. ‘You do belong here. With me. Always.’

Her breath shudders, and you feel her fingers clutch at your shoulders, like she’s afraid you might slip away. You press another kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek, each touch softer than the last.

‘Yujin,’ you whisper, and she looks up at you, eyes wide and glistening. ‘There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.’

She smiles—a real, unguarded smile—and you feel the weight of it settle in your chest. She lifts herself up just enough to press a kiss to your lips, lingering, tender, unhurried. It’s a kiss that feels like a promise, like something that doesn’t need words to be understood.

When she pulls back, her face is flushed, her expression open and raw. ‘I love you,’ she says softly, the words so simple, so devastatingly sincere.

You cup her face, thumb brushing over her cheek. ‘I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.’

She settles against you, fitting herself into the curve of your body, her head resting against your chest. You stroke her hair, feeling the tension melt from her frame as she presses one last kiss to your heart.

The room is warm and heavy with the scent of you both, with the quiet weight of something real and unbreakable. You feel her breathing slow, her body growing heavy with sleep, and you let your own eyes drift shut, content to let the world narrow to the steady rise and fall of her breath.

And then—nothing. Just the two of you tangled together, warmth and closeness and the certainty that this, right here, is home.

—

a/n: Experimenting yet again. Hopefully the last sex scene wasn't too mortifying. But I really enjoyed writing this—Yujin's personality meshes really well with with the dialogue I was aiming to do (hopefully I succeeded). This was a half-finished draft that I managed to finish (through merging other drafts, other idols, et cetera et cetera), and now I don't have a single draft remaining; sooo... I don't know how this fares for the next fic (hopefully not too long..... haha..heh..he).

a/n 2: Much love for all the support: they never go unnoticed!!! <3333333

[mrfoox]

Kinda love that almost all my friends have some sort of theme when I dream about them

Roo: weird/intense shit happens but he always gets me out of the situation and takes charge

Fabian: we literally just go camping. Or go on car rides. Things are calm, we are in nature, all is well

Oliver: he sleeps. I may put a blanket on him. Or I bring him something to eat

Magnus: he's just doing the usual, doing a lil dance, wearing odd hats, smiling a lot

[daeniradraconis]

Age Is Just a Number…Right? - Luke Hughes

Summary: Luke. Age gap. Jack being a menace as usual, making sure you're not getting away that easy. Warning: Implied sexual situations, mature language, flirtation, age gap (6 years)

Note: Hey, lovelies! So, originally, this fic was all about Macklin Celebrini and Will Smith, but then I realized—Will is 19, and honestly, he’s just a baby to me. Even if he said he loves older woman. Boy go back to kinder garden. (Sorry Will, love you, I promise!) So, I decided to swap in the Hughes boys instead. I’ve gotta be honest, it gave me a bit of a headache. Now, this started as a quick, short fic. I swear, I had every intention of keeping it short. But, well… 7048 words later, here we are. I got hit with a ton of ideas and feelings, and the story just kind of... grew on me. You’ll probably notice the tone/style shifts halfway through, and I’m definitely sorry for that!

But hey, I hope you all enjoy it despite the wild ride! ❤️ For more fun: masterlist

The first thing you notice is warmth.

A heavy arm draped over your waist. The steady rise and fall of breath against the back of your neck. The scent of clean laundry, cologne, and something distinctly him clinging to the pillow beside you.

The second thing you notice—you are not in your own bed.

Your stomach flips as your brain reboots, sluggishly piecing together fragments of last night.

The blind date.

Luke.

His charming smile. The way his chestnut curls fell into his eyes when he laughed. The way he leaned in when you spoke, like you were the only person in the room. The teasing brush of his fingers against yours when he reached for his drink. The electricity that crackled between you when you finally caved—when he kissed you outside the bar, his hands firm at your waist, his body pressing into yours like he couldn’t help himself.

And then… more.

Your face burns as memory after memory floods in. His hands, his mouth, the way he whispered your name like it meant something.

Nope. Not thinking about that.

Carefully, you shift beneath the covers, untangling yourself from his hold. Luke stirs but doesn’t wake, his arm slipping away as you ease yourself upright.

That’s when it really hits you.

He looks so young.

His chestnut curls are a mess, his lips slightly parted, his entire face softened in sleep. He looks… peaceful. Innocent, almost.

A strange unease settles in your stomach.

Your gaze flickers around the unfamiliar room. It’s nice but lived-in—hockey gear shoved into the corner, a few discarded clothes on a chair. Your eyes land on the nightstand, where his wallet sits slightly open.

You don’t mean to snoop. You really don’t.

But something about last night nags at you.

Just a quick peek. Just to make sure.

Fingers trembling, you reach for it, flip it open.

And your heart stops.

Luke Hughes. Age: 21.

Twenty fucking one.

As in, young enough to still pull all-nighters for fun. As in, could still be in college.

And you? You are twenty-seven.

Oh. My. God.

Your hands fly to your phone as you furiously type out a message to your friend.

"WHAT THE HELL?! YOU SET ME UP WITH A 21-YEAR-OLD. I AM A GROWN WOMAN. I PAY FOR MY OWN HEALTH INSURANCE."

No response.

Coward.

Panic thrums in your veins as you stare at Luke—still peacefully asleep, completely unaware that you are having a full-blown identity crisis in his bed.

You need to leave. Now.

Right?

But for some reason, you hesitate.

Because Luke… Luke is the first guy in a long time who actually made you interested. Who made you laugh so hard you snorted into your drink. Who listened—really listened—when you talked, instead of just waiting for his turn to speak. And, well. The man or more like a boy, had managed to get you to orgasm. Twice!

Which, considering your track record, felt almost miraculous.

Your past partners had barely managed to get you there once—if at all.

And now you’re just supposed to sneak out of here like it never happened? Like he was just another bad decision?

Your stomach twists.

But then you glance at the wallet again. Twenty-one.

Yeah. You need to go.

Sliding out of bed as silently as possible, you scan the room for your clothes. Your shirt is on the floor, your jeans halfway under the bed. You grab them quickly, yanking them on with the precision of someone defusing a bomb. Bra? Found. Socks? One is missing, but you’ll live.

Once fully dressed, you tiptoe to the door. Your shoes. They’re outside the room. You remember kicking them off in the hallway.

One deep breath.

You ease the door open, peeking into the dimly lit living room.

Empty.

Good.

You take two careful steps out, eyes locked on your shoes near the front door. Almost there. Just a few more—

“Busted.”

You scream.

Not a blood-curdling horror movie scream, but a very real, very startled yelp that absolutely does not help you maintain any dignity in this situation.

Your body jolts like you’ve just been electrocuted, arms flailing wildly as you spin toward the voice.

There, sprawled across the couch, is a guy watching you like this is the best morning of his life.

Tall. Ridiculously handsome. Light brown hair, messy in a way that suggests he just woke up. Sharp cheekbones. Blue eyes filled with pure mischief.

And a smirk so unbearably smug that you immediately want to punch it off his face.

You clutch your chest, heart racing. “Jesus Christ, who the hell are you?!”

The guy grins wider. “Damn. Didn’t even recognize me? That hurts.”

“Am I supposed to?”You blink, still catching your breath.

His smirk falters for half a second before returning full force. “Oh, that’s good. That’s really good.” He tilts his head, studying you like you’re some kind of rare specimen. “You actually have no idea who I am, do you?”

“Why the hell would I?” Your frown deepens.

He lets out a dramatic sigh, like this is somehow the greatest tragedy to ever befall him.

“You’re telling me,” he starts, sitting up slightly, resting his arms on his knees, fully entertained, “that you came home with my brother, slept with him, and have no idea who we are?”

Your stomach drops.

Brother?

You knew Luke had brothers—he mentioned it—but you had no idea they were famous.

Your eyes flick toward the bedroom, then back to him. “You’re—wait, you’re one of Luke’s brothers?”

He snorts. “Wow. No recognition at all. That is humbling.”

“Should I recognize you?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugs, mock-offended, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I guess I’m only one of the most famous people in this city.”

You blink, a little thrown off. “…You’re a local weatherman?”

He chokes, eyes widening. “A what?!”

“You’re acting like I should know you,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t keep up with the news, but you definitely have the vibe of a guy who points at maps for a living.”

He definitely doesn’t. If anything, he looks more like a kooky stripper with an annoyingly fit body. But there’s no way you’re feeding his ego—this idiot would probably take it as a compliment.

For a split second, he just stares at you, his mouth hanging slightly open.

Then, as if the tension snaps, he howls—full-body laughter, throwing his head back and wiping a fake tear from his eye.

“Oh my God,” he wheezes, clutching his stomach. “This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

You cross your arms, trying to mask the irritation bubbling up. “Glad I could contribute to your morning entertainment.”

“No, you don’t get it,” he says between gasps for air, leaning forward with an infectious grin. “This is amazing. Incredible. I live for moments like this.”

You raise an eyebrow, your patience wearing thin. “Moments like what?” you snap, unable to hide the rising edge in your voice. Honestly, you’re just relieved Luke didn’t inherit Jack’s over-the-top, obnoxious personality. If he had, you probably would’ve bailed on this blind date five minutes in.

“Moments where I get to witness something so spectacularly awkward, so painfully embarrassing, that it will sustain me for weeks.”

You glare at him with pure annoyance. “I hate you already.”

He clutches his chest dramatically. “Ouch. That wounds me.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Oh, no doubt.” He smirks, and for a moment, it almost reminds you of Luke—though the two brothers couldn’t look more different. But that same confidante smile? It’s unmistakable. “Especially since I now have the upper hand in every conversation we ever have from here on out.”

“We’re never having another conversation after this!” You try to sound firm, but your voice cracks, betraying you.

He just grins wider, shaking his head like he’s heard that before. “That’s what you think.”

You exhale sharply, fed up with the entire exchange. “Look, I’m leaving. Forget you ever saw me.”

“Not a chance.” He leans back against the couch, thoroughly amused. “You’re trying to sneak out of my baby brother’s room like a damn criminal. This is gold.”

You scowl again. “I’m not sneaking out.” You fumble with your shoes, trying to get them on while defending yourself. Luckily, the hallway and living room are one open space, making your escape a bit less awkward.

“You literally just tiptoed past me like you’re starring in Mission Impossible.”

You groan. "I was trying not to wake him up." Rolling your eyes, you keep wrestling with your damn laces—of all times to betray you, it had to be now. Frustration bubbles up as you huff, "I need to go."

Jack cocks an eyebrow. "Why?"

You freeze mid-motion, exhaling hard through your nose. "...Just because."

"That's not an answer." His arms fold across his chest, his gaze pressing into you like he’s daring you to crack.

Your stomach twists. Heat rises to your face. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to give him the satisfaction—but the words rip out anyway.

“Because I just found out I slept with a 21-year-old, okay?! I’m 27. That’s a six-year difference! That’s a whole presidential term and a little extra! That’s a—”

You stop, realizing how ridiculous it sounds now that you're saying it.

Jack stares at you, blinking. There’s a long silence before you speak again, but his expression shows no understanding of the mental chaos you’re in.

You sigh and tug at your hair in frustration. “I wasn’t expecting this. I thought maybe he was older, and now… I just don’t know how to feel.”

Jack, for the first time, softens his teasing expression. But it’s clear he doesn’t quite get what you’re saying.

“Well,” he shrugs casually, “you’re still not leaving. You’re stuck here until Luke wakes up.”

“No, I’m not.” You shake your head, stubborn.

“Yes, you are!”

Before you can argue, you hear movement from the bedroom.

“Jack, why are you yelling?”

Shit.

You freeze.

Jack just grins wider.

You turn, and there he is—Luke, standing in the hallway, shirtless, hair an absolute mess, looking at you with adorable confusion.

Jack smirks. “Oh, you know. Just chatting with your date about how she was totally about to dip.”

“Wait. You’re leaving?” Luke’s voice is a mix of confusion and hurt, and suddenly, you feel a wave of guilt wash over you.

You shift awkwardly, caught in the middle of it all. “I just… didn’t want to wake you.”

Jack snickers. “Translation: she found out you’re barely legal and panicked.”

