#cause they look good. feel good. *and* you can run in them

[holybibly]

Unholy thoughts of the day, my sugar bunnies: You use your boyfriend's abs as your favorite sex toy.

Or you're making the most of your evening and ride San's fuckable six-pack abs until you squirt all over him.

"You're doing so well, Chagiya. Keep it up, make me proud of you, baby girl." San purrs in a sultrily way, giving you a seductive, wet look through his fluffy lashes. As he speaks, deep, sweet dimples flash across his flushed, aroused cheeks, contrasting so starkly with his fucked state and the lazy, devilish grin that now adorns his soft, plump lips.

He's breathing heavily, the muscles of his chest rising and falling in time with his deep, measured breaths, making his honeyed, oiled with sweet cocoa butter skin glisten deliciously and you have to fight the temptation so not to lean down and run your tongue over it to taste its delicious flavour. San's fingers dig painfully into the soft, plush flesh of your thighs as he pulls you harder against him until your pussy is pressed against the pronounced relief of his magnificent six-pack abs.

"Fuck, that feels so good, сhagi. Don't be shy, baby, just use me as your favourite fuck toy. Let me see how you make a mess all over my abs with that pretty, sweet cunt of yours. That's what you want, isn't it? To ride my abs until you squirt."

You whimpered in embarrassment and looked away from him in an unsuccessful attempt to hide your flushed red cheeks from his lewd words. Anyway, San was absolutely right—it really was what you wanted so badly, and for a long time, if you were completely honest with yourself. And how could you not want it when San looked like a fucking work of art, with all those firm muscles, seductive curves, and sexual shapes?

"Sannie..." You sobbed, squirming slightly in your seat. 'You can't say that...it's so dirty...' Still, nothing stops you from keeping on fucking yourself on his deliciously toned abs, continuing to slowly rock your hips back and forth as you smear your warm, sticky juices more abundantly over his smooth and glistening skin. With every move you made, your swollen, sensitive clit clung to the hard, taut muscles on his stomach, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine and making your tiny, tight hole reflexively clench around nothing as if trying to keep a phantom cock inside your hungry cunt.

You knew you were close to cumming; you could feel the hot, tugging sensation in your belly becoming more tangible by the minute, bringing you closer and closer to an overwhelming, violent orgasm. There was no doubt that you would squirt all over him, and even if you didn't make it the first time, San would make you come again, and again, until your cunt was gushing like a fountain, squirting your juices all over him.

''Sannie...I-I'm so close...'' You babble as you begin to rub harder against his abs. Your hips are trembling visibly as you press your needy, lustful pussy even harder against the hard relief of the tight muscles on San's stomach. Every movement you make has caused your wet, swollen labia to slip lewdly apart, giving San a glimpse of your reddened, throbbing clit and silky, fluttering folds with thick drops of your mucus dripping down on them, and he has to stop himself from pulling your little pussy to his face and licking it like candy. "I don't think... I don't think I can do it myself. Please...please, Sannie, it's so heavy.' You beg, looking up at him with your big, glassy eyes glazed with pleasure.

Your words caused San to let out a loud, depraved moan of pure lust as he roughly squeezed your juicy, thick thighs, leaving aggressive red marks on your soft skin. The thought of how you'd come just by rubbing your pretty, plump cunt against his abs and the way you'd dirty yourself on him was enough to make his big, hard cock twitch and his dark feline eyes sparkle with lust.

"Fuck, kitty, you're driving me crazy." San growls in a low voice and pulls you roughly over to him, only to take full control of the situation and begin to fuck you aggressively.

He immediately establishes a hard, relentless rhythm that makes your big, heavy tits bounce sluttishly. His abs were so hard and rigid under your pussy, smooth and slippery from the mixture of your slime and sweet cocoa butter that smeared all over his golden skin., and it drove you crazy. Your loud, gasping moans mixed with San's hoarse, dirty curses as you jerked and relentlessly bounced on him.

Your whole body tenses with the sensation of your quickly growing orgasm, and your vision becomes blurred and unfocused; you can't even describe what's happening. Your pussy is caressing his abs and drooling all over it, leaving sticky, viscous trails of your sweet honey between the bloated cubes of muscles.

"You're so fucking wet, baby." San purrs, licking greedily as if he can taste the sweet flavour of your cunt on his lips. "You want me to make you come, chagiya, don't you? Is your pussy hungry for my cock, or will my abs be enough for you to make a mess? It's pathetic, don't you think, rubbing your cunt against my belly like a bitch in heat." Filthy, disgusting words dripped down his tongue like the sweetest nectar in the world.

San," you whimper pitifully, trying to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, but it's all in vain—San moves your hips with such speed and roughness that it becomes almost painfully pleasurable. Your thick excitement flows down his belly and collects between the pronounced lines of his abs, not to mention the feeling of moisture on his skin, and he's damn proud to have brought you to this state even without fucking you with his cock.

His cock is throbbing hot, begging for a sweet release, but San can wait; he wants to cum inside you, feel your sweet little hole stretch and quiver as he fucks your pussy mercilessly.

You don't even have time to react as San's thumb presses against your swollen, eager clit, teasingly squeezing it a few times before rapidly stroking it in tight circles. You desperately push your hips forward, hoping to get more of this sweet torture, your whole body glowing, covered in a thin layer of sweat that emphasises the beauty of your voluptuous curves and beautiful breasts.

You're so stunning, and you're all his, and he can't wait to plunge his big, thick cock into the moist, warm tightness of your silky pussy and show you how much he loves you.

It seemed almost impossible, but your rhythm becomes even faster and wilder, the scalding throb of impending orgasm beating rhythmically beneath your skin along with your frantic pulse. Your pussy rubs, kisses, and licks his gorgeous, tight abs while his fingers work wonders on your clit.

All sounds around you become a solid white noise as your orgasm erupts inside you, burning a hole in your belly as you cum heavily all over him with a loud, shrill scream of his name, your arousal splashing out in a copious stream of liquid, creating a veritable wet mess between your bodies.

As your orgasm releases you, you immediately collapse exhaustedly onto San's chest, seeking the soothing closeness of his warm body and soft, loving embrace.

"My good girl, you did so well; I'm so proud of you, chagiya. Tell me, did it live up to your expectations?" San kisses your forehead sweetly and strokes your back lazily with his fingertips.

"Yes, it was absolutely worth it. We have to do it again...' You hum softly, pressing yourself harder against your handsome boyfriend's broad, hot chest.

[uncle-fruity]

I really want to underline some truth:

I am a better activist and a more energetic and enthusiastic participant in the issues I care about now that I've stopped believing the guilt trippers and have involved myself in activism on my own terms.

I get to decide what I do and do not care deeply about. That's not another person's place to tell me what I think and feel -- especially if it's a complete stranger. I know myself better than they know me.

I get to decide what is too much for me. I set my own boundaries and priorities. Other people might not agree with me, but they can die mad. I'm not their soldier to recruit, and what I do with my time and energy is my business, not theirs.

I know my body and my limitations better than anyone else. The people who truly love me and support me trust me to manage my ups and downs and do not assign a moral status to me when I take care of my needs first. Especially over time, they know that I will be back and ready to help out as soon as I'm able to. When I'm less able to participate, the people who love and support me take care of me and make sure I know they're there for me.

I am no longer doing activism in any real way online. At most, I try to provide some education and some emotional/mental health support. If you look at my Tumblr, you won't see even half of what I deeply care about. Part of that is a growing sense of internet safety, and another part of that is that there is very little I can do online that's going to make a difference. Another part of that is when you post stuff as a reaction or out of a sense of obligation, you're more likely to spread misinformation, especially if you don't take time to verify the information (which can be genuinely difficult if you don't know how to do that). I fell into that trap a fair amount when I was so guilt ridden that I was terrified to be seen as a Bad Person.

Which brings me to this major point: there will always be people who are quick to judge you and quick to make you out as a Bad Person no matter what you do. In someone's mind, you are probably already a Bad Person. Does that actually make you a Bad Person? Does someone else's definition of good and bad line up with yours, and does it matter? Have you considered that the person calling you a bad person might be a bad person by your standards? Who has the right to strictly define morality in the first place? Regardless of the answers to those questions, you don't have to let other people define you. And the guilt trippers are doing substantially more harm to the cause than people who are trying to rest for their emotional and mental health. I don't think that makes them bad people, but it does make them bad at community building, which is a fundamental necessity for activism.

My advice, if you really want to be a good activist, is to kill the part of your brain that tells you you aren't good enough and don't deserve rest until you are. No one can do it all. No one is a perfect activist or a perfect person. You need to have a clear idea of what your priorities are and what your capabilities are. You need to seek community and, as OP originally stated, joy. It's not just you who needs something to fight for or who needs breaks, your community needs it too. If you overwork and constantly retraumatize yourself, you will eventually hit burnout and you will not be able to help at all for much much longer than if you had just taken a break or made time for the good things in life when you first needed to. You also run the risk of creating a culture where no one else feels like they deserve rest and eventually burn themselves out, too. Then where does the movement go when all its activists are too stressed and tired and having a crisis of morality to do the work? The movement goes to die, is where. Sure, being angry is valid and important, but if that's all that's keeping you here, you're going to find that anger is not sustainable and will eventually give way to extreme depression when you realize that anger alone does not fix the many problems of the world. Your anger and guilt will kill a movement so much harder than indulging in a little positivity and rest from time to time.

Oh, and me? Now that I've gotten out of guilt trippy and frankly abusive online activist spaces, I am so much better at doing activism that matters. I organize a queer art group. I attend meetings to discuss problems and try to find solutions. I have more energy to educate myself and others. I can do more direct action. All of this is stuff that I literally had no space for while I was suffering from the burnout those online spaces caused that I now have space for because I decentralized social media in my life and especially in my activism.

Please. For your own sake and for the sake of the causes you care about: take a break. Have a rest. Do something fun. This is me telling you directly that the people guilt tripping you are being inappropriate & rude at best and literally abusive at worst. It is okay to forget them and live your life in ways that serve both yourself and others. They have no power to send you to Hell, I promise.

Sorry about the rant I'm just SO sick of this "we have to be on all the time never look away if you aren't upset about politics and traumatizing yourself watching people die on Twitter you're wrong and complicit and evil" like I know things are fucked and we need to stay angry but we can do that while also taking a minute to crack open a cold one with the boys or have gay sex or get tipsy at the line dance, we HAVE to have joy to remember why the fuck we're refusing to give up in the first place. Fight like hell for your loved ones and then also go home with them to smoke weed and drink sweet tea and make biscuits covered in honey and butter please, please don't deprive yourself of joy, you're allowed to be happy BEFORE the work is done. You're allowed to be happy.

[lifeasadorkwithnolife]

Too Late (Azriel x Reader) Part 3

Part 1 , Part 2

Azriel and Y/N finally talk, and she realizes that maybe the feelings weren't one sided after all these years. Is it too late?

               You tried to grow used to the life at the house of wind, but you could feel the awkward silence fill up every room you entered. Feyre was friendly, but you could tell she didn’t agree with what you had done. You spent a lot of time with Cassian, who was the only one who would really talk to you, Azriel hadn’t spoken to you since that night.

               “Hey Cas,” You peered up at him, you both stretching on the mats outside. “Could you…” You weren’t sure how to form the question, “Where is it?”

               He froze; his face unreadable. You tried to use your gift, to see what he was feeling, but you couldn’t seem to reach him.  

               “I think it will help me.” You whisper, “I want to help you, I want to be this secret weapon you need me to be but I can’t without any power, you must see that.”

               Cassian nodded, moving one arm across his chest as he stretched. “It’s by the river, I can fly you down there but…I don’t have good memories, I don’t want to stay.”

               You nodded, leaning back on your hands and staring at the bright sky, sun causing you to squint.

               “I’m sorry about Azriel.” Cassian started, and as you went to reply he held his hand up to stop you. “Azriel- I shouldn’t tell you this but I feel like you should know. Azriel went crazy when you died, or didn’t die, or whatever.”