Luke’s eyes flick to his nightstand, where his wallet still sits open.

“…Wait. Is this about my age?" He sounds confused—adorably so. Too adorably.

You open your mouth, but Jack is already cackling.

“Oh, it absolutely is,” Jack says, shaking his head. “She took one look at that ID and nearly had a full-blown existential crisis.”

Your face flushes deep red. Jesus, you really can’t stand that blue-eyed bastard.

Luke blinks, then sighs, clearly frustrated a little bit. “So, last night was… amazing, but now it’s a problem because I’m 21?”

You shift uneasily. “It’s not a problem, exactly. It’s just…”

Jack grins mischievously. “Hilarious?”

You glare at him, a mix of embarrassment and irritation burning through you. “Not the word I was going for.”

Luke tilts his head, watching you closely. “Did it feel weird last night?”

Your face instantly flames. “LUKE.”

Jack cackles. “Ohhh my God, this is so good.”

Luke shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m just saying. You didn’t seem to mind my age when you were begging for—”

You lunge at him, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

Jack, leaning in with barely contained joy, grins wider. “Oh, no, let’s hear it! This is the best! I live for this shit.”

You whip around, shooting daggers. “Do you really have to be here?”

Jack places a hand over his chest, feigning innocence. "Of course I do. I’m just the clueless bystander, watching your meltdown. It’s my duty as a brother. How else am I supposed to tease Lukey later?"

Luke licks his lips, glancing between you and Jack. “Wait… so you’re really freaking out over this?”

You sigh, your frustration starting to boil over. "I just… didn’t realize you were so young."

Jack snickers from the side, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh, no, I think she’s just overthinking it. But hey, it’s cute.”

Luke shoots him a glare. “Jack.”

Jack raises his hands, completely unbothered. “I’m just here to state the obvious.”

You groan, feeling a headache start to form at the base of your skull. "Can I just… go? Please?" The words come out sharper than you mean, but you’re too tired to care.

Luke looks at you, his gaze softening with that same sleepy affection from last night. You almost hate how it makes your chest ache. "You really want to leave?"

You pause for a long moment, considering.

And truthfully?

No.

You don’t.

Last night wasn’t just a fling—it was Luke.

Luke, who had you laughing through dinner, making you feel like you were the only person in the world. He treated you like you were someone worth admiring, someone worth cherishing. And when he kissed you, it felt like the first rainstorm after a drought, washing away everything but the two of you.

And now he’s standing there, messy-haired and sleepy-eyed, looking at you like he’s trying to figure out what’s going through your mind.

Jack, sensing the shift, leans back dramatically. “Ohhh, she’s thinking about it.”

You glare. “Shut up, Jack.”

Jack smirks like a little kid in the candy shop. “Nope.”

Luke lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing his face with both hands, his puppy like eyes softening as he looks at you. "Alright," he mutters, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Let me make you breakfast before you decide I’m too young to function."

Jack perks up from the couch. “Oh, hell yeah. Stay. Luke makes a mean omelet.”

Luke shoots Jack a teasing glare, his eyes rolling in exasperation as he half-smirks. "Why are you even involved in this?" he says, clearly annoyed but with a playful edge, like he can’t decide if he should laugh or strangle his brother.

Jack shrugs dramatically. “Because I live for chaos.”

You hesitate for a moment, staring at Luke as you battle the urge to stay or run.

“…Fine. One omelet.”

Jack fist-pumps the air. “YES.”

Luke grins like he’s already won. “Good. Because I was going to make you stay anyway.”

—

You don’t know how you ended up here.

One second, you were committed to sneaking out like a thief in the night. The next?

You’re standing in Luke Hughes’ kitchen, watching him move around with annoying ease, pulling eggs and cheese out of the fridge like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Jack, of course, is sitting at the kitchen island, grinning like the mischievous idiot he is.

“You look tense,” he observes, propping his chin in his hand and resting his elbows on his knees. “Regretting staying already?”

You shoot him a withering look. “I regret a lot of things. Letting you talk this morning is at the top of the list.”

Jack gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “Ouch. And here I was, being such a warm and welcoming host.”

You roll your eyes. “You ambushed me.”

Jack shrugs casually, sipping his coffee. “Semantics.”

Luke, bless him, doesn’t engage. He simply smirks to himself as he cracks an egg into a pan, clearly used to Jack’s shenanigans. “Jack, are you actually gonna eat, or are you just here to be annoying?”

“Oh, I ate already. I’m just here for the show.”

You narrow your eyes at him, a smirk playing at the corner of your mouth. “Seriously, what’s your deal? You get some kind of thrill out of torturing me?”

He’s an asshole, but damn, he’s the kind of asshole that almost makes you laugh.

Jack flashes a devilish grin, clearly enjoying the chaos he's creating. "You're sharp. I like that. Smart women are way more fun to mess with." He leans back, arms crossed, his eyes twinkling with mischief as if he's already plotting his next move.

Luke huffs a laugh, the sound full of fond exasperation. He rolls his eyes, his messy hair falling into his face as he nudges Jack with his shoulder. “Just ignore him. He thrives on being a menace,” he says, shaking his head, but you can tell he's not actually mad.

Jack grins even wider, clearly proud of himself. “Yep. It’s what I do best,” he says, puffing out his chest like he’s just announced some kind of grand achievement.

You rest your elbows on the table, watching as Luke flips an omelet with impressive skill. “Okay, I’ll bite—how did you get so good at this?”

“Gotta learn some life skills when you live with Jack. Otherwise, you starve." He shoots his brother a pointed look, one that’s half annoyance, half fondness.

Jack scoffs, dramatically pressing a hand to his chest like he’s been wronged. "That’s unfair. I provide entertainment." His voice is teasing, but there’s a clear twinkle in his eye.

Luke snorts, barely stifling a laugh. "Entertainment doesn’t make up for the fact that you once tried to microwave a frozen pizza."

Your head snaps up at that, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. "I’m sorry, what?"

Jack groans, cheeks flushing with a rare hint of embarrassment. "It was one time, and the oven took too long!" he mutters defensively, but you can see the red creeping up his neck.

Luke smirks, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he gestures vaguely toward the stove. "You almost burned the apartment down," he points out, no trace of sympathy in his voice.

Jack waves a dismissive hand. "That’s an exaggeration," he says, clearly attempting to downplay the incident, but his voice betrays the tiniest hint of guilt.

Luke shoots you a sly look, his eyes dancing with amusement as he leans in, like he’s about to let you in on a secret. “The microwave was smoking,” he adds, his voice dropping low, the tone almost playful—like he’s about to drop some juicy gossip.

Your jaw drops in disbelief. "Oh my God."

Luke, clearly pleased with the chaos he’s caused, gestures at Jack with the spatula like he’s just won some kind of victory. "See? This is why I learned how to cook."

Jack grins wide, unbothered. "And I get to reap the benefits, so really, we both win," he says with a cheeky shrug, as if his utter lack of skill somehow balances out Luke’s culinary expertise.

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. "I don’t know how you put up with him."

Luke smirks,"It’s a daily struggle," he says, voice deadpan, but the small curve of his lips gives away the amusement he’s trying to hide.

Jack grins, shaking his head slightly. “Oh, the betrayal. I’m crushed,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, though the smirk gives him away.

Luke just rolls his eyes and slides the finished omelet onto a plate before setting it down in front of you.

You look down at it, genuinely impressed by how perfect it looks. Then, you glance back at Luke, a little taken aback. "Not gonna lie… this looks really good."

Luke’s grin widens, his eyes briefly locking with yours, the kind of connection that makes the moment feel charged. "Told you."

You pick up your fork, still a little skeptical, and take a bite. Holy hell.

Your eyes go wide in surprise. "Oh my God. This is actually amazing."

Jack leans in, looking smug...again. "See? I wasn’t lying." He gives you a little wink, clearly basking in the moment like he’s somehow been proven right.

Luke smirks, pleased by the compliment. “I take my breakfast very seriously.”

“Clearly. This might be the best decision I’ve made today.” You shake your head, chewing.

Jack gasps dramatically. “Wow. So staying was a better decision than leaving?”

You pause, realizing what you just admitted.

Jack grins like he’s just scored a win, and for a second, you seriously consider wiping that smug look off his face.

Luke’s smile, however, is filled with pure happiness, as if this moment is exactly what he’s been waiting for.

You sigh, stabbing your omelet. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

Jack beams. “Absolutely not.”

Luke leans closer, his voice suddenly lower, more intimate. “I mean, I’m glad you stayed. It’s not every day I get a pretty girl in my kitchen, making my morning way more interesting.”

You freeze, fork halfway to your mouth. His words hang in the air, electric.

“Oh, so now I’m ‘pretty,’ huh?” you tease, trying to maintain your composure, though your heart skips a beat.

Luke raises an eyebrow, a slow, confident smile curling on his lips. “Oh, I thought that was obvious.” His gaze flickers down to your lips, his voice dropping even lower. “You’ve been keeping me on my toes since I woke up.”

Your cheeks warm, but you force yourself to look away, focusing on your omelet. “Flattery won’t make me forget about you being 21.”

Luke’s grin widens, and he leans in a little closer, lowering his voice just enough that only you can hear. “Maybe not. But I think it’s a pretty good start.”

Jack, completely oblivious to the flirtation unfolding right under his nose, leans back on the kitchen island with a self-satisfied grin. “God, I can’t believe I’m witnessing this. I thought I was supposed to be the one who charmed the ladies.”

Luke snorts, rolling his eyes at his brother but keeping his focus on you. “Jack’s the type to talk about it. I’m the type to show it.”

Your breath catches in your throat. That was smooth. Really smooth.

You take another bite of your omelet, trying to hide the smile spreading across your face. “You sure you don’t just want me to stay for the food?”

Luke leans back, his gaze softening as he gently takes your left hand in his, his thumb slowly tracing circles over your knuckles. “I mean… if that’s your only reason for sticking around, I won’t complain,” he murmurs, a playful yet tender smile curving his lips. “But I like to think I’ve got more to offer than just my cooking skills.”

His words, along with the warmth in his eyes, wash over you like a wave, pulling you in deeper. You lock eyes with him, your breath catching as your pulse quickens. There’s something in the way he’s looking at you, something that makes it impossible to think straight.

Then Jack clears his throat loudly, and you break the spell, feeling a little embarrassed.

“Alright, alright,” Jack says, clearly enjoying the discomfort he’s just caused. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone so you can finish your breakfast in peace. No need to make me a third wheel.”

You roll your eyes, but Luke doesn’t seem to mind. He just shrugs, unfazed.

“Good idea. Go entertain yourself, Jack.”

Jack winks. “Don’t mind if I do.” He stands up and heads for the door, adding, “You two just make sure to keep it PG—some of us don’t need to see that much chemistry before our coffee kicks in.”

You watch as Jack exits, still grinning like the mischievous brat he is.

As the door clicks behind Jack, the quiet of the kitchen settles in, leaving just you and Luke alone, the lingering tension between you two impossible to ignore. Luke shifts, his hands still resting on your hands as he pulls you gently into his lap. Your heart beats a little faster at the sudden closeness, but you refuse to let the thrill of it distract you from the conversation you know needs to happen.

You take a deep breath, looking up into his eyes—eyes that are soft but hold that familiar spark of mischief, the kind that makes it hard to think straight. He tilts his head slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he runs his thumb over your hand, tracing slow circles. The warmth of his touch makes your breath hitch, but you bite your lip, determined to have this talk.

“Luke,” you start, your voice softer than you intended, “We need to talk about last night. About... us.”

Luke's expression changes, the playful gleam fading into something more intense. He doesn’t pull away, though. Instead, he tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and his voice drops an octave. “I thought we were past talking. I thought we were just... enjoying each other.”

His words make your pulse quicken, but you hold firm. You need to address this.

“I’m serious,” you say, your voice steady, though your chest betrays you with its nervous flutter. “I need to know where this is going, Luke. You’re 21, I’m 27. That’s a six-year difference. I’ve been through more in my life. I want a family soon. I want stability. Not... something fleeting.”