               You held your breath as he spoke, feeling the guilt rise in your chest. “When we found him after the battle, he was covered in blood. I think he had gone through every body in that field looking for you, he was…it was horrible.” Cassian sighed, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms loosely around them. “He stayed for days, he didn’t sleep, he didn’t eat, we had to drug him to get him to leave, and he almost killed us when he woke up.”

               “I’m so sorry.” You whispered, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. “I wanted to come back, but…I was useless. I had grown too attached to Azriel- and when…I tried to tell him how I felt and he made it very obvious he did not feel the same way. Then that on top of me losing my powers, I just didn’t see a point.”         

               “What do you mean?” Cassian asked, and you sighed.

               “Before the battle, I tried to tell him that….that I loved him, but I wasn’t brave enough. Before I lost my gift I could feel emotion and I could feel nothing from him, just my own.”

               Cassian nodded slowly, looking around the empty training yard. “I’m sorry about yelling at you, by the way.” You squeezed his hand again and he gave you a sad smile.

               He nodded, “It’s okay.”

               He dropped you off by the river, pointing in the general direction of where your destination was. You walked, admiring the rush of water with the mountains surrounding you. You trecked along the cobblestone until you found a narrow path, following it until you came up to a stone secured into the ground.

               You squatted down, examining it closely, tracing the carved words in the stone.

‘Beloved Y/N

The light in the darkness,

I will carry you with me, always,

My heart will never let you go

Until the stars call me home’

               You gazed at the words, the emotions in your chase rising like a wave, impossible to control. You slowly sat on the ground, your eyes falling to the flowers beside you, placed there only days ago. Your eyes drifted to the view of the city and the river flowing through it, the stones from the bridge reflecting the sunlight in almost a blinding twinkle.

               You couldn’t help the thoughts of what life could have been- if you had told Azriel the truth, if you hadn’t run away, or even if you had died. The version of you that died deserved this headstone, deserved the beautiful words and beautiful flowers, but the person you had become- the one sitting here- didn’t deserve it.

               You sat in silence, the only sounds the occasional pattering of footsteps or the splash of a fish jumping from the water.

               “Every starfall, I only had one wish.” Azriel’s voice cut through the silence, and your head whipped behind you to see him standing, hands in his pockets. He made a motion with his hands, like a falling star. “Every year, I had the same wish. I would stand outside and look up at those stars and just wish so hard.”

               “What would you wish for?” You whispered, and Azriel turned to look at you, his eyes almost gentle.

               “Can I sit?” He asked, and you nodded, scooting over. “How do you like it?”

               He nodded towards the grave, and you gave him a tight smile, looking back over the light gray stone. “Honestly, it’s beautiful and more than I deserve.” You waited a couple seconds, “Az, I’m…I’m  so sorry.”

               “I didn’t understand at first.” Azriel whispered, looking out at the river. “The first thing I felt when I saw you- of course it was relief, but then it was betrayal. I couldn’t believe that you would put me through all of that.”         

               “I- I didn’t really think it would be that hard.” You whispered, pulling your legs up to your chest. “It was war.”              

               “It wasn’t just a war, we weren’t just part of the war.” Azriel turned towards you, and for the first time, his eyes weren’t guarded. “And I was so mad, when I saw you, the anger I felt is like something I have never felt before.”

               “Then once I was finished yelling at you, I came out here.” Azriel sighed, “After sitting here for a couple hours, I thought about blasting this thing to the ground, to be honest. But, I realized, the reason I was so upset when I thought you were gone-“

               Azriel stopped, looking away. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest. He looked at you, the pain of loss still fresh on his face despite the decades that had passed.

               “The reason…The reason I was so upset was because I was never brave enough to tell you how I felt, hell, I never even got to say goodbye.” Azriel pulled his arm away to run through his hair again, and you moved your hand back to your knee. “I had the perfect opportunity, we were both there, but….I didn’t know if someone like you could ever love someone like me.”

               Your heart froze and possibly skipped a beat as you processed his words, you stared at the river and felt the relief flow through you. “I know it’s been decades, but…I still thought about you every day, I thought the pain of losing you would kill me.”

               “You…loved me?” You whispered, turning to him. His face, for the first time, was free of his grim expression and his eyes shone with vulnerability.

               “I’m not going to make the mistake of not telling you how I feel a second time, Y/N.” Azriel whispered, “I spent 140 Starfalls wishing I could just tell you that.”

               Tears filled your eyes as you stared forward, memories coming back to you in a rush. The way Azriel ran to you in the war, the words on his lips, ‘I love you’. The pain in your chest that never went away, that was him, that was his pain.

               “Azriel-“You choked, turning towards him and wrapping your arms around him. He took a moment to return to hug, but quickly wrapped his arms around you, breathing in deeply.  The pain was finally gone, free from your chest, and you let out a short laugh.

               He pulled back, unsure. “Before the battle started, I wanted to tell you that I loved you, but I wasn’t brave enough.” You cried, laughing at your own stupidity. “I thought you couldn’t feel anything because I couldn’t feel anything from you!”

               “How could you think that?” Azriel grabbed your face in between his hands, the rough skin gently touching your cheeks. “Y/N- you can read emotions; I assumed that you were reading mine and choosing not to reciprocate.”

               You cried harder, pulling him back into a hug. “I thought those were my emotions; I thought my powers were gone when you were nearby. Azriel- I was so in love with you, I am so in love with you.”

               You realized, that every time you felt the overwhelming and all consumer feeling of love for Azriel, it wasn’t just your love for Azriel, but his love in return. All the pain, the constant ache in your chest, that was yours to share over the years as well. Your powers were never gone- they were just so connected to Azriel that it overpowered everything else.

               “You are the light in my darkness.” Azriel whispered, pulling a piece of hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. “I will carry you with me, always, because my heart will not let you go.” He pulled your hand to his chest, so you could feel the thuds underneath.

               “Until the stars call me home.” You whispered the final line. He leaned in, his mouth brushing yours tenderly. As you felt his lips on yours, his warm breath on your bottom lip, you pressed into him harder, placing your hand on the nape of his neck and trying to pull him closer to you.

               He pressed into you, lifting you easily and placing you on your back in the grass. You gasped, laughing as you looked up at him. A true smile found his face as he stared at you, and he pressed one hand to your cheek. “I am never letting you go again.”

[feeder86]

Lust, Lies and Legacies

It was instant, that heart-thumping moment when Danny first set eyes on Nial’s new boyfriend. He’d heard about the guy several times from his housemate, alongside a detailed run-through of each of their dates so far. Hell, he’d even seen a couple of pictures on Nial’s cell phone, but nothing could have prepared him for that feeling when he first opened the door to him that one evening after work. 

“You must be Danny?” the handsome man asked, standing at the door, waiting to come in. “I’m Ted; Nial’s…” “Yes!” Danny shot back, needing no explanation and immediately stepping back from the threshold to allow the man inside. So breathtakingly tall and naturally broad, Ted breezed by; the scent of his aftershave causing butterflies to flutter in Danny’s stomach. “You know that Nial won’t be back from work for another half an hour or so?” he asked the impossibly good-looking man standing in the hallway with him. 

Ted shrugged. “I know,” he nodded. “Nial told me to come over anyway. He said you’d be here to let me in. I usually go to the gym after work but, half an hour isn’t really enough time to get stuck in.”

Danny made the man feel welcome, sitting him down in their lounge area and pouring him some coffee. Like his mother before him, Danny knew how to be hospitable to guests and soon had Ted talking all about himself. He heard about his family and education, his career and even his ex-boyfriends, of which there were surprisingly few. The boy had such kind eyes, Danny thought to himself, getting lost within them. Despite his imposing, giant, muscular build, he spoke so calmly and softly, like the genuinely nice guy he appeared to be.

“Sorry,” Ted chuckled, realising the time as Nial began unlocking the front door behind him. “I’ve just talked at you for the last thirty minutes. I’m not usually this chatty.”  It was obvious that he felt quite relaxed in Danny’s company and, perhaps, even a little disappointed that he wouldn’t get the chance to have a second mug of his special coffee.

For Danny, he sighed, realising that Nial would soon do what he did with all his boyfriends and sweep Ted away to his bedroom. He felt a pang of jealousy as he saw Nial embrace him and kiss him gently on the mouth. Nial was as handsome as they came, but it was obvious that Ted was far too sweet for him. There was an innocence and wholesomeness about the man that Danny had fallen for straight away. It broke his heart to imagine him getting mixed up with a guy like Nial.

“What did you think?” Nial asked a few hours later, after Ted had gone home. “He’s gorgeous, isn’t he? A proper hunk! He played football in college, y’know.”

Danny nodded. Ted’s impeccable physique had not evaded his attention. “He’s a really great guy,” he conceded.

“And he’ll fatten up a treat!” Nial continued, smirking as he saw the future mapped out in his head. “You should see how much he can eat!” he swooned. “If I just keep putting him off from going to the gym, I’ll have more than a few extra pounds on him in no time. He’s in that perfect sweet spot after finishing college last year and no longer playing football: the appetite of an athlete, without the exercise. Excess calories can pile up with ease!”

On paper, Danny and his housemate had relatively little in common. That was, apart from their shared appreciation of significantly larger guys. The theory of how Nial operated, seducing his lovers and then tweaking their diets to quietly fatten them up, had excited Danny at first. However, the reality had made him feel more than a little guilty. He’d moved in six months ago and witnessed Nial taking his ex from ‘chubby’ to really quite significantly overweight, before they ended things. And his ex had just been one of several innocent victims Nial had sunk his claws into over the years. Whatever this guy did with these boys, it apparently never failed to work.

“This’ll be the first time you’ll see me fattening a guy from scratch!” Nial grinned, clearly excited by the many weeks and months of work ahead. “You’re going to love it. Those first fifty pounds of blubber are always the sweetest!”

“I’m not sure Ted’s really the right sort of man for that,” Danny began nervously. “He’s so sweet. He doesn’t really deserve…”

Nial simply laughed. “The sweet ones are always the easiest prey!” he shot back. “You’ve seen him. He’s going to look so fucking hot when I push a proper gut out on him. Just imagine that handsome face framed by a delicious double chin!”

Danny mumbled nervously. There was so much he wanted to say to Nial, but given the fact that Nial’s family owned the house they shared, the balance of power didn’t always seem equal. More than once, Nial had threatened to throw him out after a relatively minor disagreement. Cheap rooms in this part of the city were incredibly rare. If he wanted to keep a roof over his head, it wouldn’t do to challenge Nial. And so, if Danny was going to protect Ted in the way he felt compelled to do, he would have to be smarter about it.

There wasn’t anything particularly smart about Danny’s plan. It had been sheer dumb luck that the massive container of diet pills his mother had given up on just so happened to be the exact same shape and size as the appetite enhancers he knew Nial used to ensure his lovers overate. Swapping them had been simple; his scheming unnoticed. However, it meant that when Ted would come over after his work, Danny could at least look him in the eye, knowing that he was trying to do some good for him.

“That looks incredible!” Ted gasped, seeing the immaculately decorated cake Danny had prepared for his sister’s engagement party that weekend. “I had no idea you were so talented!”

Danny blushed. He was quite pleased with how it had turned out, but the way Ted looked at him with such awe made him squirm with embarrassment. Surely Ted would be able to tell how quietly smitten he was by him just from the way he fell to pieces whenever the slightest bit of praise was sent his way. “It’s nothing,” he shrugged.

Ted leaned down and smelt the frosting. “It’s incredible!” he marvelled. “My mouth is literally watering! I’ve just had the most insane sweet tooth for weeks now.”

Danny looked down nervously. He knew how hard Nial had been pushing the sweet treats on Ted. It was no wonder that the guy was getting cravings for sugar. Yet there Ted stood, statuesque and unchanged; unknowingly benefitting from the diet pill’s effect to prevent fat absorption and speed up his youthful metabolism. The other morning, they’d both been embarrassed when Ted was caught strolling out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his lower half. Before that moment, Danny had been convinced that such tight and muscular six packs had only ever existed in the movies.

After Nial had arrived home, Danny returned downstairs to see that a giant slice had been cut out from the cake he had spent all day working on, now resting on a plate in Nial’s hand. Danny had gasped, open mouthed, looking angrily into Nial’s face.

“Relax! It’s just a cake!” Nial shot back irritably.”You can bake another one. I’m taking this one for Ted.”

A few seconds later, Ted came racing into the kitchen, having been presented with the cake slice by Nial and knowing exactly where it had come from. “I’m so sorry!” he called out. “I didn’t realise that Nial was going to cut a slice. I was only telling him how delicious it smelt!”

“It’s fine!” Danny replied calmly back, not wanting to upset the sweet guy. “I said Nial could cut into,” he lied, spotting Nial watching them from behind Ted’s back. “I forgot that one of my sister’s friends is gluten intolerant, so I knew I’d have to remake it.”

“You see, honey. It’s fine,” Nial cooed, rubbing his boyfriend’s large back. “Danny wants you to have that cake. So why don’t you open up and tell him what you think?”

Ted glanced down, picking the fork up from his plate. He looked to Danny one final time to ensure it really was okay, then cut and fed himself a giant section. “Mmm! That is just incredible!” he moaned. “It’s the best cake I’ve ever had!”

Danny really was delighted to hear him say that, even if it meant a long time baking again the next morning, before the party. Perhaps that was why he had always had a thing for chubbier guys in the first place: the idea of bringing them such pleasure, minus the guilt and resistance of a man who was more insistent on keeping in shape.

Victoriously, Nial smirked behind his lover. He really was good at this. So much so that, by the following morning, almost half of the entire cake had been completely consumed.

Arriving back from an all-you-can-eat banquet one evening, Nial was grinning from ear to ear as a bloated Ted was sitting, grumbling as he rubbed his swollen stomach in the living area. Pretty soon afterwards, he drifted off to sleep as Nial played one of his dull reality shows that he was well aware Ted couldn’t stand.

“Look!” Nial whispered as Danny came down for a glass of water, lifting Ted’s shirt up so that the rounded shape of the guy’s stomach could be seen. It was obvious how much the tall man must have eaten to push it out that far, almost to the limits of physics.

Danny nodded, not really knowing why Nial still insisted on showing off like he did. Danny had never encouraged his wicked tactics and had made it quite plain that he didn’t think it was fair. Nevertheless, the guy followed him into the kitchen, overcome with elation and needing to speak to someone.

“Danny, you should have seen him!” Nial marvelled. “It was absolutely grotesque how much he was eating! I was just bringing little dishes back and forth to the table and he mindlessly ate every last one of them. He’s obviously been trained to clear his plate his whole life. He can’t stand wasting food. He’s a proper pig!”

Danny winced at the word. He had never enjoyed hearing Nial use it to describe the man who was obviously so taken with him. “I’ve got my sister coming over tomorrow afternoon. Are you two going to be about?” he asked, trying to change the conversation quickly, just in case he ended up telling Nial what he really thought of his awful manners.

“You’ll have to meet your sister elsewhere,” Nial simply shot back. “It’s Sunday and I have a full day of overeating planned for Ted. I don’t want anyone getting in the way.”

“I thought Ted said you guys were off for a hike tomorrow morning?” Danny asked.

Nial chuckled at that. “I’ll be telling him that I have a migraine in the morning. We won’t be leaving the house.”

“But Ted was really looking forward to taking you up that trail,” Danny protested, always feeling nothing but sympathy for the guy. “It’s where they scattered his family dog’s ashes.”

“As if I want to spend my Sunday hearing stories about some dumb dead dog!!” Nial blasted. “I’ve got an appetite to build. Every day I can get him to eat more and more. Already, he can get down more than a man three times his size. Once I finally destroy the pig’s metabolism, I’m going to witness the most spectacular show on Earth!”

Two weeks later, and still determined to help Ted, Danny crept into Nial’s room to check on the large container he had piled high with diet pills. For over three months, oblivious Ted had been fed one after the other, helping him resist the otherwise inevitable weight gain that would have resulted from the vast quantities he was eating every day. Time and again Danny had witnessed the consumption of overwhelming portions and the decimation of everything Nial was getting in for his lover to consume. Yet, Ted still arrived each and every day looking like none of it was having even the slightest effect on him. With over half the diet pills still in the container, Danny topped it up only very slightly so as not to cause suspicion. 

Perhaps it wouldn’t be long now until Nial changed his tactics. Then all of Danny’s work would be lost and Nial would at last have his own way. It was all so inevitable. Pretty soon, Ted was going to have to fend for himself.

“You don’t like Nial all that much, do you?” Ted asked one afternoon during the sweet thirty minutes they had alone together.

“What makes you say that?” Danny asked, surprised by Ted’s bluntness as the guy roamed around the kitchen hoovering up the many stashes of snacks Nial kept in for him.

“It’s just the way you’re so guarded with him,” Ted replied thoughtfully, finally stopping to look at him.

“Is that what Nial thinks?” Danny asked, nervous for both their sakes if it was true that Nial had realised that he didn’t really like him.

“Of course not,” Ted chuckled. “Nial thinks everyone loves him. It’s part of what drew me to him in the first place: that confidence. Now, though, I sometimes feel like he doesn’t even like me. Some days, he can be so short-tempered.”

Danny nodded sympathetically. He’d noticed it too. Nial’s complete failure with Ted over the last six months had made him more irritable than he had ever seen him before. In some ways, he could understand why. Given how many calories Ted was eating in a day and how little cardio he was getting, on paper, the guy should have been piling on the weight like crazy.

“I’ve actually been thinking about moving out,” Danny admitted, checking his watch and seeing that he still had at least fifteen minutes until he needed to worry about Nial getting home and overhearing them. “I’ve been saving so much these last few months, I now have more than enough to get somewhere by myself.”

“Then what’s stopping you?” Ted asked, sensing Danny’s hesitancy. The man was so in-tune with Danny; so sensitive and astute. “Wait! You’re sticking around for my sake?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“No… I just…” Danny mumbled back, feeling suddenly like his every movement would give him away. “I just don’t feel comfortable leaving you here on your own with Nial,” he tried to reason.

“You really distrust him that much?” Ted asked now.

Danny exhaled, wondering how this conversation had gone so badly wrong so incredibly quickly. “Yeah,” he finally nodded, deciding that the truth was better than attempting a lie that Ted would immediately call him out on. “He’s not good enough for you. Not even the smallest bit. You’re so sweet and kind and thoughtful and calm. Any guy who had you should be…””

What happened next caught Danny off-guard more than any other moment in his life so far. The gorgeous Ted moved closer towards him, cupping Danny’s face in those large, masculine hands, before planting a kiss on his lips like no other Danny had ever experienced. It was followed by a rapid succession of others, more frantic, furious and passionate than the last.

Something dreadful and, at the same time, completely wonderfu,l had just happened

Danny had been the one to insist that Nial was not told. He happily relinquished his love as soon as his housemate got in, and disappeared upstairs. It was only later that he heard Nial complaining that Ted had finished with him.

“Good riddance!” Nial called out bitterly. “He couldn’t even put on a single pound in months!”

“Is that really all you care about?” Danny asked, feeling a little impatient at Nial’s one-dimensional complaints.

“Well, I was hardly with him for his scintillating conversation, was I?” Nial spat back, resurrecting his frequent complaints that he’d actually found Ted to be rather boring. “Six months I wasted on that guy… for nothing!”

Danny rolled his eyes and escaped upstairs. With Ted safely out of harm’s way, there was no need for him to hang around anymore. Already, he had found a place online that he liked the look of. Danny was moving out.

“I want to see you,” Ted had messaged Danny over the coming week. “I can’t believe how much I miss our time together each day.”

Danny had smiled broadly, hardly believing that he held such sweet words from Ted in his own hands. As much as he wanted to run straight into Ted’s arms, he knew it would be wiser and more dignified to hold back. Nial was as clever as they came. Any change in Danny’s routine and he would know that something was up. Then he’d unravel it all and make his life absolute hell, without a place to stay and no family in the city to help him out. And, the worst part was, he’d probably deserve it. Danny felt so much shame for what he had done: kissing Ted when he knew he was with someone else; ultimately causing their break-up. A little cooling-off period was definitely necessary if they truly were to make a go of things. It was best to put everything on ice for now and wait until his new apartment was ready to move into. Five more weeks, that was all. FIve more weeks and he would be free.

Nial hadn’t taken the news that he was moving out particularly well. Danny’s rent money helped to fund his disposable income and the news that his cash-flow was about to decrease had left him more than a little pissed off. As well as that, about a week after finishing with Ted, he’d started sleeping with a chubby guy, called James. The boy was nice enough, however Nial had been distraught to see that he’d actually started to drop a few pounds since they’d got together. He simply couldn’t understand it. Why, after all those years of success stories, had secretly fattening a guy become so difficult? As such, frustrated Nial became almost impossible to live with.

The two housemates weren’t really talking to each other the day Danny moved out. Nial went off to work without saying goodbye and returned home to an empty house, without so much as a forwarding address for his now former housemate. Meanwhile, Danny was grinning from ear to ear as he stroked his sparkling kitchen counter and sat himself down on the brand new couch that had arrived only an hour earlier. Tomorrow, Ted was coming over for the first time since that kiss. The buzz and excitement was almost too much to take. At long last, Danny felt like he was having an entirely fresh start.

“Hello there!” came the deep, alluringly sexy voice of Ted as he stood on the threshold, waiting to be invited in. He gazed at Danny, smiling sweetly, then stepped across to kiss him once more. “This has been the longest six weeks of my life!” he whispered, embracing him as the door swung shut behind them. 

Danny felt so consumed and safe in that hug, completely swallowed up by the big man’s giant arms. Ted was so much shorter than he was. When he held him, Danny could feel his whole, small body starting to relax, allowing himself to be delicate and fragile once more; that hard exterior he had created to get through the last few weeks of living with Nial, crumbling away. They both breathed in and exhaled with relief, perhaps not realising how deep their affection for one another had been until they were parted like this.

Holding the tall man’s hand, Danny led Ted around the apartment, room by room. The sexy man made all the right noises but he wasn’t really listening. He seemed to simply enjoy being in Danny’s company again and listening to his voice. It was something a guy had never done with Danny before, allowing himself to show how smitten he was and abandoning the ego that most men seemed to have. At the sight of Danny’s new, cosy bedroom, Ted smiled happily and kissed him once more, clearly hoping that this would be where they would spend many a happy night, lying side by side.

Pretty soon they were sitting together on the new couch, kissing yet again. Yet something felt odd about it all. Up close like this, Ted’s face was somehow…different. Danny brushed it aside, thinking that he was imagining it all. However, once their hands started to roam more freely onto each other’s bodies, he could tell for certain that Ted was not quite the man he had once been. Slipping his hand down onto Ted’s torso, Danny could feel that the boy had quietly amassed quite a few extra pounds since their kiss, only six weeks ago. When he looked down, a slight paunch was pressing against the material of Ted’s t-shirt, quite startlingly obvious in this sitting position. He kept quiet and carried on, not wanting to make Ted at all self-conscious, acting like it wasn’t even there. Their kisses were so pleasurable anyway, nothing else mattered. 

The pair chatted freely, enjoying not having to worry about anyone bursting in and spoiling their flow. This small, overpriced apartment could be their little piece of heaven; a refuge from everything outside; freedom from everyone who didn’t really matter. Ted got up and helped Danny with some of the remaining flat pack furniture that needed building, laughing as the pair of them couldn’t follow the simple instructions for gazing adoringly into the other’s eyes. How was it that Nial wasn’t completely besotted by this guy? There was such innocence behind those big eyes, his smile so broad and genuine. Even as a teenager, Danny had never felt anything so intense as this.