Luke’s gaze darkens, and his thumb continues its slow, soothing motion over your skin, but there’s a new intensity in his eyes. He’s quiet for a moment, absorbing your words. The air feels thick with unspoken thoughts, the weight of what you’ve just said hanging between you.

“You think I don’t want the same things?” he asks, his voice steady but with a sharp edge, not defensive—more... thoughtful. “I’m not some kid just looking for a fling. I’ve thought this through. I’m looking for something real. I’ve spent too much time in meaningless situations to want that anymore. I went to our date because I was looking for something serious. And my friend told me you’d be looking for the same thing.”

He lets your words settle, his eyes never leaving yours. “After spending the night talking with you, I felt like I wasn’t just talking to someone who’s interesting—I felt like I was talking to someone who gets it. Someone who’s looking for the same kind of connection. I’m not here for something that’ll fizzle out in a few weeks. I’m here because... I think you might be the person I’ve been waiting for.”

His words hit you in a way you weren’t prepared for. You’re caught off guard, unsure how to respond, but something stirs inside you. Something warm, something you didn’t expect. You can feel the truth of what he’s saying in your chest, and for the first time, you start to question the assumptions you’d made.

“Yeah, but you’re still figuring things out,” you say, your voice shaky now, a trace of worry creeping in. “You’re just starting out in life. Maybe you don’t want the same kind of commitment I do. I need someone who’s already ready to settle down.”

Luke doesn’t hesitate. His fingers slide up to your jaw, his touch firm but tender, like he’s grounding you to the moment. His gaze holds yours, no longer playful, but filled with something deeper. Something real.

“I’m ready for that,” he murmurs, his voice soft but full of conviction. “I know what I want. And I want you. If you’re worried about my age, let me show you I’m more than just a number.”

His words are almost a whisper, but there’s a quiet confidence in them that sends a thrill through you. His lips are so close now, you can feel his breath on your skin as he leans in, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m not asking for a lifetime yet, but I’m asking for the chance to prove myself. To prove that I’m capable of giving you the kind of future you want.”

You close your eyes, your breath catching in your throat. He’s not backing down, and the sincerity in his words leaves you no room to doubt him. But still, you can’t help but voice the doubts that swirl in your mind.

“I don’t want to get hurt, Luke,” you whisper, finally letting yourself admit the fear you’ve been pushing down. “I’ve been through enough heartache. And if you don’t want the same things I do, if you’re not ready for it... I don’t know if I can take that risk.”

Luke leans in just a little more, his lips brushing against your cheek before he pulls back slightly, his hands cradling your face. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth of his skin, the steadiness of his gaze. “I’m ready for you. Ready for everything that comes with it,” he says, his voice resolute. “I wouldn’t be here, sitting with you like this, if I wasn’t.”

You search his eyes for any sign of hesitation, but there’s none. What you see instead is determination—an unspoken promise that, for all his age, he knows what he wants and is willing to fight for it.

The air between you two shifts, the quiet between you no longer heavy with doubt, but filled with something new. Something that makes your pulse race.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Then show me.”

At that, his lips crash against yours, the kiss deep and slow, filled with all the unspoken things you’ve both been dancing around. His hands slide to your back, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. Your hands find their way to his curls, tugging him in as if you can’t get close enough. The world around you fades away—there’s only the feeling of his mouth against yours, the pressure of his body against yours, the shared certainty that whatever this is, it’s more than just physical.

When you finally pull away, both breathless, Luke grins, his forehead resting against yours. 

Luke leans back a little bit, his eyes gleaming with that mischievous glint as he watches you, a teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You know," he says casually, his voice thick with satisfaction, "I have to admit... I’ve never had a night quite like that. You really know how to use that beautiful mouth of yours."

You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? What do you mean?"

Luke shifts a little closer, his grin widening. "Well, I’ve had my fair share of nights, but... last night? You...You were next level. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to be that blown away."

You feel your cheeks flush, a mix of embarrassment and flattery. "Really? Well, I kinda feel the same. I’ve never... finished two times in one night."

Luke’s eyes narrow in surprise. "What?! Baby, that wasn’t even that much. I think we can go for four or five next time." He winks, his tone playful, but there's a hint of challenge in his voice.

You laugh, trying to hide the blush creeping up your neck. "Is that so? You really think you can keep up?"

Luke smirks, leaning in just a little closer, his voice low and confident. "Oh, I’m definitely up for the challenge. You just wait."

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing smile forming on your lips. "Maybe this whole 'young boyfriend' thing isn’t such a bad idea after all... Good stamina and all that."

Luke grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Told ya!" He leans in, planting a series of quick, soft kisses across your face and neck, each one sending a delightful shiver through your skin. You can't help but laugh at his actions, brushing your nose against his cheek as your giggles mix with his gentle kisses.

Just as you're starting to recover from his playful assault, a voice slices through the moment like an ice-cold splash of water.

"Can you drop the sex talk, guys?" Jack's voice rings out from the kitchen doorway, dripping with disgust but clearly amused by the whole situation. "I didn’t need to know this much about my little brother."

You freeze, eyes wide, before you turn to Luke, who looks utterly unfazed, that smug, victorious grin plastered across his face. It’s as if he’s just won some kind of prize, and he's wearing it like a badge of honor.

Embarrassment creeps up your neck, but before you can even process the awkwardness, you find yourself laughing. The tension dissolves in the shared amusement of the moment. Luke just shrugs casually, looking way too pleased with himself.

"Relax, Jack. It’s called maturity," you reply with a wink, and Luke chuckles, pressing another kiss to your cheek.

Jack groans dramatically, rolling his eyes. "You two are gross. And seriously, for the future, we need some rules. These walls are way too thin. I do not need to hear you two in action. Thank God I wasn’t home yesterday."

You let out a horrified gasp, hiding your face in Luke’s neck. "Jesus, Jack," you mumble, half laughing, half mortified.

Luke just keeps laughing, clearly entertained by the situation. "You heard nothing. Just a couple of adults figuring things out," he teases.

Jack mutters something under his breath before calling out with a playful, exaggerated gag. "God, I need to vomit. You two are so disgusting."

"Guess this means you're sticking around, huh?" Luke whispers against your mouth, his voice low and warm, sending another wave of heat through you.

You nod, content, leaning into him with a soft smile. "Guess so," you murmur, brushing your lips against his in return.

Jack, clearly fed up with the display, huffs dramatically and walks away with an exaggerated sigh. "You two are the worst."

As he exits, you look up at Luke, feeling that warmth in your chest—the comfort, the excitement, all mixed together. You can get used to mornings like this, even if it means dealing with Jack’s teasing. Or, you think with a smirk, maybe you’ll just strangle him in his sleep. Problem solved.

Luke catches the glint in your eye and chuckles, clearly knowing exactly what you’re thinking.

“Careful,” he says with a playful smirk, “I’d hate to lose my new favourite person just because you can’t handle my brother.”

You laugh, pulling him in for one last kiss.

Part 2

[rmbunnie]

I see so much of "is post-crisis Robin Jason an innocent little sweetie-pie or a mean aggro delinquent" and after reading through all of his batman and detective comic issues post-crisis I think i can safely say he's... an introverted and distrustful, but altogether friendly teen boy who has convinced himself to the deepest level that he is an Adult Man, and also does not hold a particularly good view of adults.

The sweet little babypie characterization falls a little short (assuming we aren't being too silly with it, there's plenty of that in the comedy issues of tec) because it disregards the part where he's a jaded teenager who is constantly going off and trying to take care of his own problems like "his own man" and reacts negatively to any breach of trust or move to take care of him. But negative doesn't mean "violent and rageful." The delinquent angle is incorrect because not only is his disposition peppy, silly, and agreeable most of the time, but assuming the problem upsetting him isn't a predator or the guy who killed his dad (and three out of four canon instances it is a predator to be clear) he reacts to emotional turmoil with Bruce by bedrotting, sulking, communicating through notes, and overall being avoidant. The only times he lashes out are when Bruce is calling him out or after Bruce told him to his face that he chose to look for the Joker over looking for him, and that case of "lashing out" is just getting a little snarky.

More than anything his main personality trait (besides being silly, a robin staple) is kinda coming into this parentified as fuck. Not that it's Catherine's fault, but it really shaped his character, like one of the first things he says to Bruce (after he promised not to turn Jason in to the foster system) is that he kept her fed and warm as long as he could like he wasn't her ten year old child when he started. It's why he views himself on the same level as adults and why he gets all closed off at any insinuation that he needs to be taken care of, both of which heavily inform his dynamic with Bruce. He's constantly checking in on Bruce's wellbeing, like half of Batman: the Cult is just him taking care of Bruce while he recuperates from being brainwashed. (Side note, he's also constantly asking Bruce stuff like "what's your relationship like with this woman or this rogue or the concept of religion, how did that play out, how do you feel about it?" he is Very chatty like that.) The first thing he does when Sheila tells him her (revised to exclude medical malpractice) life story is hold HER and try to affirm her struggle. After a while he starts to act more childish with Bruce (although he doesn't really stop trying to brush off attempts to care for him) but as soon as Bruce admits he prioritized crimefighting over Jason and didn't show up to look after Jason like Jason assumed he came there for, Jason snaps back to acting very independent and rejecting any attempts to be looked after on any terms other than some kind of "equals" thing, which he isn't, as he's a 15 year old boy. Like. He's very sweet to his former neighbor, but also he refers to being a homeless child and the sole provider in his condemned building living situation as "getting by" to her.

He's definitely not. some bloodthirsty delinquent, at least to anyone who's not an uber-misogynistic predator, and he like demonstrably is a pretty sweet kid. It's just that when people say he's a sweet kid they kinda just jump to "untraumatized eight-year-old who grew up in a loving family and just got a new puppy from Santa" instead of "good hearted and curious teenager who has trust issues and is deeply uncomfortable with being taken care of, so kinda just compromises by pretending his dad is a Friend Doing him a Solid and acts like his kid only when he has plausible deniability so he can't get the rug pulled out from under him." Of course. He does kinda get the rug pulled out from under him despite all that. So there's that.

[lostinlovingrevery]

Somnolent

Trilogy! Logan X F! Reader

A/N: I started writing this while half asleep last night so if there's some parts that seem odd. No there ain't...

Plot: Logan comes back home to you late at night...

Warnings: SMUT, 18+! MDNI, sleepy sex, unprotected PiV, creampie, light cockwarming at the end (watch out for UTIs), fingering, there's some fluff too!

Word Count: 2497

The mansion late at night was always a bit unsettling.

The halls usually filled with kids and teenagers, chatting, laughing, and running about, were empty and quiet. Lights throughout the school dimmed to a lower level, making the halls and most rooms shadowy and dark. It didn’t mean everyone was asleep, but for the most part, the school was tucked in.

Logan quietly stepped inside. He has come back from a solo mission, something to do with getting some info regarding a young mutant that has taken up cage fighting and using the advantage of their powers to win fights. 

Sounds eerily familiar. 

Except for the young part. 

Charles thought Logan would be perfect for the job, considering he had a “career” cage fighting even though Logan insisted that no, it wasn’t a career it was just a way to make some money. Nonetheless, considering Logan had agreed to stay at the mansion and help out after some…various incidents, he told Charles he’ll see what he can do. 

Kid was just some misled youth, believing he was some freak of society and ran away from home. Logan wasn’t really good at helping people through life crisis- considering he was in his own. Gave him some honest advice, and in the end kid ended up deciding to go back home to his parents. Job well done. He did invite him to join the school- purely because Charles told him to offer the invitation, but he declined. One thing at a time.

Hearing the sound of the tv playing, he peeked inside to see the same boy as usual - who claims he doesn’t sleep, watching tv, flipping channels with the blink of his eyes.

“TVs gonna rot your mind bub,” Logan mutters as he watches the channels flip through. 

“Nuh uh.” He mutters. 

“Couldn’t you just read a book?” 

“I read in the day.” He says. He blinks again, and an old cartoon is playing, which Logan recognizes to be ‘The Flintstones’. The boy settled deeper in the couch, seemingly satisfied by the channel he was watching. He scoffed, a grin coming across his face as he shook his head, turning back to go towards the stairs. The wooden steps creaked under his weight as he walked up the stairs. 