The pair of them had done well to control themselves up until that point. But as the light faded and Danny pulled out some romantic candles, the temptation to slip into the bedroom became all too much. With their clothes off, it was obvious how Ted had an almost complete absence of any stomach muscles whatsoever; the sides of his once tight waist now fluffy and slightly puffed out; his skin marked by the new, less flattering fit of his underwear. They made love, quite passionately, without any acknowledgement whatsoever of the rather sudden and dramatic weight gain Ted had undergone. Even as the big man thrusted, a fluttering of fresh fat was threatening to steal all of Danny’s attention.

Pleasure, joy and bliss. In that perfect hour, there were only the two of them left on the entire Earth. But as Ted got up to start getting dressed again, Danny had to wonder: just what had happened to him? How could everything Nial had been secretly trying to do to him over months and months, suddenly start happening the very moment that they broke up?

Over the course of the next few days, everything became abundantly clear to Danny. Box by box, carton by carton, Ted had destroyed almost all the meagre supplies in his new kitchen. The man was an eating machine, seeming to uphold the very bad habits that had been trained into him during his time with Nial. He’d head out to the store and return with a full tray of doughnuts that he would then stuff into himself very slowly over the following few hours, alternatively grazing on sweet and then savory snacks. Attempting to count the calories his new lover could consume in a day was near impossible. Danny had little comprehension of how much the guy was quietly eating until he went to the cupboards and noticed how bare they were. Within a further two weeks, the boy’s paunch had swollen up even more, only concealed now when Ted wore his large, warm winter jacket. A more generous bounce and flutter of the stomach began not long afterwards and it became more than apparent how much Ted’s underwear in particular were pinching him.

Although Danny hated to admit his own responsibility, he had to accept that everything that was happening now was entirely of his own making. It was the legacy of those damned diet pills. Whilst they had definitely worked well during the time Ted was taking them, the reality was that by masking the effect of all that overeating, they’d allowed Ted to build up an appetite that was no longer easily quashed. He had been permitted to overeat and indulge in a way that had not produced the slightest consequence for months and months; all whilst quietly enabled and encouraged by a lover who did not have his best interests at heart. Indeed, sometimes, it was really rather strikingly obvious that Ted had unknowingly dated a feeder. He could get aroused alarmingly quickly after a huge boost of sugar and he seemed to think it normal to take a can of whipped cream into the bedroom and squirt it onto Danny’s body before licking every last bit up.

Perhaps Nial had told him how manly and attractive his vast appetite was, for Ted would grin proudly after consuming a particularly large meal and appeared to enjoy the feeling of being so satisfied. He wanted Danny to start baking for him and didn’t seem to think twice about consuming an entire tray of fresh cookies before they had even had the chance to cool down. Despite being the enviable college football star only two years earlier, Ted had seemed to fall into a life of surprisingly lethargic gluttony. After months of speeding up his metabolism, Ted’s whole system had seemingly crashed and he piled on the pounds with almost alarming speed. Once the paunch had properly developed some shape to it, it seemed to become more and more extreme with each passing day. It was firm and shapely, morphing into love handles that wrapped around his middle. 

Ted, who had never been an especially vain man, took it all in his stride. He had come to accept how different his life was now that he was out on his own and working every day. He had to hold down a job at City Hall and maintain his relationship, reasoning that he didn’t really have the time to devote to the gym, as he once would have done. As such, he’d have to understand that he’d be carrying a little more weight. And if Ted’s weight was no great deal to Danny, then why should he stress about it? 

“Nial always used to say that happy folks always gain a few pounds when they’re in love.” Ted chuckled. He patted his stomach, which had recently become firmer and more tank-like than ever before. “I just happen to be very, very in love,” he teased, kissing Danny sweetly as they snuggled into the couch, ready to watch a movie.

The sex had always been amazing with Ted, but as he got heavier, his body became increasingly homely and cosy to snuggle up with. He was warm and padded, safe and relaxing. Even with the insane amount of money Danny was spending on food each week, he knew that he would never find anyone he would want to be with for the rest of his life, as he felt every single moment with Ted.

Danny didn’t know exactly when the threshold had been passed. There seemed to come a time when people were less accepting of Ted’s post-football career chunk, and more disparaging of the significant extra mass he was carrying all over his body. Thirty pounds people could cope with, but try adding sixty or more, and the overwhelming reaction of others was that of significant disapproval. Perhaps it was when Ted’s chest started to soften, away from the traditional pectoral muscles he had had for so many years.

Danny would take it surprisingly personally when he saw Ted’s friends treating him a little differently, or when his family poked fun. Some days, Ted’s mother could be deliberately frosty with Danny himself, blaming all his baking the increasing difficulties her son was having with his weight.

It appeared to frustrate people how relaxed Ted was about his chubbier physique. The guy was too practical for his own good. When his underwear or pants became too tight, he simply bought new ones. When people were unkind about his weight, he’d only shrug and roll his eyes. “What business is it of theirs?” he’d ask, quite rightly. Some days he did try to eat more sensibly, but he also didn’t lose any sleep on those other days when he had clearly overdone it. Again, Danny had to remind himself that he had no idea what Nial had quietly done during the time they had dated. For all he knew, the guy could have been streaming some hypnotic recording into Ted’s ears as he slept, reinforcing the need to overeat and helping him accept the inevitable changes that would occur as a result. Indeed, despite living with him for over a year, Nial’s actual methods still remained a complete mystery.

It seemed strange to admit, but it was easy to become blind to just how much Ted overate. The giant portions didn’t seem so extreme anymore and the casual snacking was just something Ted did. The guy was so big and tall; of course he was going to need to eat a lot more than most folks. Practically living with Danny now, the cupboards were filled with the things that the big man enjoyed and a large, ugly, reclining chair had appeared in front of the TV where Ted would park himself to play the games console that Nial had been responsible for getting him into.

“Are you really sure about Ted?” asked Danny’s mother one day, noting the way her son’s hard-earned, stylish apartment was beginning to evolve into a space that was clearly inhabited by a fat guy: the smell of stale cheese from the emptied pizza boxes still on the kitchen counter; the generous heap of sugary snacks piled up beside Ted’s chair. “I know he’s a lovely boy, but it’s quite obvious that he’s the type of person who is always going to struggle with his weight.”

Danny bristled with irritation. “Ted could weigh six hundred pounds and I’d still love him,” he answered defiantly.

His mother simply stared at the pile of fresh laundry that Danny was sorting as he tried to ignore her concerns: the new, wavy, withered waistband of Ted’s tortured underwear. “The problem is,” she sighed, “I think that’s exactly where he may end up.”

It had been almost a year since Danny had moved out of Nial’s place, yet the shadow of him loomed within his mind on a daily basis. Danny hated how he had such a wonderful relationship with Ted, yet was still having to keep this dreadful secret about everything that had really happened behind the scenes. If Danny began to explain even one small part of it all, it would be inevitable that his conscience would lead him on to detailing his own despicable part in ultimately crashing Ted’s metabolism; sending him on this journey of seemingly never-ending and remarkably rapid weight gain.

“You’ll never guess who I saw today!” Ted announced, getting in that evening and throwing off his tie.

Danny’s heart sank. He knew the day was coming and every muscle in his body tensed as he watched his lover form Nial’s name with his lips. “What did you say to him?” he asked nervously.

As was usual at this time, Ted went over to the cookie jar and began loading his hand with several treats to take back with him to his chair. “He was surprisingly chatty and friendly,” Ted beamed, pleased that they had all seemingly moved on from the hostility of that break-up.

“Did you tell him about us?” Danny asked, still hoping for a miracle.

“Yeah! And he was absolutely fine about it!” Ted nodded happily, trying to reassure his boyfriend. “He was really pleased for us. In fact, he wants to come over some time and drop off a box of your things he’s found after you moved out.”

Danny spotted the lie straight away. He had checked and double-checked every last inch of that place to ensure that absolutely nothing was left behind.“Did you give him my address?” he asked, trying to conceal the horror in his voice.

Ted nodded. “He said he’d misplaced it, so I wrote it down for him again. He seemed super keen to get back in touch with you.”

Danny nodded, smiling with his mouth despite the whirring of brain cells behind his eyes and the gentle sweat that was creeping over his body. Why had he allowed Ted to go into work in such a tight shirt today? The buttons were so stressed and tortured by the giant stomach, well underway in its construction. Of course such attire would make Ted stand out more in the crowds; it made people stare and look. Folks who may have casually walked by suddenly stopped and studied, recognising someone they used to know… Such a change would have ignited Nial’s curiosity to learn every last detail about what had happened to Ted since their break-up. Perhaps he would want him back? Maybe he thought Danny had done this to him? That this whole thing had been orchestrated since Day One?

Whatever the motives, the feeder would soon be back in all their lives. After all this time, Nial was about to find out everything.

It would have been an easy bet that Nial would arrive the very next morning, well aware that Danny would be working from home and that Ted would be out. Indeed, the guy had made it into the building without calling to be buzzed in, then knocked gently at the door, just like Mrs Lee across the hallway. Suddenly, there he was, right in front of Danny’s eyes, grinning from ear to ear.

“You know…” the guy began, strutting in without an invitation, “...people used to ask me why we were friends. You’re not interesting, particularly clever or funny…”

Danny sighed, feeling like he was only an observer in his own body; powerless to stop whatever move Nial was about to play.

“I told them!” Nial smirked. “I said to them, ‘Danny’s got a lot more about him than you realise!’ I warned them all that there was a devilish streak behind the mundane exterior. And I was absolutely right, wasn’t I?”

“What do you want, Nial?” Danny grunted, still holding the door open in the hope that he could get the guy out as soon as possible.

Nial laughed as he saw a pair of Ted’s pants draped over the back of one of the chairs. He picked them up and whistled in appreciation of their size. “”Fuck me! Look at these!” he laughed. “Looks like old Teddy-Boy has let himself go a bit! When I saw him yesterday, I could hardly believe my eyes. That stomach!” he laughed wickedly. “And the tits are beautiful by the way. I definitely need to congratulate you on those. You’ve clearly been working exceedingly hard to fatten him up.”

Danny quickly shut the door, not wanting anyone to overhear a single word. “I’m not like that!” he shot back. “I’m not like you. I never have been.”

“First of all, you stole my boyfriend from me. So don’t be playing the innocent card here!” Nial suddenly flared up; his patience evaporating. “Secondly, are you really trying to convince yourself that you’re not every bit as twisted as I am? I was thinking about it all night. I bet they hate you, don’t they? His whole family was so stuck up. I bet they despise you now you’ve done this to their little prince. He’s so tall, I bet he’s even heavier than he looks. What is he now? 350lbs? 360?”

Danny didn’t know how to reply. Yet in his silence was everything Nial needed.

“I could tell them all, you know. No one wants a feeder in the family. One phone call and this whole false world you’ve built together would come crashing down.”

“But I haven’t done anything!” Danny argued back, sensing his worst fears coming to life.

“Of course you have! Look at him! He’s a walking, talking human-pig!”

“Don’t call him that!” Danny growled.

“I’ll call him whatever the fuck I like,” Nial hit back defiantly. “He was mine long before you started to sink your claws into him. I’ll do it, y’know. I’ll tell his family everything. Ted is such a mommy’s boy, he’d end it with you the second his mother told him to.”

“Why would anyone believe a single nasty word that came out of your mouth?” Danny argued back, actually raising his voice a little, so palpable was his fury. For over a year he had had to live with the knowledge of the sordid deeds he had played his part in. It was a looming darkness that threatened to destroy the beautiful happiness that he in no way deserved.

“Because it wouldn’t be the words coming out of my mouth that they would be listening to,” Nial smirked back. He pulled out his cell phone and began scrolling back to his and Nial’s messages to each other from over two years ago, when they had first met. Back then, it had been a revelation to discover anyone else who liked their men with a little more weight on them. Danny remembered how captivated he had been by Nial at the time. It felt so freeing to be able to discuss his love of those chubbier physiques as Nial found pictures of fat guys online and sent them over for him to rate.

“He’s cute…” came the tinny recorded tones of Danny on the voice note, “...but he’d be even cuter with another fifty pounds on him.”

Nial grinned and scrolled to the next; another fat guy picture that needed rating.

“That belly is so damn hot! I just want to rub it and feed him doughnuts all through the night!” a long ago, naive Danny had said.

Triumphantly, Nial put his cell phone back in his pocket. He could have gone on for hours playing those voice notes. There would have been hundreds of them; each one more incriminating than the last.

“What do you want?” Danny sighed, knowing when he had been beaten.

Pleased to see Danny cooperating at last, Nial sat himself down and got comfortable. “I want to know how you did it. I put more effort into fattening Ted than anyone else I’ve ever dated. Then you came along and packed over one hundred pounds on him in just over a year.”

“But if I tell you, you’re just going to do it to other guys, and this whole cycle will just go on and on…”

Nial held up his hands and laughed wickedly. “You’ve got me there!” he nodded. “That is exactly what I want. I need to recreate whatever it is you’re doing with every single guy I sleep with.” 

Despite his smug appearance, Nial was clearly aware that Danny was more than a little uncomfortable by the idea. Danny had to think fast. He knew that he couldn’t tell Nial about the diet pills, no matter what. He couldn’t sink to Nial’s level and pile on even more guilt than he already felt. Instead, he headed off to the bedroom and quickly scribbled down something that he hoped would get Nial off his back, if only for a short time.

“What’s this?” Nial grunted, presented with a single, folded piece of paper.

“It’s my shake recipe,” Danny explained, having been inspired by the dusty pair of Ted’s dumbbells that lay unused by the couch. “Ted trains with weights and each time he does, I feed him this fake protein shake. It floods his body with calories and builds the appetite like you won’t believe,” he lied.

Nial looked sceptically back at him. “What, and he just continues to drink them? Even with how fat he’s clearly gotten?”

“He trusts me,” Danny shrugged, knowing that his lies were deeply flawed. But what other choice did he have?

At that, Nial smirked and slipped the paper into his back pocket, seemingly satisfied. “It’s always the quiet ones you need to watch out for!” he chuckled, almost proudly at how Danny had turned out to be so seemingly cruel and wicked. “I’ll be keeping a keen eye on you from now on. If these shakes really work as you say they do, Ted is going to keep on getting fat as fuck.”

“He will,” Danny nodded, ready to say anything that would convince Nial that he didn’t need to stick around and press him for further details. “You’ll see. I’m not lying. This recipe really does work!”

Trying to refocus back on Danny’s work after Nial left was completely impossible. In his mind, Danny tried to play out every single scenario of what could happen next. He hadn’t seen the last of Nial; of that he was certain. It was all so frustrating! This sort of drama was not what he wanted in life and he cursed himself for every wrong turn he had ever taken that had brought him here.

When Ted got home, he headed straight over to the refrigerator and began his early snacking, grunting as he parked his increasingly hefty rear in his seat and turning on his games console.

“Dinner won’t be long,” Danny smiled, handing his man a cool beer. Despite all the pleasures he took in looking after Ted so well, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all a ticking time bomb, ready to explode the moment Nial decided to light the match.

Ted and Danny had been on vacation at the time of the proposal. Unbeknownst to Danny, Ted had arranged the whole thing: the amazing tour of the island, followed by a meal at the fanciest restaurant they’d ever been to, where Ted then got down on one knee and popped the question. Of course Dany had said yes straight away. There was no part of him that even questioned his desire to be with the oversized man forever.

Despite the many miles they had travelled to be there, so much of the trip had been consumed by long hours of passion in the bedroom. The food was so readily available and Ted didn’t seem to have the slightest hang up about his weight as he strutted about with his large gut jiggling as he went. He’d dive into the pool, not realising how much of an inelegant splash he created, quietly frustrating those lounging at the side.

Upon their return home, Ted’s pants failed to close and it was obvious that a massive spike in his weight had occurred in only two short weeks. Ted’s complete descent into obesity was cemented as his hips widened and his thighs rocked with fresh lard. The previous solidness of his swollen middle had been replaced by a layer that was significantly softer and plusher. Giant love handles draped over his belt buckle and his back had broadened further as the fat from his chest now carried very heavily under his arms. And those arms of his! So large and wide, pumped full of new softness. Danny felt so safe and secure within them.

“What are the chances of bumping into you two here?” came a voice that Danny had dreaded. 

Nial suddenly sprang out at them as they strolled about at a venue they were considering for their wedding. Ted quietly huffed in disappointment. Their romantic day of visiting potential locations had been interrupted in the most unexpected way possible. 

“I hear congratulations are in order?” Nial beamed, looking from one to the other. “We’d be delighted to host your wedding here. I’m sure I can offer you very generous rates.”

Both of them were shocked to see that Nial not only worked there, but was actually managing this prestigious venue these days. They awkwardly followed along as Ted’s ex led the way through the building, giving them the big sell. His butt was so tight and handsome in those dress pants; surely Ted must be admiring it with at least a little longing?

“I can just imagine you two having your first dance here; Ted looking all handsome in his suit,” Nial smiled playfully. Was he actually doing it? Was he actually flirting with Ted right in front of Danny?

Ted squirmed awkwardly, heading off to the restroom for a quick break from it all. There was no way on Earth they would be having their wedding here if this was where Nial now worked. This had been Ted’s choice to visit here. Or had it? Now that Danny thought about it, he didn’t really know how it was that the assistant manager had come to call him up in order to arrange this appointment in the first place.

“You absolute fucking liar!” Nial laughed the moment Ted was out of earshot; the pair of them watching the man’s wide rear as he disappeared away and turned sideways in order to get through one of the doors. “Look at him! There’s no way you did that with just those shakes. I saw the pictures of you two on that vacation. You turned my Ted into pure blubber!”

“He’s not yours!” Danny growled, unable to let that one go. “I don’t want to talk about any of this now,” He sighed impatiently. He’d spent all week looking forward to today; a step towards the future, not a prison ship sailing him back into his dubious, murky past.

“There’s barely even four hundred calories in that shake recipe you wrote down. I added it all up and knew straight away that it was a load of bullshit. You’re a liar, as well as a thief!”

“I am not!” Danny argued, turning to walk into the lounge area where it was too filled with listening ears for Nial to continue trying to press this type of conversation.

“You’ve got one week,” Nial simply stated, not even attempting to chase after Danny. “You tell me what you’re doingto make him so fucking fat, or I make sure everyone knows what a kinky little freak you really are.”

Danny didn’t sleep that night. He didn’t sleep the night after either. His mind was whirring with a panicked frenzy, trying to think about how he could escape this pincer grip he felt ensnared by.

Can we talk?” Danny asked his fiance, exhausted by so little sleep that Monday evening.

Ted smiled, patting his knee for Danny to sit with him, just as they usually did. However, this time, everything Danny had to say was far too serious to discuss whilst perching on Ted’s knee. He placed himself on the edge of the couch, clearly setting Ted’s nerves on edge as he spotted the fear and panic in his lover’s eyes. “Did Nial say something on Saturday?” he asked instinctively. “You’ve been so weird since we bumped into him.”

Danny rolled his eyes. If only it had been as simple as a lone snarky comment from a jealous former friend. If only Satruday had been a genuine, coincidental reunion between old housemates and lovers. But Nial was too calculating for that.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Ted pressed, seeing that Danny would need a little nudging along in this conversation. “Nial said something to you?”

Danny exhaled. He’d practised the wording all afternoon, yet it still didn’t sound right even as it passed through his lips. “Nial seems to have it in his head that your weight gain is my fault.”

Ted chuckled. “And there was me thinking how nice he was not to comment on how fat I’ve gotten since we dated.”

“Oh, he’s noticed alright!” Danny sighed. “He wants to tell your whole family that I’m some sort of feeder.”

Ted frowned; the unusual shift seemingly sucking all joy and humour out of the conversation. He stayed quiet, waiting for Danny to elaborate.

“There’s something that happened long ago that I’ve been keeping from you,” Danny began, feeling his heart beating fast. “When you hear about it, there’s no going back. It’ll ruin everything!”

Poor Ted. He was such a nice boy. Even now he seemed genuinely heartbroken to see Danny so upset. He reached out a hand across to him, wanting to hold his hand in his and comfort him.

Danny took the large palm, but forced himself to look Ted straight in the eye. “You see… I may not be a feeder, but… it is my error that you’re so overweight. It’s all completely my fault…”

Soon afterwards, Ted pulled his hand back. Bit by bit, the entire truth came out; every last sickening detail. He stared at Danny as if seeing him for the very first time; as if he didn’t really know him at all.

Danny was extremely low for the next couple of days and in no mood to see a perky-looking Nial grinning happily at him when he opened his door one early evening. The man was holding a giant cream-filled cake in a large card box and he strolled in once again without a word of invitation. “Is Fat Boy home yet?” he asked with surprising volume.

Danny simply sighed. He didn’t care about Nial’s games anymore and he wasn’t about to give the guy the pleasure of seeing him squirm. “If you’re referring to Ted, no; I don’t know what time he’ll be back,” he replied, checking his watch and seeing that Ted was probably staying out late again, just as he had done for the last couple of nights, without letting Danny know.

“Well, call him up!” Nial insisted. “I want to see his face when I tell him what I’ve got to say.”

Danny felt a surge of anger bubbling up inside of him. Couldn’t Nial see the bedsheets by the couch where Ted had been sleeping the last couple of nights? The guy had always been so consumed by himself, without a thought to the havok that he wreaked all around him; setting his large cake on the kitchen counter as if moving the next piece on his imaginary chess board. Watching him, Danny’s face contorted in frustration as he prepared to unleash his tongue, explaining to Nial exactly how fucked up all these lies had made everything. He took in a huge breath, ready to begin, when the door suddenly opened and in walked Ted, confused to see Nial standing in their living room.

“Ah, there he is!” Nial smiled, sliding over to the big man like a slithering snake. “Danny invited me over to discuss the extra discounts we could offer on your wedding,” he lied.

Behind Nial’s back, Danny simply shook his head. Letting Ted know that this was yet another one of the guy’s lies.

“That’s… “ Ted began sounding surprisingly calm, despite all the horrible things he had now learned about his ex. “We’re actually still undecided on the wedding.” 

Feeling glum, Danny held it together in front of Nial. it wasn’t just the wedding that was in peril; his whole relationship felt like it was crumbling. However, with Nial there before them, Ted suddenly strutted over and kissed him sweetly on the head just as he always used to, until recently; perhaps trying to show some sort of united front with their mutual enemy.

“I’m guessing that you brought the cake?” Ted asked, staring down at the large cream-filled dessert that had been placed on the kitchen counter.

“I remembered that this was always your favorite!” Nial beamed back.

Ted nodded, dropping his hand into the box and ripping off a big section to eat there and then. “Absolutely!” he nodded. “I started going crazy for these sorts of treats when we were dating,” he agreed, speaking as he chewed. “That’s probably why I’m so enormous these days,” he pretended to joke, patting his fat tummy as if happy to poke fun at himself.

Inside, Danny squirmed, wondering where all this was possibly leading.

“That is some seriously good cake!,” Ted nodded, licking his fingers and happy to dive his hand back in for more.”

“Perhaps Danny will have to start making you some just like this?” Nial smirked, seeming pleased to see the fat man eating. “I remember he had some good baking skills back when we used to live together.”

“Oh, he does!” Ted chuckled. “Whatever I ask for, he whips up for me in no time.” He reached into the drawer, grabbing himself a fork before pulling out the entire cake to start attacking it alone; that whole, giant cake, without any intention of sharing. “I’m in very good hands.”

Nial looked to Danny, seemingly impressed. No man would start gorging on an entire cake, like Ted currently was, without some serious, sustained overfeeding in the past. The whole process seemed so effortless as well; forkful by forkful, the greedy man was consuming it all without even a glass of water to wash it down. 

As he ate, Ted was listing off all the amazing bakes he enjoyed most that Danny made. He spoke about it all with such enthusiasm that his giant, tank-like stomach no longer seemed so misplaced on him. The man removed his work tie, leaned over the counter, making that large gut fall out from the bottom of his stretched shirt, and continued the assault as if it was too exhausting for him to stay entirely upright. The next time he did stand up tall, he brought with him the platter that the former cake had been sitting on, scraping the entirety of the messy remains straight into his gluttonous mouth.