There was one thing that had been on his mind the entire time he was gone. The sweet little thing that has really become the sole reason he decided to stay- although he hasn’t told you that yet. 

He stopped at the door that belonged to your bedroom. Cracking it open silently as he peered inside, and he could make out your sleeping figure under the sheets. Stepping inside, he dropped his bag to the floor silently and closed the door behind him. He walked around the bed, his eyes not leaving you as he got closer. 

You were sleeping peacefully on your back, one arm resting across your stomach, the other, folded behind your head, which was turned to the side- facing him. Your hair was messy, your lips slightly parted and your breathing was slow and even. 

You looked beautiful, so peaceful. Different from your usual chaotic self when you are awake. Part of the reason why you grew on him so much. You knew how to push his buttons, but you also knew how to calm him down (Especially when Scott gets on his nerves). You’d been his grounding force since the first day he showed up. 

He leaned over her, his arm bracing himself above you, resting on the headboard as he took in your features. For a long while, he’d been lost in himself. No memories of who he was, or what had happened to him so many years ago that haunts him in his nightmares. Through a series of unfortunate events, he got to discover what happened to him- and you held his hand the entire time. 

Stirring, you slowly opened your eyes, blinking a few times at first being unsure of what you were looking at until Logan’s face came into view. You smiled sleepily, 

“Lo.” 

“Hey baby.” He greets coos. It was then how it occurred to him, how lucky he felt to be able to have you to come home too. Home?

“Mm..” You groaned, stretching your arms above your bed, arching your back in a big stretch. 

“Hm, someone's sleepy.” 

You nodded, closing your eyes with your arms folded behind your head. Logan's eyes lingered downwards, noticing the strappy nightie you were sporting. “What time is it?”

“Late.” He says, his hand coming down to gently pull the blanket from you, exposing the upper half of your body to him, and he felt himself getting hard. The nightie you were wearing, a cotton white, with lace along the hem of the collar, a sweetheart neckline that perfectly accented your breasts. The nightie you had on wasn’t particularly sexy, but Logan was pent up. He’s had to use his hand, getting himself off to the thought of you nearly every night since he’d been gone. 

“How was your trip?” You asked, your voice pitched higher due to your sleepy state, a small yawn escaping you. He looked down at you with half-lidded eyes, 

“Fine. I missed you.” He mutters, leaning down to bury his face in the crook of your neck. Sounds of your sleepy mirth made him smile, and he began to press kisses over your shoulder. 

“I missed you too.” 

“Course ya did.” he mutters, and your hand smacked his, eliciting a warm chuckle from him. His hand came up, fingers hooking under the strap of your nightie, sliding it down your shoulder, as he pressed kisses downwards towards your chest. “This is a cute lil thing you got on bub. New?”

“Bought it for you.” You hummed. He sat up, looking down at you with a grin, and you were looking up at him with a sleepy smile. 

“That so?”

You nodded slowly, closing your eyes again, struggling to stay awake. He felt his dick twitch, watching your dozy form attempt to stay awake for him. He chewed on his lip, before returning to press kisses over the top of your chest again. One of your hands came up to curl into his hair, encouraging him to keep going. His lips pressed in the space between your breasts. 

“Baby, can I show you how much I missed you?” He asks, his voice low- tittering into begging. He looked up, watching your reaction and you nodded. 

He excitedly stood up, shedding his jacket- dropping the leather to the ground, and kicking off his boots before his hands came to unbuckle his belt, and unzip his pants. He pushed your comforter off, and you spread your legs for him, as he eagerly climbs onto the bed between them. He didn’t even bother taking his clothes off, as his lips met yours. 

He kissed you languidly, as you attempted to return the effort, but being half asleep as you were- it was fairly messy. He chuckled against your lips, nipping at them gently. “Someone sure is tired.”

“Uh uh.” You shook your head, brows creasing angrily with a small pout- but your eyes, shut tiredly, fought against your denial.

“Don’t worry about it bub, just enjoy the ride, I’ll take care of you. Show you how much I missed ya.” He purrs, pressing soft kisses to your cheek and back down to your neck. He nipped and sucked at your neck, creating small purple bruises, as his hand trailed down your side, lifting the hem of your pretty nightie up and his fingers traced your inner thigh, before reaching your folds. “Hm, no panties. Dirty girl.” 

“Mm. I did that for you. In case you came back.” You mutter. 

“You spoil me doll.” He mutters, leaning to press open mouth kisses along your jawline, up to your chin, as his fingers began to circle your clit, gathering wetness on them, as he rubbed you and opened you up. You took a sharp breath, as you felt pleasure begin to envelope you. You brought your hands up to your pillow, softly gripping them as you bit your lip. His fingers traced down your folds, reaching to your hole, and he carefully slid one finger inside you. “So tight baby, gotta open up for me.” 

Your hips lifted involuntarily as he began working you open, stroking his finger in and out of you, curling it to hit that sweet spot inside of you that made you moan, and your grip on your pillows tighten. 

“Lo-” You whined, 

“Shh, I know.” He hushed, pressing a kiss to your pouty lips. He slid another finger inside, moving them inside and out in a thrusting motion, before scissoring them open inside you, stretching you open and you gasped. 

“Lo,” You moaned again tipping your head to the side. He grunted, pulling his fingers out and sitting up. He pushed his jeans down, his hard cock came out, popping against his stomach, with dribbles of pre-cum rolling down it. He took himself in his hand, lubing himself up with your arousal and his pre-cum together as he stroked himself. 

“Fuck, hadn’t stopped thinking about you all week baby.” He groaned. 

Your relationship, while still new - had been nothing but passion, and trust. You and Logan just seemed to get each other without having to say a word. Communication wasn’t Logans forte, never was as he began to realize as memories of his long life slowly come back to him. A random scent triggers back to something distant, his childhood home. A song that reminds him of his time in the 70’s, with a woman who led him to become like his now, long since dead and gone. A sound of a low flying plane, reminding him of the wars he’d been apart of. It was a lot- the mind can only remember so much. You always were patient with him though, talked him through everything. He’s addicted to you.

Climbing forward, he pushed your thighs wider,  and lifted the skirt of your nightie to your belly, exposing your lower half to him. He felt saliva filling his mouth, the urge to taste you crawling up his spine, but his cock throbbed painfully and he decided that eating you out like you were a rare delicacy was going to happen later. He leaned over you, an arm braced by your head, his free hand pressing the tip of his cock into your hole, slowly pushing inside- a loud hiss escaping him at how tight you felt. 

“Mm!” You moaned biting your lip, you turned your head to the other side. You were still half asleep, aware of what was happening, but your sleepy state made all the pleasure Logan was giving you 10 times more intense, as you drifted in and out of falling asleep and waking up again. Your body felt limp, Logan resting over you keeping you warm like a blanket. If you hadn’t been talking to him first- you would’ve thought this was a dream.  A very wet dream.

He continued moving deep inside until he bottomed out, and he buried his face into your neck, his arms moving to wrap around you and hold you while he fucked you. His pace was slow at first, pulling out almost to the tip, before pushing back in - molding space for his cock inside you.

Your arms lazily wrapped around his neck, one hand burying into his thick curls, as you bit your lip, small whines escaping you with each thrust. You felt incredibly relaxed, being surrounded by him- his voice cooing in your ears, his scent overwhelming your nose, his cock stretching you open so wonderfully. Hitting that spot his fingers were rubbing just moments ago. You brought your legs higher up, wrapping them around his waist- desperately wanting him to stay buried deep inside you as he thrusted slowly. Being around Logan felt nothing but safe, which was something you’d always yearned for. Safety in your life, due to living in a world that hated who you were. 

Harsh pants escaped Logan, his hot breath on your neck as he began to thrust faster, he wrapped his arms around your waist, your hands burying into his hair. 

“Goddamn baby- you feel so good. So fucking good.” He groaned. He was rutting into you, barely pulling out. “So damn wet and tight- you’re all for me aren’t ya?”

You whined, desperately nodding your head as he kept hitting that spot inside you over and over. Your nails dug into his scalp, pulled at his hair, making him moan- then pain of your nails scratching him spurring him on as he began to go faster, his hips slamming into your thighs, lewd wet noises filling the room. 

“Logan-” You whined tipping your head back onto your pillow. He grunted, pressing his forehead into your shoulder. 

“Fuck.” He hissed. “Cmon baby, cum for me. I need you to cum- please-” He whined. Your legs were trembling, his deep thrusts leaving your body to start going numb. “You’re all mine, you know that? All fucking mine-” 

The tight thread pooling in your lower tummy snapped, as waves of pleasure shook your body, wetness splashing onto him, effectively soaking the both of you. You whined his name, arching your back towards him, and he bit down on your neck, thrusting inside you once more, before he let out a loud- very loud, cry of pleasure, panting as he came deep inside you, his warm cum painting your walls, so much of it that it begins to spill out of your hole, still stuffed with him. 

He collapsed against you, his cheek pressed against your chest, a small bit of drool escaping him as he recovered from the waves of euphoria that was still crashing through him. You body went limp, legs unwrapping from his waist, hands falling to either side of your head. 

“Fuck.” He hissed. “See what you do to me bub?” He slowly pushes himself up. Leaning forward to press his lips over yours. You hummed in response. He brushed some hair out of your face, pressing another kiss to your lips. “Lets get some sleep.” He mutters and you nodded. 

He started to pull out of you, but you whined. “Stay in.” You say. He chuckled. 

“You sure?” 

“Mm.” 

“Alright.” He wrapped his arm over your waist, turning to his back and bringing you with him, lying on his chest. “Comfortable?”

“Mm.” You nodded, now more sleepy than ever in your post-coitus haze. He pulled the comforter over the both of you, his hand softly scratching up and down your back, his other hand resting on your hip. Your cheek pressed to his chest. “Lo?” You mumbled. 

“Yeah?”

“You’re mine too, right?” You asks, you were drifting off to sleep, your voice barely a whisper, but he understood you.  

He smiled. “Yeah sweetheart. I’m all yours.” 

[velocesainz]

Hii!

Could you possibly do a Percy Jackson smut with Percy fucking the brat out of reader, his rival? Rough sex with degrading and praise pls and ty 🫶🏼🫶🏼

A/n:This was quite an interesting request for me to write, thank you for the idea! All character have been aged up (19-20)

More than rivalry

Percy jackson masterlist | Main masterlist |

Summary: Percy gets jealous seeing you (his rival) with another boy and decides to fuck you to make sure you remember that you are his but you end up being too cocky for his liking

Warnings: smut, degradation

Pairing: Percy x daughter of Zeus! Reader

Reader pov:

I was practising my archery skills with some Apollo kids and we were actually having a lot of fun

Over the time I had spent Robert over the past few days perfecting my archery we both really grew close together

He was one of the very few people at camp who were actually friends with me for me and not because I was Zeus’s daughter.

While we were training I clumsily fell over a rock and was about to go crash into the ground but Robert caught me in time.

We stayed in the position for a little bit not knowing what to do.

We looked at each other with soft and gentle eyes, like how friends would rather than people who like each other though it seemed otherwise to most.

It was a sweet moment we both were trying to savour when a bellowing voice split us apart

“Oi thunder witch! What are you doing, let the poor guy out of his misery and do some practising on your own yea?” Yelled the voice that I really didn’t want to hear right now

Percy motherfucking Jackson

“Ocean ass how about you go bother someone else. He’s here with me at his own will for your kind information. Care more about your friends yea?” I retorted

I wanted to leave the arena as fast as possible so I bid Robert goodbye and left for my cabin

Percy pov:

Crisis averted.

I didn’t let Robert and y/n have their moment.

Why the fuck out of all the girls here does Robert have to go for y/n?

He has like a hundred girls dying for him.

Doesn’t he know she’s mine?

I know we seem like enemies but I wish to fuck like every second of the day at this point

She’s just so beautiful and that attitude damn.

I had a plan to get y/n away from every other guy, not just Robert.

Reader pov:

I was sitting in my cabin reading a book when I heard a knock on my door

That’s odd, I thought

Nobody was usually free at this hour in the evening

Everyone was too busy scheming for capture the flag except me of course

I wasn’t allowed to participate along with Percy since we were a tad bit overpowered

I walked over and opened the door and before I could figure out who it was they shoved me against the wall and started kissing me

I pushed the figure away and tried to run but they caught me

“Don’t try to run bitch. You need to be taught a lesson. Now be a good little slut and listen to what I say or the consequences will be severe for you” the figure whispered in my ear.

Then I realised who it was

Percy.

I was feeling cocky today so I decided to tease him a little

“You sure you can be intimidating and dominating seaweed brain? I don’t think you can even satisfy me forget punishing me”I replied with a smirk gracing my features

“Oh you asked for this whore. By the time I’m done with you you will be so dumb for my cock that you won’t even remember your name. Just you wait “ he said in a Husky voice which turned me on more than I would like to admit

He started removing my clothes as fast as he could and I couldn’t help but sneak in a cheeky comment

“Desperate are we?” Boy oh boy was this a bad decision

“I’m going to fuck that cocky attitude right out of you. You really just can’t keep your mouth shut can you whore?” Percy said and threw me in my bed

Undressing himself he got on the bed and made his way towards me like a predator approaching its prey

He moved my panties to the side and roughly shoved his cock inside me without any warning

“A-ah p-p-Percy that hurts sto-“ I was cut off by a slap I received

“Shut the fuck up slut. You were the one who was acting all cocky just a few minutes ago. Bitches like you don’t deserve to be cared for” Percy panted as he continued thrusting in and out

His pace was ungodly. He kept thrusting in and out of me letting my pussy drink up his cock

I felt like I was losing my mind as he hit my g-spot repeatedly completely abusing it

“O-oh fuck your pussy is tight. G-gods I’m going to come. Ah yea just like that” He whispered huskily

“I am going to cum too Percy” I told him

“No no. You don’t get to cum you little slut. You’ve been a really back whore for me. You don’t get to cum today, deal with it yourself” Percy said as he came in me

He got dressed quickly and left leaving me a panting and unsatisfied mess

Goddamit jackson.

A/n: let me know if you guys liked this fic or if you have any feedback! Requests are still on hold unfortunately but they’ll be opened soon. Kissies ✨

[bluedosjaykewon]

🥹✨Enhypen as Dads✨🥹

Fluffy, only lots and lots of suggar

Heeseung

Making everyone very sad (I know we would all like to see Heeseung being a “girl dad”, I would love it too) but I see Hee being father of two boys (about 3 or 4 years apart)

I honestly think he would be so happy with that since he grew up with his brother too so he wants to provide a childhood as cool as his children was

He is 100% the type of father "don't tell your mother"

"Don't tell your mother we drank soda at dawn"

"Don't tell your mother we stayed up playing video games until 4 in the morning"

"Don't tell your mother I took you to Burger King after school"

Etc etc

I also can see you scolding your son and he saying "hey honey but he didn't do anything wrong" and you just look at him and automatically he turns around and says “VERY BAD KID THIS IS VERY VERY BAD”

What can he do???? He's the good cop

I think Hee would be the kind of father who would be very supportive of his children, especially if they want to pursue a career in music, but I think he would be very wise to tell his children that it's a very exhausting life and full of very complicated obstacles

His oldest son is definitely his best friend (he lives to make this boy feel proud of him)

His youngest son is his baby

As Heeseung is the youngest children in his family I think he sees himself in his baby boy so is that the reason why he’s always very emotional about the youngest

He wants to be the cool and laid-back father to his youngest son while he wants to be the loyal friend of his oldest

I can really imagine him taking his oldest son for a drive at night to clear his head

Speaking of cars, these 3 always go on a fishing trip every month IT'S A TRADITION

His youngest son doesn't like fishing that much but he loves spending time with his father and brother so he goes anyway🥹

His children always come back covered in mosquito bites because Heeseung always forgets his insect repellent home, but they come back smiling and happy so it doesn't matter.

Jay

Ok, let's go

Jay is a couple father, DOES EVERYONE AGREE?????

He has an older daughter, who he raised with all the love, affection, care and protection and will always take care of her because she is his princess.

And he has a younger son that is his best bro forever (maybe 6 years between the children?)

I imagine that his daughter must have been so jealous of her brother when he was born

I can see them at 16 and 10 years old, having a Disney Chanel sibling dynamic, who live to make each other's lives hell, are fighting 100% of the time but deep down love each other deeply

He and his youngest son are quite a duo

They have a garage band together🥹🫶🏼

Jay taught him to play guitar but the boy's passion is the drums

I imagine that he is much closer to his older daughter, but he doesn't know how to deal very well with his daughter growing up and no longer depending on him.

So he spends all the time he can with his youngest because when the youngest grows up it's over for him

Jay loves to keep his kids entertained so he would be up for anything

“Daddy, are we going to the Taylor Swift concert?”

“Sure, my love.”

“Daddy, can we go to the skate park?”

“We’ll leave in a few minutes, okay? Just let daddy finish this first”

Btw, he supports everything his children want to do

I swear his children have already taken every course and private lesson that exists on the earth

Jay will enroll them in and out of anything they want

Because he wants his children to be happy and he grew up with a family that gave him so much support that I believe he will do the same

Btw, the family tradition is take the childrens to see baseball games

In fact, Jay had a huge existential crisis when his daughter started not wanting to go to the games🥹

He started remembering her when she was little with a t-shirt and a cap that was too big for her, sitting on his shoulders and watching the game🥹🥹🥹🥹

Poor man, he collapsed

Jake

I imagine him being such a calm and relaxed father, you know?

I think he would be such a relaxed father.

His relationship with his children is based on trust, affection and love 100% of the time.

I don't think he smothers his children or wants to be with them 100% of the time.

Of course he is a present father, but I think he respects his children's time a lot.

But let’s go, he has 3 children.

2 older boys and a younger girl (about 2 years apart from each child?)

Oh, how this man was in heaven when these children were born.

Jake loves being a father, I think he considers it his favorite profession.

And he is simply so delicate with his children, his tone of voice is always soft and loving, he touches them as if they were made of porcelain.

He loves taking them to the park, riding his bike with them and stopping for ice cream afterwards, or taking them to the pool, spending the whole day at the water park and then stopping at the McDonald’s🥹🥹🥹🥹

God, he loves his little 4-year-old girl, he’s an idiot for her (she gets whatever she wants, he’s her personal butler)

You see him walking around with weird hairstyles and stickers on his face quite often (he’s a regular at the 4pm tea party with his daughter and her bunny every Wednesday)

But he’s so incredibly in love with his 8 and 6-year-old boys

I can imagine them playing with lots of Hot Wheels tracks lol (and Jake taking it so seriously)

They build a lot of Lego together too, God, his kids have BOXES AND BOXES of Lego of every possible and imaginable type

He’s the kind of father who dances with his daughter dressed as a prince and gives her flowers so she gets used to receiving love early on so he doesn’t worry about future relationships

At the same time, he’s an example of such a good man for your children

Your children are so in love with your relationship🥹♥️

I imagine the 3 of you being so close, they are brothers who truly love each other unconditionally because the only reference they have is love, love and more love♥️😭

Sunghoon

OKAY LISTEN…

Two girls

NOBODY WILL PROVE ME OTHERWISE

He has two girls who are about 3 years apart from each other

His oldest is like “🎀✨💕DADDYS GIRL💕✨🎀” and his youngest is more like “💋✨⛸️DADDYS GIRL⛸️✨💋” if you can understand me

Like the oldest is more “Daddy, can I use your card??? I need a new dress” and the youngest is more “Dad, I told you! You don’t have to buy me anything”

BTW

He is absolutely in love with them to an extreme level

They are his world, after they were born nothing else matters more to him than the happiness of his two little girls

He is a REALLY OVERPROTECTIVE FATHER

like really

He can’t be able to sleep if he knows that your girls are on a party or on a date

He just CAN’T

And you’re like “babe, cmon, let’s rest a little” and he will be like “I can’t sleep, y/d must call anytime”

Something he miss when the girls are little babies…

When they were little they cried for him to put them to sleep and sing to them😭♥️

And now his princess wanna buy short skirts and dance all night😭💔

His youngest really like to skating so they do it together sometimes

These two girls are the pinnacle of what a doting and protective father can do with a girl

But like I said he is protective

The day you came to him saying he was so cute like your oldest daughter had a boyfriend in kindergarten….

He went to the school to have a serious talk with a 5-year-old boy and his parents

Even today, more than 10 years later, he still has a grudge against the poor child who just held his little girl's hand

I can imagine your daughter going to say that she has something important to talk about and him saying "did you find out you're a lesbian and are you going to get rid of that idiot?😃"

and your daughter saying "no daddy" and he would reply with "are you absolutely sure you're not a lesbian?😃"

You think Jay would spoil his children but nothing is as good for the economy as Park Sunghoon, his daughters and his black card at the mall

You know that scene from Beverly Hills where the father asks what his daughter is wearing and she answers "Calvin Clain"

They have this energy

He takes them and picks them up from everywhere because he doesn't like his princesses to walk around alone and he doesn't want boys bringing home

Nothing in the world would break his heart more than seeing his daughters cry. He always makes a point of buying their favorite foods, giving them a cuddle and leaving a kiss on their heads when they are crying.

Now if it is because of some boy... God have mercy and may he not find out the address of that boy

Sunoo

He has two girls too, but they are twins.

He is over the moon with them.

Do you agree with me that they would wear matching outfits????😭😭😭😭

He knows ALL the Disney princess songs

ALL OF THEM.

He would be his daughters' best friend 100%. He gives his daughters a lot of space to talk to him about absolutely anything and everything, he is always very present and aware of everything that happens in the lives of his little gems.

One of them is really extroverted and shining just like him and the other is like “omg you two are making me feel embarrassed please stop”

But he is also very protective of them.

Not like Sunghoon, of course.

Dad Sunoo is like a mother lioness, he protects his children tooth and nail no matter what.

(Like the “PELA CRIANÇA EU DOU A MINHA VIDA GRAÇAS A DEUS!!!” meme)

If this man finds out that one of his daughters is being bullied at school... I feel so sorry for the principal of that institution because he will DESTROY her.

He also watches a lot of movies with his daughters, when he gets home from work and his girls have already come home from school, it's always the perfect time to order food and watch Korean dramas together

He would always be available for serious, intimate, or everyday conversations

I think he would be such an attentive father🥹🥹🥹 but at the same time he would have no patience at all

He seems to me like the kind of father who when his kid makes a fuss he leaves the child on the floor of the store crying, walks away and pretends he doesn't know her

I imagine him being very truly with his daughters too, like "are you going out like that? With those clothes???? No, you can't change that, it's not good, you're dressing like Sponge Bob"

He would be their safe place too

I can see him comforting them when they were crying about something, like them lying on his lap while he caresses them and says "it's okay, love, it'll pass, I already have your age too, it'll pass"

Jungwon

He has a son, a little boy

You are thinking about having another one, but he is always analyzing how you have such a comfortable life with only one child and that a second child would require you to give up some privileges, etc.

Obviously he would be up for more children if you wanted, he catches himself thinking about another baby often, but he always brings up this conversation at some point

But anyway, your little boy is around 5/6 years old????

I feel like Won is in a limbo between “being the cool dad” and “being the example of a responsible man that his son needs”

He demands a lot of himself as a father

whenever he gets home and sees that his son is already in bed sleeping and he didn't get him “good night kisses” he feels terrible😔😔😔 (I think you will have to reassure him several times a day that he is doing an excellent job)

I can imagine him like this:

“What's up, son? Boys' day today, huh? Let's go to the park, the movies, and then have ribs for dinner, what do you think????”

“What's up, buddy? How was school today?”

And your son LOOOOOOOVES HIM

Like that type of kids that say “MY DAD IS MY SUPERHERO” is really cute

Doesn’t help the fact that this kid has his father kitty bubble tea eyes😭✨

But he’s really shy when he’s not with you or Jungwon, like, your two are his best friends.

Jungwon is such a fun father🥹

Even if he comes home feeling sad, limping, anemic, fragile and inconsistent, he will take time to play with your son and this will charge his energy 100%.