“I’m going to leave you guys to it,” Ted announced afterwards. “I’ll do a couple of minutes of my weights and then head into the shower.” He then turned specifically to Danny. “Honey, do you mind making up one of my protein shakes for when I’ve finished?.”

At that moment, Danny realised exactly what this whole performance had all been about. Just like that, Ted was fixing all the problems that Danny had been facing for months now. Revenge was beneath them both. A war with Nial would quickly get very messy; especially if he was going to start involving Ted’s family. It would be far easier to simply convince the guy that everything Danny had told him about the fake protein shakes was absolutely true: that Danny really was a genuine feeder and nothing more.

“Sure. I’ll have that ready for you shortly,” Danny smiled back, accepting another sweet kiss on his head from the big man before he disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door.

“Well…” Nial breathed, clearly still in shock. “I never imagined in a million years that…”

“I don’t want you coming around here anymore,” Danny jumped in impatiently. With Ted’s exit, he had passed Danny the baton to deal with Nial once and for all; to prove himself. As such, it was not an opportunity that he had any intention of wasting. 

Nial seemed taken aback by the assertiveness behind Danny’s voice.

“You’ve seen what you wanted to see. I’m not lying to you about anything. It’s time to go our separate ways. For good,” he stated without a hint of compromise.

“I actually quite enjoy seeing what a handsome chub you’re making. Ted is…”

“Mine,” Danny jumped in, unwilling to indulge Nial’s ramblings. “You had your chance and you squandered it. Jealousy is not a good look on you.”

“I’m not jealous!” Nial growled back, obviously wounded by the suggestion. “I have a whole load of future fatties I could play with whenever I want.”

“Like that hot little barman I saw you making eyes at in your work the other day?” Danny asked knowingly. “I wonder what he would have to say if I told him all the many, many tales I have about you. Shit like that spreads around a workplace like you wouldn’t believe.”

Nial stared him out for a second, before nodding. “Fine,” he spat, trying to portray an air of apathy. “I’ll leave you alone. But I’m not wrong about those protein shakes. You’d get much better results if you…”

“My results speak for themselves,” Danny hit back, opening the front door and pointing for the houseguest to leave. Nial looked as if he wanted to say something in response as he stepped through it, however the door was slammed so quickly and unceremoniously shut afterwards, there wasn’t a hope of stopping it.

Danny rested his head against the door. The blackmail was over. Yet, in its wake was a problem far worse than any other he had ever come across. It hadn’t been the diet pills that had angered Ted. Anyone could see that Danny had, in his own, slightly misguided way, been trying to help the situation. No, it had been the secrets that had disappointed Ted; the fact that this problem had been allowed to grow and fester for so long, until it had become a monster that threatened their whole relationship.

“I take it he’s gone?” came a soft voice as a shirtless Ted stepped out of the bedroom. “Problem solved?” he asked.

“He’s not coming back. No,” Danny replied, gratefully. “I’m sorry you had to eat an entire cake just to get me off the hook,” he tried to joke.

Ted smiled for the first time in days. “I actually quite enjoyed that part,” he chuckled, stepping closer. “You know what I’m like when it comes to cake.”

Danny nodded happily as Ted came close enough to embrace; that enormous, powerful, soft and cuddly body swallowing him up once more. Had he actually been forgiven?

“There is one good thing to come out of all of this,” Ted explained, stepping back slightly. “At least I know you do genuinely enjoy my body these days,” he laughed, grabbing at a huge wedge of his giant stomach.

“Oh…” Danny grinned, gazing at his man with complete awe and lust, “I absolutely do!” he nodded emphatically.

Ted smirked back, suddenly reaching down and sweeping Danny off his feet to hold him in his arms. “Good. Because now we’re getting married, this fat guy is going to be yours for life!” The pair kissed passionately, both relieved to have worked through everything. “And, to celebrate that fact, I’m going to take you into our bedroom and show you exactly what us big boys can do…” he whispered teasingly. “Then you can come out and cook me a nice, big supper, given that I’m going to be building up quite the appetite!”

“I think I can handle that!” Danny winked, kissing his huge, greedy lover once more. Then off they both went into the bedroom, closing that door firmly behind them.

[defat1]

You look to the Elytron Elemental, then back to the young adventurer. You're an ancient dragon, a creature of the Dungeon, a being beyond pity or remorse or death. The Dungeon wants tribute, paid in blood and mana, and you can feel even its dark influence shuddering in incredulity at the sight.

All throughout the depths of the Dungeon's deepest floor, those creatues capable of thought are asking themselves two questions: How did this human get this far, and what do we do with him now?

The Dungeon advises you directly, a dizzying act that makes you snort in irritation. The adventurer did not arrive by the previous floors. He has no mana to speak of. His gear is worth more than his life-force is, and even that is common trash the Dungeon would hide on its highest floors to lure humans into the profession of looting dungeons.

And yet, the Elytron Elemental has yet to land a blow on the adventurer. It questions you again, asking for guidance, and you tell it to try its second phase area attack. A waste of good mana, but the human is wasting mana every second the fight drags on.

It obeys without question, gathering the elements together on its back before detonating each orb in five successive waves. A devastating attack that had felled many an adventurer over the centuries-

The boy does the unthinkable, and shelters directly beneath the miniboss. Worse, the way he slides underneath it causes his cheap sword to kick up and wedge itself into an armor plate, and as the orbs detonate, each drives the dull steel deeper into the heart of the beetle, drenching the fumbling boy in hemolymph.

You and the Dungeon watch in disbelief as the Elytron Elemental is dealt a telling blow, and almost miss what happens next.

The goop-covered human narrowly avoids being crushed, but his cape catches on the sword and rips it sideways and out of the wound, worsening the injury and causing the great beetle's dominant limb to fall limp. The Elytron doggedly clambers to its feet, ignoring the wound and pursuing the prey. The boy attempts to run, but trips over his own cape just as the gigantic adamantine insect tries to retaliate with a wind-elemental dash.

There is a rumble in the stone of the Dungeon as the miniboss rams itself into a pillar, followed by another as the impact breaks a stalactite from the ceiling of the chamber to spear the Elytron Elemental through. The beetle dies in ignominy as the entire Final Floor listens in silence, the frustration of the Dungeon becoming palpable in the air. Reluctantly, it spawns the loot chest as normal, but you can feel its displeasure like the distant rumblings of a wild thunderstorm in your mind.

You snort in dismissal. The boy may have gotten lucky, but even with the high-end loot he's just gained, you are far too powerful to be vanquished by some mana-less whelp with a sharp stick. You are a dragon, no mere summoned creature, and the Dungeon would do well to remember that.

An hour later...

Chuck cautiously nudges the dragon's head with his shattered sword, making sure it was really dead.

"Geez, one hell of a tutorial, huh? Guess it beats being roadkill, at least." He steps back from the corpse, still radiating heat from the explosive fireball it had accidentally swallowed.

"And that goddess thought I was being a moron, putting all my stats in luck. That Demon King's never gonna know what hit them."

You are the end boss of a dungeon. You watch as your midboss fights a scrawny warrior with a 5 copper sword and a cape that says "adventurer in training." As the warrior attacks your minion with sad, pathetic strikes, it looks to you in a desperate plea for guidance.

[wendichester]

I absolutely love your work! Could I request something where the reader is not the most active person, like... She doesn't like running, she's not fit, she's terrible at fighting. She maybe does research, but that's all. But she's good at picking clothes, she always makes sure Sam and Dean look professional/appropriate to what they'll be doing. And she makes absolutely AMAZING apple pie, and she cooks, and all - just helps "passively", not "actively". So one day she decides that "alright, that's enough, I'm only causing trouble" and leaves - and at first the boys don't care, since she "wasn't too useful" - but after like a week or two they notice that they miss the apple pie, they miss someone who could help them with looking better, especially Sam, who realizes how deep in love with her he is? And maybe she comes back?

I'm sorry if it's too specific, or too much details, or anything😅😅

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ all the little things,

summary. when you start to think just how replaceable you are, sam shows you exactly otherwise

pairing. sam winchester x reader ft. dean winchester

wordcount. 681

notes. honestly, this is just a heartwarming idea! thank you for requesting lovely 🩷

The motel room is quiet when you slip out.

Your bag is packed, everything neat and folded because, well—of course it is. You aren’t a mess. You don’t do things hastily or without thinking. But you’ve thought about this—leaving—long and hard, and the conclusion is always the same.

You aren’t useful.

Sure, you help. You make sure Dean’s FBI suit isn’t wrinkled and that Sam has something other than plaid to wear when interviewing victims. You keep the bunker stocked, and you make damn good apple pie.

But you can’t run. You can’t fight. You can barely hold a gun without it shaking in your hands.

And you’re tired of feeling like dead weight.

So you leave.

No note, no big speech—just a quiet exit in the middle of the night, the way you’re sure they’ll forget you.

Because you? You’re replaceable.

Right?

At first, the boys don’t notice.

They wake up, see that your things are gone, and shrug it off. Maybe you got tired of the life. Maybe you found something better.

They don’t talk about it.

They just move on.

Then things start feeling off.

Not all at once—just little things.

Like how Dean’s shirts are suddenly wrinkled as hell, and his ties are never quite right. Or how Sam keeps losing his laptop charger because you’re not there to remind him to bring it.

And the food? Absolute garbage.

Dean burns everything. Sam tries to cook and nearly poisons them both. They eat diner food three times a day, and after two weeks, Dean stares blankly at the menu and mutters, “God, I miss pie.”

Sam’s fork pauses mid-air.

It’s the first time either of them has said it out loud.

Dean catches himself, scowls, and shoves a bite of pancakes into his mouth. But the damage is done.

They do miss you.

The bunker feels wrong without you.

Your room is empty, hollow in a way Sam can’t stand. He stops by more often than he wants to admit, staring at the bed like it might hold answers, like it might tell him why you left without a word.

At first, he assumed it didn’t matter. But now—now it’s everywhere.

It’s in the little things.

Like how there’s no warm light from the kitchen in the morning, no soft hum of music while you bake. No one teasing Dean about his terrible diet or fixing Sam’s collar before an interview.

No one who makes them feel like they have a home.

It takes Sam longer than he’d like to admit to realize what it means.

He doesn’t just miss you.

He loves you.

And he needs you back.

Finding you takes time.

Sam spends hours searching, fingers flying over the keyboard until—finally—he gets a hit.

Dean doesn’t argue when Sam says, “Let’s go.”

Because he misses you too.

You stare at them when they show up at your new apartment.

“...What are you doing here?”

Sam takes a slow breath. “We need to talk.”

You cross your arms, trying to hold your ground. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Dean scoffs. “Bullshit.”

Sam shoots him a look, then turns back to you, softer. “We didn’t realize how much we needed you,” he admits. “Not just for the small stuff—for everything.”

You blink, and Sam steps closer, voice steady.

“You make us better. You make us feel like we’re more than just hunters. More than just the job.”

You swallow hard. “I—I thought I was just in the way.”

Sam shakes his head. “You were never in the way.”

Dean chimes in. “Look, we’re idiots, okay? We should’ve said something when you left.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “But the truth is—we suck without you.”

Your throat tightens.

Then Sam says, quietly—earnestly,

“I love you.”

Your breath catches.

Dean smirks. “Took him long enough to admit it.”

Sam rolls his eyes but doesn’t look away from you. His hand finds yours, warm and solid.

“So,” he says. “Come home?”

You hesitate—only for a second.

Then you nod.

And just like that, everything is right again.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @bamboobooshark ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @lemonswinchester ⋆ @4k1vrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @szyszoszelest ⋆ @angelicalm3ss ⋆ @writtenbyhollywood ⋆ @larasalii ⋆ @yeehawgiddyup13 ⋆ @xo-zeze ⋆ @jules-pagie ⋆ @freeluigihesbae ⋆ @viarasvogue

[revelboo]

We just said goodbye to my bro's dog last night and rereading your stories is one of the few things getting me through the day without completely breaking down (yay distractions) 🙏🏻 lord help me as I go to work.