Just like Jake, Won is the kind of father who lets his son do whatever he wants with him.

His son will stick stickers on his face, draw a mustache and a goatee with a marker, etc., etc., and he will stand there laughing at how cute his son is.

He loves taking naps with your son (he even went through a difficult time when your son stopped being afraid of sleeping alone and asked to sleep with you every night).

I think he would be such a responsible father. He would know how to say no to his child when necessary and would teach that there is a time and place for everything and that we should be polite and patient. 🥹♥️

Riki

Just like Won, I imagine that Kiki has 2 father skins: the fun-child father with a 4-year-old mentality and the extremely mature father who is aware of his activities as a father.

He fluctuates a lot between these two.

He is extremely responsible when it comes to his children, he can handle any situation on his own without any problems.

Btw, I can see him having a family just like his own (two girls and a middle boy🥹). They are like 10, 8 and 5 years old. 🥹🥹🥹

He and the older ones do so much messy together that I swear to God I don't know how your house is still standing.

They play a lot of running games until Kiki stops and says "Aaaaaah daddy's back isn't the same anymore."

Like I said, his older ones brought out his fun and agitated side, but his youngest is so calm and sweet that he can't be the childish father with her, he just wants to protect her from everything

(he also joins the team of daddys who let their little daughter do whatever she wants with him) this girl is almost always riding on her father's shoulders😭♥️

He is the biggest fan of his children, he is there for everything his children want to do

I can see his children so interested in his “idol” career and always with stars in their eyes when they see videos of enhypen's performances

But unlike Heeseung, I think Riki would be reluctant to let his children enter the world of stardom, especially young ones like him, I think he wouldn't want his children to go through as much as he did and he would be far away and imposing to do something...

His favorite pastime is taking his children to Disney, I swear to God they are at Tokyo Disney almost every weekend

I like to think he likes to hold his two oldest ones by the feet while his youngest is on his back and playing mechanical bull AJAKAKAKAKAKA

His kids feel so comfortable talking to him (he's not a very jealous dad either)

I also think that there’s moments that Riki just stops, look at his kids and says “wow” like “they’re real, I made them”

And I think he’s the “what your mom thinks about that?” Type of dad, like “bro, you know that mommy is the leader of this family go ask her”

[gaywineauntsstuff]

More headcanons bc I’m alone on new years

(Yes precrisis Dick became nightwing at 19 but too much shit happens and I mix timelines DONT YELL AT ME)

But I love the idea that Dick was just pint sized for all of his Robin run. Like he’s an acrobat we can fully utilize the fact he was mid waist sized for nearly every adult he interacted with until he was like 16-17.

Late bloomer Dick Grayson who can pass for 12 at 15

And then him and Bruce fight and Dick becomes nightwing and all that jazz

And finally FINALLY his growth spurt hits and he drops the baby fat and all that in like 4 months.

And then he becomes nightwing

And he went from like 4’0-4’10 during his whole Robin run and now he’s cresting at 6’0

And living with Wally means that the boy EATS SO MUCH VERY FAST bc u snooze you lose

So he packs on the pounds and skips that awkward gangly stage and all the adorable lil baby fat on his face is sacrificed to the puberty gods in exchange for a sharp jawline and sharper cheekbones

And the titans and the league don’t rlly get along in the early years so we can assume the only person from the league dick has seen or spoken to is Clark

And then they meet again

And the justice leagues BABY is now a like a full grown man

Like he’s GROWN

And Bruce is going through a crisis bc yeah he’s not dicks dad according to dick but he watched him grow up, he raised him?

He was there for every play, show, report card, every doctors appointment and his boy was so small

And now Dick his tiny little Robin is well he’s damn near Bruce’s height?

He somehow turned around and missed his boy becoming a man

He might not be Dicks dad but Dick is definitely his kid

And his kid isn’t a kid anymore?

And then there’s the voice??

Because sure nightwing jokes around all the time but in comparison to the lil bobbin Robin with his “HOLY ——- BATMAN” and his bad puns and his habit of bat-ifying literally everything in existence

But when he’s in charge?

Of a team?

When he’s given responsibility

Yeah no he’s calm, commanding and authoritative. He’s who everyone in the titans looks to for orders even if it means turning their back on the bat.

And yeah?

He’s proud, so so proud of the amazing man Dick grew into both because and despite of him.

But hes also in misery because he feels like he missed that. He wasn’t standing by Dick through that. How could he be when Dick is too hurt to call and Bruce is too scared to ruin things by calling?

Dick Grayson was always his greatest pride and joy, his biggest achievement and now… his boy doesn’t need him anymore

Then Jason comes back

And he’s bigger and meaner and angrier than all hell and Bruce wonders if he’s cursed to never watch his boys grow up.

(Thank god Tim refuses to get taller)

-I am working on a fic for this but I am a bad writer so if anyone has recs plz donations

[zhelin-thames]

Ghosts of the Past

prompt idea @silverblueglitter

The world was on the brink of destruction. A cosmic anomaly had begun tearing through the fabric of reality, threatening to unravel time and space. Despite their best efforts, the Justice League had found themselves helpless. Superman and Wonder Woman tried to contain the damage, while Batman and Martian Manhunter scoured the globe for a solution. Yet, nothing seemed to be enough. The end was imminent.

Desperation grew, and with it, the League decided on an unconventional plan. They would summon the Ghost King. But they didn’t fully understand what they were invoking.

In the ghostly realm, Danny Fenton—now the new Ghost King—was consumed by duties. He didn’t have time for the mortal world anymore. He was no longer a teenager who had barely learned to balance his life between his ghostly identity and his human side. The Ghost King was an entity of immense power, a ruler of spirits, a force beyond mortal comprehension.

When the Justice League’s call pierced the veil of his domain, Danny was torn. Part of him wanted to ignore the summons; after all, it wasn’t like they were family. But another part, the part that still held traces of his human self, responded anyway.

And so, he appeared on the Watchtower, a swirl of ectoplasmic mist, an ethereal being more ancient than any of the heroes before him.

“Who are you?” Wonder Woman’s voice was sharp, her sword drawn, ready to strike. She had never seen anything like this before.

“I’m the Ghost King,” Danny’s voice reverberated through the room, cold and powerful, as his glowing eyes scanned the League. “And you are in more trouble than you realize.”

Superman stepped forward, concern in his eyes. “We don’t have time for games. We need your help. The world—everything—could end if we don’t act now.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “You think summoning a ghost will fix a cosmic disaster? I’m not your standard superhero. But, I’ll bite. What’s the situation?”

As the League explained their predicament, Danny’s mind swirled with possibilities. He was no longer a kid, no longer the boy who struggled with his powers. But even he knew there were limits to what he could do. Still, he decided to help, and together, the League and the Ghost King devised a plan to stabilize the rift in reality.

Despite the tension between them, Danny worked alongside the heroes, using his ghostly powers to seal the breach. But something nagged at him. His father—John Constantine—wasn’t here. Not that Danny had expected him to be. John was always... distant. Even when Danny was younger, John’s visits were few and far between. He'd show up for a weekend now and then, a brief phone call on his birthday, but nothing that could be called a real presence in his son’s life. But now, as Danny stood with the Justice League, saving the world, he couldn’t help but wonder why his father hadn’t been a part of it.

The crisis was over, but Danny couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. The League celebrated, but Danny felt out of place, like an outsider in a world that wasn’t his own. The realization hit him hard—he had no one to turn to.

And that was when Batman and Jazz appeared.

Danny stood on the balcony of the Watchtower, looking down at the Earth below. Jazz stepped up beside him, her gaze soft but full of understanding. She had always been the level-headed one, the one who could read him without him saying a word.

“You did it, Danny,” she said, smiling. “The world’s saved, and you’re still standing.”

Danny gave a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, but it didn’t feel like a win. I’m not just a ghost anymore. I’m the King of the Dead.”

Batman’s voice cut through the moment. “You’re not just the Ghost King. You’re family.”

Danny looked at Batman, surprised by the rare softness in his tone. “Family? I’m not sure I have one of those.”

“You have more than you think,” Batman said. “Jazz is your sister, and we’re not going anywhere.”

Danny met Jazz’s gaze, his expression softening. She was right. He wasn’t alone.

But before he could speak, Batman continued, his voice steady but serious. “You saved the world, Danny. But your father should’ve been here. He’s a part of this too.”

Danny’s chest tightened. “I don’t need him,” he muttered, more to himself than to Batman. “I’ve made it this far on my own.”

“Danny—” Batman’s voice was firm. “You’re not alone. I know your relationship with John hasn’t been perfect, but you’re still his son. And you need him.”

Danny clenched his fists, the weight of the truth sinking in. “I haven’t needed him for a long time.”

“You deserve more than his occasional check-ins. You deserve something real.”

Jazz placed a hand on Danny’s shoulder, her eyes soft. “You’ve got us, Danny. And maybe... maybe it’s time to let him in.”

Days passed, and Danny found himself standing on a rooftop in Gotham City, gazing at the sprawling city below. His thoughts were clouded, full of questions about his life, his powers, and his father.

That was when he heard the all-too-familiar voice.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

Danny spun around to see John Constantine leaning casually against a chimney, cigarette in hand, his expression a mix of annoyance and concern.

“What are you doing here?” Danny asked, shocked but also relieved to see him.

John exhaled a puff of smoke. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? I’m not stupid. And neither are you.” His eyes softened. “I’ve been a terrible father, Danny. But I’m here now.”

Danny swallowed, his emotions warring within him. “You weren’t here before. You weren’t here when I needed you.”

John sighed, his eyes flicking away briefly before he met Danny’s gaze again. “I know, and I’m sorry for that. But I’m not going anywhere now. You’re not alone, kid. You never were.”

Danny’s voice cracked slightly. “I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

“You don’t have to,” John said, stepping closer. “I’m not asking for that. I’m just asking for a chance to be part of your life.”

Danny didn’t know what to say. All these years, he had convinced himself that he didn’t need John, that he could handle everything himself. But now, standing here, facing his father, something shifted inside him.

“Maybe I could get used to that,” Danny said quietly.

John smirked, flicking the cigarette away. “Good. And about that ‘Ghost King’ business...” He raised an eyebrow. “We’re going to need to have a long chat about that.”

Danny couldn’t help but smirk back. “I think I’ve got it under control.”

In the weeks that followed, things began to change. Danny had his duties as the Ghost King, but he no longer felt like he was facing them alone. John Constantine, though still as unpredictable as ever, made an effort to be present in Danny’s life. Their relationship was complicated, but it was real.

And with Jazz by his side, and Batman’s quiet but steady presence, Danny felt something he hadn’t in a long time: hope.

The Ghost King might have been a ruler of the dead, but he was no longer a king in isolation.

I am to lazy to explain how Jazz and Danny found out that B man is Her bio dad.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Luke hears Percy laughing and his heart breaks. For a moment, he sees not a twelve-year-old boy with thick black curls and bright sea-green eyes, but an energetic one-year-old baby in Penelope's arms - the hair on his head was just a light brown, like his mother's, fluff, and his eyes were very light of a soft shade like Anticlea's - the soft greens of very young spring grass.

He wants to come up to pick Percy up in his arms, throw him into the air several times and then hug him tightly, lost his nose against his nose, laugh merrily and say lovingly: "my boy." To hold him like a father holds his son, as he should have always done.

But he can't, he can't, he just can't, because that would be bad because Percy doesn't remember anything and it would scare him, Luke [Odysseus] nothing else in the world is more repulsive than his son's fear of him. Percy is only three steps away from him, but feels as far away as in Troy...

Percy grew up having strange dreams involving a woman who he called Mother but looked nothing like Mom, of men in their home that made Gabe look pleasant, of a father who came home late but loved him more than anything else on the planet.

He doesn't realize he's dreaming of the Odyssey until his 4th grade english teacher puts on the old movie for them to watch on the last day of school. He doesn't realize that his dreams might be something more until Mrs. Dodds attacks him two years later.

Percy who's Mom tells him that his father is lost at sea, and Percy thinking that he shouldn't have this much in common with his dream self.