Pic cause he was the goodest boy who ever boy'd.

Oh, no- I’m so sorry to hear that. Huskies are such sweet, silly babies

Worker Bee Pt 22

Waspinator x Reader

• Stiffening when several slightly wilted daffodils, bulbs, roots and all, including the dirt are dumped in your lap and on the book you’re curled up reading, you take a deep breath. Head tipping back to stare at Waspinator looming over you, his mandibles shift into what you’ve decided is his equivalent to a smile. “Pretty for pretty little mate,” he says, antenna lifting. Not even going to try and argue the mate bit as you wonder which of your poor neighbor’s yards he’d been digging up. You’d convinced him to drag the azalea out of the living room and even to dig a hole and plant it near the house. Of course that had backfired when he’d came back inside looking like he’d been rolling around in the mud and had immediately pounced you for a hug.

• “Gee, thanks,” you mutter, little nose scrunching. Kneeling by the arm of the couch, he rests his chin on it, mandibles idly snagging the sleeve of your covering. “Don’t eat my clothes, please.” Sitting up you gather the flowers to yourself and head into your food area. Trailing behind you, he watches you cut one of plants’s stems and drop it into a glass with water. The rest you hold out. “Want to plant these?” Perking up, he takes them, servos sliding against the back of your hands and those eyes flick up to him. Encouraging him to move closer, venting to pull your scent deep.

• Skin prickling as his head tips, wings flicking fitfully, you back up and he lets you go even if there’s something almost predatory in the way he watches you. You’d hoped he’d ease up some if you just went along with his dating attempts, but he’s much more focused than normal now. Still your clingy wasp, but something has definitely shifted. And he follows you, moving slowly. Deliberately. Like he’s trying not to spook you. “Waspinator do good?” This is new, too. Keeps doing little things for you and then asking if you’re happy with him. Pleased with him. Like he’s a junkie for praise. Needs it. “Good at dating?”

• Watching you stumble to a stop when you back yourself into a wall, he cages you there with his palms splayed on either side of you. Watches you tense. Doesn’t understand this game. Letting him court you. Thanking him for taking care of you like a mate should. Then retreating from him. Avoiding him. Part of human courting? Keeps trying to confirm that he’s doing it right. That you’re happy with him, but you still shy away. Making him anxious with the need to please you so he can stay. “Waspinator,” you whisper, voice tense as you look up at him. “You’re crushing the daffodils.” And it’s so novel to be bigger than someone. He’s always been smaller than most of the other Decepticons.

• He’s too close. Looming over you and pinning you without touching you. And you don’t know what to do with this Waspinator. With his sudden, new found confidence. His boldness. Or maybe you’re just more aware of him now that you know what he’s up to. Maybe he’s not changed, just your awareness of him. “Waspinator good mate?” Forearm sliding against the wall, the spines at his elbow scrape the drywall when he leans down. Can feel the warmth of his venting stirring your hair. Suddenly breathless, you shove at his arm and all but run into the kitchen, aware of his soft, puzzled, “little mate?” Because that’s what he’s started calling you instead of little friend and it’s one more thing you’re not equipped to deal with right now.

Previous

[thatguywrites]

F1 grid with Chronic pain Boyfriend

Verstappen, Piastri, Hamilton, Alonso, Bottas

Headcannons

Max Verstappen

Pays for the highest level medical care for you

Whatever helps your pain the most, braces, medications, straight up weed, you've got it in abundance

He'll always give you massages, or run hot baths for you whenever you need

When you start to get fatigued, and lean on things more than not, he's instantly at your side

He's more than willing to spend a whole day in bed with you if you just don't feel like getting out of bed

Advocates more for disabled people, beyond paralysis, looking into the Chronic pain that racing can cause like the back pain Fernando and Lewis have ended up with

Lewis

Funds a lot of research into your condition and similar other conditions

Speaks out about it a ton

Pays any fees necessary (I mean if mental health is included ig?)

Finds acceptable fashion, things that don't snag on your mobility aids or clash with your braces

Helps you do pt exercises

Considers training Roscoe to be a service animal for you

Decides on getting you a pretrained breed of your choice instead

Fernando Alonso

Makes sure his drivers room always has everything that helps you

Let's use use his body to support your joints

Will massage your joints as long as you agree to massage his back later

Or not, hes not too pressed

He likes buying fun gadgets that are supposed to help

He hates seeing you in pain, so he figures that whatever money can buy you will have

Valtteri Bottas

Encourages you to bike for pt, or to just to move

Finds/designs braces that fit your esthetic so you never feel uncomfortable wearing them

Always brings you to the sauna when yall are in Finland so that your joints don't get too cold

Is also perfectly ok vacationing wherever is best for you

Spain? Sounds good

America? Sure

Japan? Wonderful!

He's also very adaptable day to day, if you need to cancel because of pain he'll never complain

Taglist (Comment or DM to be added)

@koalapastries @justaf1girl @spoonfulofmilo @lokisen

[ripinejschu]

Chained Cheater, Chastised - KY10

pairing: kenan yildiz x reader

synopsis: the day before the Turkiye's quarterfinal match in the Euros, Kenan gets involved in a cheating scandal he swears never happened, but reader doesn't want to hear him out and causes Kenan to lose focus. But is he really telling the truth? Pictures don't lie...

wc: 4.2k

cw: tears, cheating allegations, silent treatment

an: first fic on this account!! it feels like it's been forever since I last posted on here; this was written in july btw!! i love writing for kenan

Kenan’s hands shake as he sees the horrifying images on his phone. Weston had sent him a few posts and links about an alleged cheating scandal regarding Kenan, but he had firmly denied it.

Until Weston sent the doctored photos of him all cozied up with some blonde chick, face smirking at the prize he’d gotten for that night. The ones he looks at now, damning and all too natural looking.

Shit, shit, shit–shit runs through his mind.

Who could have done this? Some jealous bitch of course, bitter over his relationship with his beloved girlfriend, who would no doubt see this and feel her heart break.

Somehow, the German media had found out and already written a couple of articles, with the pictures and gossip accounts credited. Not very viable, but once this spreads no one would care beyond what seems so obvious. The photos are right there, picture perfect, but Kenan’s words will never make the public believe the truth, not with these.

He feels trapped. Should he call Weston, plead his case? It would be practice for others, but he knows it’s a futile attempt. Should he call his girlfriend, let her know the rumours and photos aren’t true? By now, they are circulating even on TikTok as he looks at the links, afraid to open them up and see the comment sections.

He’s already going through enough because of everyone’s harsh criticisms of his performances in the Euros lately; he doesn’t need to see what else people are saying.

Career-ruining. That’s what this is. Kenan is already aware of the Italian influence of cheaters, especially with the rumours whispered in the Juventus locker rooms about the Italian beauty Calafiori being a serial cheater  –which Fede had wanted no part of– and now…now it gave the Turkish critics new material to hate on his foreign influence. Already too German, accent thick in his broken Turkish, and now living a lifestyle like the Italians? He doesn’t want to think about it.

Except, the alternative is even worse. What would you say? Sweet and fierce, you’d stood by him when he struggled in games, when he cried in your arms because he never seemed Turkish enough, constantly stumbling over his words and syllables.

But now…shit. He needs to call you immediately and try to clear the air with you before you can see any part of this brewing storm of lies. His hands shake as he finds your contact in his Favourites folder, hesitating before he presses down on your name. Your smiling face lights up his screen, a photo of you hugging Ramos, whose tongue lolled happily.

The phone rings, and rings, and rings, before it goes to voicemail. No worries, right? Maybe you’re in the bathroom or you have your phone on silent. He waits a minute, staring at the screen before trying again.

It immediately goes to voicemail. Oh no.

Kenan knows you know, but you need to hear his defense straight from him. He texts you, mumbling a prayer that the text will go through and you’ll answer before you decide to block him.

He types, and erases the words. Types again, and erases the words again. Nothing seems good enough; it all sounds like a pathetic plea of a man caught red-handed, but you need to hear it.

He settles on the following: “Y/N listen to me please. There are a couple of photos on the internet of me and a blonde girl cuddling, but I promise wallahi it’s not real. I’ve never looked at any other girl with desire during our whole relationship I swear. This is fake, please believe me. Call me when you can, so we can figure this out together. Please.”

It’s not the best but still, it will do. His hands begin to shake again as he presses send, waiting, waiting…

Delivered. You hadn’t blocked him. You’re not even on Do Not Disturb, so you did get the notification. Kenan puts his phone on Personal to block every notification but yours and waits for you to respond, but as the minutes tick by and he begins to pace, phone silent in his pocket, he doesn't hear the sound of a text come through.

Until now. He whips out his phone only to see a barrage of texts in Personal, with Arda’s pushed through, hence the text sound. Dusan, Weston, Timothy. But not you.

He reads through the messages, confusion and anger mixing together. Arda is asking what is going on, Dusan is demanding if it’s true and why he would do such a thing, his texts growing angrier at Kenan’s stupidity, Timothy’s calling him a “fucking idiot” and Weston is wondering why Kenan isn’t responding to his texts and can he please let him know what’s going on.

Hakan’s text comes in at the top: “Call me IMMEDIATELY” is written on the notification, and Kenan gulps. Part of him wants to ignore him, partially in case you call him, but with his career on the line at such a young age, he knows he needs to talk to his captain, especially with tomorrow’s quarterfinal match looming over him.

He again goes to the phone app, looking longingly at yours that still has no response, and calls Hakan.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Kenan, what the fuck is going on? Please tell you you’re not so stupid as to get involved in a  scandal? And now, with our reputation on the line, yours especially?” Kenan winces, but Hakan continues. “You know there’s a game tomorrow, right? We have to focus on the wondrous Holland, not this relationship drama, a whole scandal, Kenan. What were you thinking?”

Kenan gulps again as he feels tears begin to sting his eyes. He needs Hakan to believe him, but he struggles to get his words out.

“Hakan, I promise it’s not what you think. They’re n-not real, I would n-never do that. P-please, you have to believe me!”

Kenan doesn’t realize he’s crying until Hakan’s tone softens, comforting the young man. “Kenanım, it’s okay, we’ll get through this. You’re a young man, we can easily work this out. Don’t cry. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

Kenan lets out a loud sob, unable to keep quiet anymore. He should feel humiliated, crying on the phone with his mature, older captain, but he can’t keep it in anymore.

You ignoring his calls and messages, the anger from his teammates, his career threatening to fall apart, it’s too much for the teen. He collapses on the floor of his hotel room sobbing, phone falling from his hand as he cries his eyes out.

At some point, he feels two warm bodies encapsulate him from both sides, arms wrapping around his crumpled form, and he cries into someone’s chest with their heart beating steadily.

“Sh-she’s not answering me. I t-tried telling her i-it’s not real b-but she won’t a-answer m-me,” he cries between sobs, unsure of what language he’s speaking because either way, it comes out broken.

He feels an arm rubbing his back, a voice soothingly shushing him, and an embrace holding him as his tears finally subside enough not to blind him. He cautiously lifts his head to look up into Hakan’s eyes.

His captain rocks him slightly as he looks down at the boy’s tear-stricken face before tucking a stray lock of hair behind Kenan’s ear. He lets out another sob, remembering how you would do the same, amusement sparking up your eyes as he would giggle like a princess.

“I’ve got you, Kenan. I told you it’ll be okay and we’ll work this out, I mean it.” Kenan takes a moment to catch his breath, before trying to sit up a little more, back against the wall.

He startles when he sees Kerem sitting on the floor in front of him and Bariş sitting on the bed, and when he turns his head he sees Arda hugging him from behind.

He carefully reaches up and holds his hand, and Arda squeezes it in response. Kenan takes a deep breath, looking back at Hakan. “Weston told me a-about this. He sent those photos of me and that girl but it’s not real I swear. I don't even go to clubs or drink or anything, I’m Muslim for god sake!”