Percy who only figures out that he might be a reincarnation when he learns the Greek Gods are real, after his mom disappears, after his entire life is upended so why not add an identity crisis too? Thank god that Luke, who looks and feels enough like Odysseus that Percy can trust him, is so attentive to him during that first week, who knows what would have happened if he didn't have someone looking after him.

[queerweirdness]

After being friends for long enough, Steve and Robin had managed to almost completely merge into one person. They shared a bed, a cover, a shower, two closets, and as of late, one gender.

Robin had never been the girliest girl in the world, so she didn't really question having the urge to dress more masculine. Steve however, had been the king of Hawkins high. He did sports, he acted tough, he got in fights, all the normal macho man things. After hanging around robin long enough, he realized that she wears her jeans so baggy and he wears his so tight that they could just share clothes. Her shirts always looked a little short on him, but he knew he was a bit of a slut.

She liked to say that he infected her with his ‘white boy ways’. He taught her how to shotgun beer, how to scale a tree then a roof so she could sneak into Nancy's. They both knew she could just walk in, Karen and Ted liked her enough to let her sleep over, but she liked the thrill of sneaking around, as well as randomly showing up and surprising Nancy. She started walking around his house in a sports bra, the closest to shirtless she felt comfortable walking around. She starts wearing backwards baseball caps. They stand on top of the quarry and throw rocks in together. Any time one makes a big splash they say “hell yeah” in unison. The first time they went to a party together he made her play beer pong and almost cried because of how proud he was when she won.

She in turn infected him with white girl ways. She gave him crop tops, she styled his hair more feminine, she converted him to using strawberry lip gloss instead of chapstick, and made him jump and dance to Madonna with her. What he didn't expect though was that he grew to like looking feminine. He let his hair grow out a little, cut the hems off some of his shirts so they were a bit cropped, wore short shorts in the summer, and eventually let robin paint his toenails since he always wore close toed shoes. It was a personal enjoyment, only for the two of them. 

One day he made a leap and asked her to do his makeup. They weren't going anywhere that day, just sitting around the house making fun of each other while her parents were on some anniversary vacation. He had let Nancy do his makeup once when they were together and secretly loved how it made him look. She of course agreed, practically dashing up the stairs and dragging him by the wrist. She sat him on the bed and wheeled over her makeup cart. She didn't do her makeup that often, just wore eyeliner most days, but she still had a fuckton of makeup for some reason. 

She made him lay back on the pillows while she straddled him. It wasn't that odd for them. They were always touching in some way, and always in each other's lap when they were able to be. He let her climb on top of him, a little nervous about getting his makeup done for some reason. He knew it was just some powder and lipstick, but it still gave his hands a slight shake. They talked casually as they did it, Robin explaining what everything was and what it was for. 

“Babe I love you and you know I don't mind you sitting on my lap but can you please scoot up a little? You're squishing my dick every time you lean in.” Robin immediately sat up and gave him the bitchiest look as she moved forward to balance her weight more on his hip bones.

“Please don't talk about your dick while I'm straddling you,” she laughed.

“Well next time don't sit directly on my dick,” he shot back. The way she repositioned herself was much better though. 

“Okay, time for the serious talk.”

“Oh shit. What's going on?”

“I’m having a bit of a crisis. I don’t really know what I'm feeling. I know I'm a guy. I've always known that. But sometimes.. I don't know, it's almost like I feel like a girl some days. And I know that sounds dumb. How can I only be a guy some days? That doesn’t make sense. But sometimes I get in my crop tops and tight jeans and I feel like a girl. And I love it. But I don't know what that means. Please help me.”

“I think I know what you mean. I feel like a boy sometimes. I feel so good walking around practically shirtless and acting like a guy with you. I thought I was the only one who felt that way. Some days it even feels like I'm neither. I’m just in some kind of middle space. I don’t know what it means either. But I'm glad to know I'm not alone in that feeling.”

“Do you ever not like your name? Sometimes on my, like, girl days I hate being called Steve. I like being around you and Eddie on those days because he calls me princess and sweetheart and all that shit. You call me Stevie or babe and I like it more than Steve. I also like being called all of that on my boy days too.”

“I'm okay with Robin most days but sometimes on my boy days I like Robbie more. Are you Steve or Stevie today?”

“Stevie, I think. I feel like a girl. Can you also use she on me? I think I might like that.”

“Yeah babe. I can call you she. I’m also a girl today. C’mon. Your makeup is done. Let's go look.”

They walk to the bathroom together and Stevie can feel herself sweating. She’s excited to see it but also terrified. When she finally sees herself in the mirror, she can’t stop smiling. Her cheeks and eyelids are dusted with a pretty pink color, and her lips are all glossy. Her eyelashes look ten times longer. She thinks it’s because of the mascara Robin put on her. She turns and scoops Robin into a bear hug, feeling tears well up in her eyes. 

“Stevie, if you cry off that makeup I will skin you in your sleep. C’mon I want to get a picture. She follows Robin back to the bedroom and sits on the bed while she waits for her to find her camera. Robin finds it after digging in her closet for a moment.

“Say cheese” Stevie is already smiling so hard she thinks her face might crack open. Once the picture prints, robin grabs a sharpie and writes ‘Stevie’s first makeup as a girl’ along with the date. She sticks it in her drawer along with all their other pictures.

[cherryblossompink303]

Patience: ~A Challenge from Lobelia Girls Academy!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: the host club gets a reaity check from an interesting group of visitors ➼ what to expect:  "I was sent to ouran for a reason, and...we're being patient, it's a lot easier to be patient here than it would be there" ➼ warnings: The zuka club, Tamaki's views on wlw ➼Part Eight | Part Ten

"I don't understand why I have to dress up as well Tamaki" while the ball gown you had been urged into was gorgeous you had to admit that it was not practical, the rare occasion that you would rather be in your uniform.

"For authenticity of course y/n if we are going for the more traditional European fairytale you would know first hand" Tamaki is failing at fastening his suit of armour, "Don't think I forgot that you grew up in France Tamaki I know that this is a ruse I just don't know what for..." You squint at him in skepticism.

"But you look so beautiful as princess" Tamaki starts crying, you roll your eyes "I thought our clients were meant to be the princesses" the last thing you needed to do was draw attention to yourself, it was the whole point of keeping your engagement to Kyoya a secret. "I'm inclined to agree with y/n, tamaki having her dress as a princess, while cute, may inspire rumors in our clients"

Cute? CUTE? You didn't think that the word was in Kyoya's vocabulary. "I'm just going to go change I don't need any client Jealousy it isn't good for the club" before you get the chance the move however the doors swing open, two girls that you do not recognise enter, which is when you remember that there were schools visiting for the cultural fair.

Snapping into host mode the other club members suddenly appear in position "Welcome ladies" Tamaki instantly taking on the knightly persona he has created for himself "Well, well, well, I see you ladies are from another school. I certainly hope we haven't startled you. We love first time guests"

Tamaki's eyes twinkle as he approaches the two girls "I'm glad you've come, princesses. My darlings even if the world were to be destroyed, I'd put my life on the line as your faithful knight and servant" The girls look less than impressed at Tamaki's 'chivarly'

"Oh my, do you you really think you'd be able to protect us?" One of them asks "That's awfully arrogant don't you agree?" Oh no. you could practically hear Tamaki breaking from across the room. "You think that's what a woman wants to hear? well you're wrong"

"Come on, give him a break, sister Suzuran, men are just lowly life forms who don't care about anything other than perpetuating their testosterone-laden image. By 'protecting' us he's actually attempting to disguise the fact that he is weak and unable of even protecting himself"

You and Kyoya exchange eye contact as if to question if they were being serious

"You're such a clever girl, Hinagiku"

Tamaki stands "Don't you think that's a little harsh?" You have to admit that Tamaki is keeping a much cooler head than expected, perhaps because the girls are strangers to him but you would have thought he would have had a crisis by now.

"Fine, then, what do women like you want to hear?"

A voice emits from far away, presumably from out in the hall "Maybe something like 'i would never leave my lover alone'" the next thing you know a third student appears with Haruhi in her arms "If we fight, it'll be together" she spins her "if we fail, we fail together"

"Even if I were to die, I promise you that I will never leave your side my love" She kisses Haruhi's than, you and the rest of the host club look on in shock, clear having missed a few pages. However it does kick off the crisis you were expecting off Tamaki.

"Benibara, we thought you'd never show"

"What are we going to do with you?"

"So tell me where you found this young lady"

"I just met her outside of the school" From the look on Haruhi's face you are willing to bet that 'met' isn't quite the right word."She may be dressed as a boy, but I knew the truth" while you were slightly surprised that the girls had put it together so quickly given that Haruhi can convincingly pass as a boy to the entire school you were also slightly cautious on how loud Benibara was announcing it in the hallway.

"She has so pretty, maidenly eyes" the way that she span haruhi around and dipped her strangely reminded you of tamaki "Uh, thanks, I guess" it soon progresses in all the girls fawning over Haruhi while the rest of you uncomfortably watch on.

"Wow her skin is incredibly soft"

"Isn't it though?"

"I think this ones going to be a diamond in the rough"

Tamaki has had enough, running to the girls "Don't go touching my Haruhi without asking my permission!" he is quickly rebuttled by benibara "Leaver her alone!" leaving Tamaki to crawl back to you "She punched me! Shes so violent!" he bursts into tears "Get ahold of yourself"

"Guess the rumours we heard are true, you guys are just a bunch of weak little punks with no sense between you" Kyoya finally gets a good look at them "Those uniforms, I assume you ladies are from the Lobelia Girl's academy?"

Benibara smirks "That is correct" the girls jump into a costume change and montage

"St Lobelia Academy, high school second year, Benio Amakusa"

"Second year student, Chizuru Maihara"

"First year student, Hinako Tsuwabuki"

"We are the members of the St Lobelia Academy's white lily league otherwise known as-"

"The Zuka Club!"

The host club doesn't really know what to make of it. The twins are the first to burst out laughing at the name "Oh man! What a name! The Zuka club? My stomach hurts"

"The Zuka Club! That's priceless"

"You shouldn't underestimate the zuka club!" Renge's cackling can be heard from far away as the whirring of the platform she uses to enter starts up once again. You roll your eyes "oh god"

"I may not know much about instant coffee, but I'm fascinated with girls schools. St Lobelia Academy. It is truly a woman's world there. The zuka club is a group of strong young maidens who consider women to be superior in every way. The club prides itself on it's 30 year history. It's a society of maidens, by maidens, for maidens. Zuka club activities include 'maiden tea parties' 'the maiden debate forum' but most importantly musical reviews performed by the society's top members"

In the time that it took for renge to finish rambling you had gotten the chance to slip out to change and return, as did Kyoya "You sure have a vast wealth of knowledge Renge"

"Well i've always admired St Lobelia's I just couldn't go to school there, though what would I do without any boys?" Renge disappeared quickly much to your relief. "A maiden's beauty, it means possessing a spirit pure enough to not give in to power or lust"

"As a girl, you, for a girl, you. We've had quite enough of all your oppressive male contempt for womankind"

"And our pride comes from having meaningful relationships based on equality, because we're the same sex. And yes, that include relationships of love"

"Yeah you tell them Benio"

"You're awesome Benibara"

While you were sat confused at the...certainly set beliefs of the girls the rest of the club had gotten bored, moving on quickly "Whatever, we're so over it"

"Why don't you gals just scram?"

"I find it hard to believe that you silly boys have nothing to say about our sublime female love" Chizuru speaks up.

You raise an eyebrow, turning to Kyoya who had moved to reading "Didn't she call the other one sister not five minutes ago?" the observation made him smirk, attempting to hold back a laugh.

"What is she even talking about?" one of the twins asks, continuing to ramble about their games "You should feel sorry for them hinagiku their patented host skills don't work on us. Now they're flusterest and don't know what to do with themselves"

"True. I must say I'm glad we decided to perform here. It was fun to sneak a peek at the notorious Ouran host club"

Honey turns to you "Are we really notorious?" you shrug "I suppose" while you will take any opportunity to call the host club out on something you did not like the seemingly high and mighty standpoint the zuka club was taking.

Benibara suddenly appears next to you, apparently only now noticing your presence "Oh? Another maiden? Tell me these pathetic men have not lured you in with their schemes" you had to resist the urge to burst out laughing at the view that Benibara had built up in her head "I'm not a client, trust me if anything they are victims to my schemes"

"What?" Kaoru looks up from the DS, resulting in you elbowing him to distract from the questioning. "You're not a 'client' of this so called host club? then pray tell why are you here?"

"She's my fiance" Your face fell at how nonchalant Kyoya was about revealing that fact to pretty much strangers, wanting to remind him that it is supposed to be a secret. You didn't even know why that was what he chose to reveal, he could have easily enough said that you were a club member. Perhaps it was to deter Benibara from treating you the same way as she had Haruhi.

"So they have lured you in, poor thing dragging you down with them, the both of you, the host club's president may be a petty little halfer, but he shouldn't be using his looks to create a fictitious romance! Attempting to fool the heart of a pure, young maiden is demeaning! Your so-called 'club activities' are nothing more than debasing macho fantasies"

"If I may butt in, these lot may be idiots but they aren't scheming to take advantage of women, the girls at this school are smart enough to know what a host club is in premise and know what they are entering into when they request a host. They aren't exactly luring the women in they come on their own accord" leaning back in your seat trying to picture what exactly they thought the host club was but coming up empty

"Oh you are in so deep, they have told you so many lies you've started to believe them to be true, and now they have entrapped you into an engagement! I promise you, we will bring this club down! The Ouran Host club will be abolished"

You raise an eyebrow, you think that the reaction is a bit dramatic until you remember they are literally theatre kids. "I see, I understand your concern, but do you think maybe we could finish this later?"

"Are you saying that you're not going to face us?" Benio asks "Not at all, it's just that our president is still bedridden from the initial culture shock"

"You see Tama-chan is having his nappy time right now"

"Wake him up!" Benio seethed "Excuse me. I made some coffee. Would you ladies like to have some?" the zuka club fawn over haruhi and her coffee, which seems to snap Tamaki from his nap.

"You girls have it all wrong! Don't you see there's nothing to be gained in a romantic relationship between women? If that were the case then why did god create adam and eve?" You put your head in your hands, praying that you heard Tamaki wrong, but knowing that you probably didn't, karma instantly faces him as he burns himself on coffee. "Hot! Hot! Hot!"

"You've gotta be more careful senpai" Haruhi kneels down to bandage him up. You turn to Kyoya "So at what point was I going to find out that you have been 'dragging me down with your lies'?" You laugh, Kyoya smirks, pushing up his glasses "Just wait until they find out our engagement was arranged"

"This little conversation doesn't seem to be going anywhere" Benio yanks you and Haruhi away from the hosts "Now that we know what's going on, we can't allow these maidens to stay here. We'll prepare their paperwork and have them transferred to Lobelia at once and we'll welcome them into the zuka club"

"Huh?!" You couldn't help but see the irony in the situation that they were accusing the host club of holding you and Haruhi captive yet also declare to steal you both to Lobelia without even asking.

"Hey, just wait a second, will ya? There seems to have been some misunderstandings here. I mean first of all you called senpai a 'halfer'"

"He is a halfer! He's half french half Japanese" Honey chimes in "Well, uh, anyway, I don't think it's fair for you to pick on the host club just because you don't think they have the same history as you do" you add.

"We barely have any history. We were just founded two years ago"

"Yeah the boss created it whenever he started highschool here"

"Be that as it may saying their club activities are only held to satisfy their appetites is just wrong, I mean it's not like the host club is charging their guests or anything"

You grimace at Haruhi's point knowing that Kyoya's going to correct her any second "While I wouldn't call it a charge, we do have a point system. We offer priority services based on the winning bids of auctions held on our website" You pinch the bridge of your nose,trying to point out to Kyoya that he was not helping Haruhi's point.

"Check this out Haruhi, your used mechanical pencil just sold with a winning bid of 30,000 yen. Good for you"

Haruhi rushes over to the laptop the two of you were stood next to "What?! But I thought I lost that pencil! Why didn't you tell me about this before Kyoya-senpai? I had no idea you were collecting money!"

"So you thought we were all just working here as volunteers? While it''s not much, because of the expense of organising events, we happen to make a small profit from the online auctions"

"You can't sell other people's things without asking permission! That's stealing!" The twins slide in at an attempt to diffuse the situation "It wasn't stealing. You dropped it on the floor" Haruhi looks furious.

Tamaki bursts out crying, rushing over "I'm sorry Haruhi! It's not like we were hiding it from you! Here you can have mind it's got a cute teddy bear on it" Haruhi rolls her eyes "Senpai I don't want your pencil"

"Well to make it up to you how about i do this? I'll tell you the secrets to my success and my fondest memories"

"Not to be rude senpai but I'm not really interested in that information" Tamaki goes to sulk in the corner at the reply, leading the zuka club to swoop in "Oh you poor dear, I can't believe they've been deceiving you"

"Why don't you two just dump these losers and come with us?"

You shoot Kyoya a glance questioning why they were so dedicated "I kinda have an attachment here so..." you could have sworn that in the corner of your eye you saw Kyoya smile. "Oh, well it has been a long day, we'll give you both some time to think about it. We'll come back for your answer tomorrow. Well then, adieu" The zuka club spin out the room.

Haruhi sends death glare to the rest of the club "I'd better be going I've got some thinking to do" She storms out leaving Tamaki wailing "Why did you have to tell her the truth? You just added fuel to the fire"

"Tamaki you shouldn't be mad she found out if you knew she was going to react like this" You point out, you weren't in charge of the auctions, that was Kyoya's side of things, you just assumed they were of photobooks not used pencils "The facts are the facts" Kyoya shrugs.

"Maybe we should've asked before we sold her pencil on the internet"

"Yeah, for all we know, it was a keepsake from her mother"

"Nah it was just a freebie they were giving out at the electronics store"

Tamaki finally calms down into a more forlorn expression "Gentlemen, just think about it. Haruhi may be basically indifferent, but if she had to choose, we know that she tends to favour men's clothing. And besides, when she first joined the host club, didn't she tell us 'being a host and getting fussed over by a bunch of girls might not be that bad' Why didn't I realise this before? Perhaps they would be a better match for Haruhi. Maybe she'd be better off with the Zuka club"

"I think you're reading way too much into this senpai, even if Haruhi is attracted to women that doesn't mean she's going to transfer schools to be with some strangers, her scholarship probably wouldn't even transfer over. She's just mad because you went behind her back" You cross your arms, confused on why Tamaki was being so dramatic.

"Haruhi is smart enough to pass the Lobelia scholarship test"

"And they have the money to pay off the 8 million yen debt she owes us"

"Haru-chan is going away?"

"She's perfect for a girl's school"

"What are we going to do?"

"Calm down, it'll be alright, listen to what I have to say. I have a secret plan." You face palm, knowing that they aren't going to see sense until Haruhi tells them directly. "Okay, whatever, you're going to go ahead and do it anyway why do I try?"

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"You're not considering transferring are you?" Kyoya asks while the two of you walk to his car that afternoon. "Huh?" the question catches you off guard, you thought it had been made clear earlier. "You seemed...frustrated earlier, you know that you aren't tied to ouran? if you really wanted to transfer to Lobelia a good point could be made to your father to allow you to transfer"

"I wasn't, I'm used to Tamaki's antics by now, besides I don't think it would be helpful" you reply, looking at all the displays for the exposition "Hm?"

"I was sent to ouran for a reason, and...we're being patient, it's a lot easier to be patient here than it would be there" You smile, entering the car.

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

You decided to walk into school with Haruhi this morning, not wanting to get unceremoniously swept up again, however you find the Zuka club waiting for you as you approach music room 3. "Hello young maidens"

"We've come for your decision. Are you prepared to leave?"

"We're ready to confront those ouran host club idiots and set things straight once and for all"

Haruhi raises an eyebrow "Set what straight?" Benibara slides over "That you should come with us and go to school with your own kind" she starts dragging the two of you off "She does know other girls attend here right?"

The host club is plunged into darkness as they open the door to the music room.

"Ouran!"

"Ouran!"

"Ouran!"

"Ouran!"

"Ouran!"

The lights flicker on to reveal the host club "Ouran! Host club welcomes you!" The sight stuns you and seemingly the rest of the girls, you had to admit when Tamaki said he had a plan this was the last thing you expected, the entire host club dressed up as princesses"

“Oh, Haruhi, y/n, welcome back.” Tamaki greets in a red ballgown with pink accents, almost a princess version of the knight costume he had been wearing the previous day.

Honey twirls to the front in a magenta gown, his blonde hair also done up with extensions and beyond garish makeup, “Look, y/n-chan! I’m a princess now! Aren’t I cute?!”

Benibara gasps in offense, “What is the meaning of this?! Are you trying to make fun of womankind?!” she demands. All the while, you’re still beyond confused.

“Make fun? No, that’s not it at all. Everything's going according to plan. Our strategy is guaranteed to make even a crying child smile. It's the freebie campaign!”

"Oh Tamaki" You shuffle away "You ladies have lived sheltered lives at Lobelia so you might not know that commoners are weak. They have a weakness for free things! Haruhi, you may be distracted by the Zuka club, but choose us and you gain not only a host club full of brothers but sisters as well! See, this way you can experience feminine bonding while staying in the host club"

"I am right here?" You point out, rolling your eyes through a laughter however, because you had to admit,this was entertaining to watch. "Isn't that a great idea? aren't I pretty?"

"We’re the Hitachiin Sisters! Which one of us is prettier?” They appear closer to you, fans covering their mouths.

“I’m just teasing you,” Hikaru whispers as Kaoru laughs haughtily.

“Listen, Haru-chan! You can call me Big Sis from now on.” Honey seems to be the least uncomfortable in his attire. Even Usa-chan is decorated with a red bow and bold lipstick.

“Why you! Do you idiots really think you can win her over like this? I’ve had enough of your fooling around!”

Finally, seemingly both of your exteriors crumble, and you burst into a fit of laughter. Not amused chuckles or snickers, but whole-hearted laughter at their show of… whatever this might be.

“This is too much! What the hell are you even trying to do! Oh man, look at those outfits!”

The twins and Honey start chasing Haruhi around the room telling her to call them big sister. "What were you thinking? What's gotten into you guys?"

"We did this because we don't want you to leave the host club"

You approach Kyoya "What did they have to do to get you on board with this one?" he shakes his head "I don't want to talk about it" You laugh.

"So maiden, have you made your choice?" Haruhi stands "Yeah I have, I'm sorry but your club is not for me I think the idea of a girls' school is great, and your views are very unique and interesting. But I came to this school with a goal and a plan for my future so while I appreciate your offer, I really already knew that I was never going to leave ouran academy"

"Haruhi! So why were you acting so angry yesterday if you weren't going to leave?"

"How'd you feel if I stole something of yours without asking you?"

"I told you all this" You shook your head.

"Um… Benio?” Chizuru begins as she watches the interaction, Benibara lets her eyelids slip closed as she sighs.

“Yes… I know. We’re not going to give up on you” She leans over to you.

“I swear this to you. Someday we’ll come and rescue you from this place and your arrangement! And when we do, we’ll abolish the Ouran Host Club!” Benibara affirms with vigor and a smug smirk.

“Well, adieu~.”

Just as they twirl through the door, the three of them simultaneously slip on banana peels just as the doors to the club room close.

“Until we meet again.” you cross your arms and sigh in exasperation.

The lights flicker out, and Renge’s platform rises from the ground for the second time this episode, except this time with a monkey at her side.

“And so, a new rival, the Zuka Club, has appeared. From this point on, the story’s gonna get even more exciting! What’s gonna happen to our beloved host club boys and y/n next? Hang in there, Host Club! Don’t give up, guys!” Renge munches on a banana.

"Hey its not your job to cook things up!"

With that all over you finally take in Kyoya's appearance "I must admit you wear it better than i do" Kyoya rolls his eyes through a laugh "Shut up" You laugh. "Oh sorry 'mother kyoya'"

Next time on patience 'A day in the life of the L/N family!'

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