He feels Arda rest his head on his upper back and continues. “I tried telling y/n they aren’t real, th-that someone must’ve faked them but she isn’t answering me. I tried c-calling her but she didn't pick up my calls. I don't know what else to do.”

Arda glances at the men across the room before looking pointedly at Kerem’s phone, who nods in acknowledgement. “We’ll try to help, okay Kenan? Try to focus on tomorrow’s match in training tonight, we need you and you’ll also feel better.”

Arda wishes Kenan’s best friend Can Uzun is here to comfort Kenan and figure out what to do,  but he decides to try and take action as Kenan’s elder. They all know this is going to mess with Kenan’s head so bad it could cost them the match tomorrow, where he would be looking for you in the stands instead of at the ball.

Hakan takes Kenan early to training to let himself get more comfortable without so many eyes on him at once. Kenan is grateful for this as he doesn’t want to face everyone who must think he’s some disgusting playboy or some saboteur against the team.

He keeps his head down when the others join in, immersing himself in field drills and partnerwork with Arda, who he’s incredibly grateful for. The older boy doesn’t judge, and his quietness is a slight comfort in the raging mess of his head.

Arda and a few other teammates had tried reaching out to you on Kenan’s behalf, but their efforts were in vain. Kenan tries to be grateful for this, but it only breaks his heart more despite the small sense of family in the team he still struggles to fit in to.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

You look at the dozen or so texts from Kenan’s teammates, trying to persuade you to just call Kenan and sort everything out. It takes everything in you not to hurl your phone at the wall and scream curses upon Kenan’s name.

How dare he do this to you, go out to some dirty club and get cozy with some homewrecking blonde bitch? The look on her face, oh, she knew what she was doing with this taken man, and the taken man, Kenan, oh!

Oh, the things you wanted to scream at him, to hurl at his stupid face with that infuriating smirk he always wore, including the damned photos.

Lord, may he be damned forever. Curse his hands and more importantly, his feet.

The second you had seen those photos, sent by your friend in the form of a post on one of those football gossip accounts, your phone had fallen out of your hand, too shocked to react. Thankfully, the hotel carpet had saved it from cracking, which might have been the final nail in this terrible day.

You had not known what to do for a few minutes, only staring down at the photo looking up at you before your emotions kicked in and you screamed, sinking onto the floor as tears streamed down your face.

Kenan, who is supposed to be your Kenan, isn’t truly in love with you. Sure, he whispers promises and kisses and everything to make you fall for him so blisteringly, but it seemed like all those kisses had now left painful blisters everywhere, and you needed to escape your own skin.

You weren’t sure how long you’d stayed there until then your phone rang, snapping you out of your bubble of tears. You’d seen Kenan’s bright smile flashing across the screen, and had let it ring to voicemail. His name had flashed again and this time you’d immediately declined the call.

It felt like you couldn’t breathe as finally, a text came through, pleading his innocence and begging for you to call him. You’d ignored it.

Instead, you had called your friend who was also staying in Germany for the Euros, albeit to support Spain, and prayed she would pick up. She did, immediately asking you what was going on, and later she’d told you you’d simply screamed into the phone before breaking down in sobs, and she’d understood immediately.

She had picked you up from your hotel, knocking incessantly at your door trying to prove it wasn’t Kenan until you’d opened it, and she had immediately got to work. She’d dried your tears, helped you wash your face before applying some moisturizer and light eyeliner to look somewhat put-together, and brewed you some tea, not Turkish of course.

Then she’d taken you out to a cafe nearby, making you leave your phone behind at the hotel to give yourself some space between you and the vicious Internet. She’d bought matcha lattes and pastries for the two of you, telling you not to worry about paying her back.

After a walk in the warm, fresh air of the late afternoon, sipping on matcha and her trash-talking Kenan, you’d both returned to the hotel, spirits lifted just a little, now sitting on the bed looking at the several missed calls and texts from Kenan’s teammates.

They’re full of pleading, telling you the photos aren't real and someone incredibly jealous of your relationship must have photoshopped them and spread them around, and that Kenan needs you. Kerem, however, made the mistake of saying that Kenan’s distractions would be a liability in tomorrow’s vital game, but you cannot have cared less.

Arda’s texts, however, are very sweet, and honestly almost convince you to reach out to Kenan. Arda knows how much you and Kenan mean to each other, and that you two should try talking to each other, even it nothing good comes out fo it because how much worse can it get? A change made would mean reconciling…or breaking up with him.

Your friend scoffs, however. “It’s their job to defend their teammate, do you really think they’re being genuine? I’m all for talking it out with Kenan but hello, pictures don’t lie.”

She’s right, you’d scrutinized every part of the photo and it looked so, so real. There were no weird edges or miscolouration, and the expressions…

You grab the remote and turn on the TV, flicking through channels. Most are in German, except for some boat show in Italian.

You settle on a German version of HGTV, watching the people struggle to find a home within their budget, and take a cold slice of pizza.

A few episodes in, you turn to your friend. “I’ve thought about it, and I’ve made my decision. I’m not going to the game tomorrow. I don’t care how much it ‘affects Kenan’s mind’”–you put this in air quotes–“but he should’ve thought about affecting my own mind before he did that.”

The snarl surprised the both of you, but you don't regret the viciousness of your implication.

You don’t care if Kenan will have a bad game or if that meant Türkiye would lose tomorrow, he should’ve cared about you as much as you cared about him.

Your friend bites her lip, looking a little cautious. “I…I think you should talk to him and see what he has to say. Clearly, that text didn’t say everything. There’s a reason you love him–”

“Loved him,” you interrupt. “Stop it, I already told you I’m not interested. If he wants to be a playboy, fine, I’m not going to stop him.”

Your friend nods quietly, turning back to the TV and finishing the pizza before you both call it a night and she heads out.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

You wake up early for the hotel breakfast, not wanting to miss out on a free meal due to your depression.

After a quick German breakfast of fresh fruits, a salmon and cream cheese bagel, bread rolls and a boiled egg, you head back to your room to figure out what to do for the day.

Of course, your initial plan was to attend the Türkiye football match, but that was not happening anymore.

After deciding on an enticing art museum, you get ready, picking out a cute outfit and applying your makeup with some matching eyeshadow.

Then you realize, you didn’t check your notifications after being on DND all night. You open it up to see dozens more texts and missed calls from Kenan, his teammates, your friends and even your own parents, all asking where you are and what is going on and can you please just talk to Kenan? His texts are the worst, growing even more desperate and begging for just one chance at a conversation.

You ignore everyone, assuming they’ll understand why you’re blowing them off. You focus back at the main task at hand, preparing for the day.

You pick up your purse, not having used it for the past couple of days and rummage through it to find a certain lip oil.

That is, until the sound of metal clinks loudly, louder than it should. You think it’s the bag chain but it shouldn’t have been that loud, so you dump your purse onto your bed and–

–what is that…another chain? You pick up the silver chain and realize whose it is. You had practically torn it off Kenan in a heated make-out session a few days ago and had forgotten to return it to him afterwards.

The sweet memory and physical item fills you with a sudden rage and you almost hurl it at the window until–wait a second.

Wait. A. Second.

You're hit with a strange sensation as if there’s something important you need to figure out. The chain…Kenan didn’t bring another chain to Berlin, just the one he usually wears. You were there when he’d packed his things, and he’d wanted to keep it minimal so he wouldn’t lose things, not when his mind was completely elsewhere.

But the chain…you have his only chain. And something about it doesn’t make sense.

Pushing your fear aside, you quickly find the damned photos. It’s like the picture is playing a game with you. You zoom in to Kenan’s chest–any other time you’d blush and hope he wasn’t in the room watching you blush– when you see it. A little sparkle of light reflected off a silver chain.

Just enough of the chain is exposed through his unbuttoned shirt to compare it. You hold the one in your hand up to the phone, really looking and…yes! They are the same!

There is one more thing, however, the timeline. Could this photo have been taken before you ripped Kenan’s chain off?

It isn’t hard to establish it. The girl’s phone screen was lit up to 12:13 am, and above it, you could barely make the words out: Thursday, July 4.

This was “taken” after your make-out session. Unless Kenan magically grew an identical chain, the Kenan in the photo could not have been him.

The relief hits you like a crowd surging towards the fields after a Juventus win, almost drowning you of air and senses and yet you stay on your feet, breathing hard.

Oh god. Kenan really was trying to tell you the truth, that he hadn’t cheated on you at all. You look at the clock on the bedside table; you have enough time.

You change into your Türkiye jersey, making sure the “YILDIZ” is visible on the back, before changing your eyeshadow and heading out.

With the chain of course.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

An utter horror. You still hadn’t uttered a word of response to Kenan, who is freaking out still. He’d slept horrifically, only catching a few hours when Hakan came at Arda’s insistence to force-feed him some melatonin pills, and the lack of sleep is now quite visible on Kenan’s face.

Eyebags dark, cheekbones bare, Kenan looks like a complete mess. Hakan had tried calming him down, along with Arda and a few others, but nothing was getting through to Kenan.

Even now, Arda tries to get his attention on the field in the pre-match training by throwing a football at Kenan’s head, but it just bounces off him with no reaction.

Shit.

Before long, kickoff is about to start and everyone’s heart beat nervously. Would they be able to hold off the Netherlands?

Would Kenan be able to focus?

Kenan keeps glancing at the stands, trying to find you in the crowds, but he can’t.

The little hope he had left fizzles out, and suddenly he feels so very dead inside. Too much to focus on the ball, which flies past him when he should’ve intercepted it.

The game begins great for Türkiye, with the leading goal giving them hope, but Kenan’s performance sticks out like a sore thumb. He winces when they go inside and gets a few glares from his teammates, but Arda sticks with him as he tries to make himself look small in the corner as Montella gives them an update on their game plan.

When he heads back out, embracing a few teammates, something catches his eye. It’s a flash of pink, standing out from the crowd of red.

There is no way.

You’re in the stands, a few rows from the front, wearing his jersey over a pink blouse. He stops in his tracks in shock as he sees you after such a long bout of silence.

Kenan thought you hated him, yet here you are in full support of him and his country. Arda comes up next to him in confusion until he catches the bright pink sticking out.

“I don’t think she’s here for anyone else. You want to make it up to her by playing well?” Kenan looks at him in amusement, a sparkle returning to his eyes.

Kenan’s performance improves almost immediately. He’s more active on the ball, creating better chances, intercepting passes, and overall impacting the Turkish side for the better.

It isn’t enough though, when his shot is easily saved by the Dutch goalkeeper and the game ends in a 1-2 loss.

Tired, sweaty, and heartbroken, the Turkish dream of success comes crashing down around them. The Red Sea of fans watch in silent disappointment, as the players droop down, disappointed in their performance, knowing they could’ve done better.

Yet, the pride of going this far, behind their fans a shared sense of culture and joy prevails, which will soon be evident after the immediate post-match depression.

And for Kenan, well, he turns towards the shining source of hope he’d been praying would show up.

You look at him as he gazes up at you from the bench area, exhausted, disappointed and yet, relieved. Relieved that you came to his match, despite the silent treatment.

And you’re there for him when he comes out of the locker rooms and immediately wraps his arms around you. He hesitates at the very last moment but you surge forward, squeezing him tight and he squeezes even harder, afraid to let you go.

After what seems like forever, you tilt your head up to make eye contact with Kenan. “I wasn’t going to come, you know. I was so mad at you. I thought after all this time, you’d decided to just throw it all away.”

Kenan looks at you with worry, but you continue. “But there’s a reason I came. I decided to go out today and obviously, I wanted to dress up. You know I love putting on my lip oils.”

You reach into your purse and pull out Kenan’s chain, and he startles. “I found this in my purse. That’s when I kind of realized something, but I had to double-check. Kenan, you were wearing this in those photos. But that’s impossible because I have it. Baby, I know they’re fake and I know it’s not your fault.”

Kenan doesn’t mean to cry. He stares at you first, trying to comprehend your words, until he feels you wipe away the tears that started falling. He pulls you close and buries his face in the crook of your neck as he sobs, and you hold him, rubbing his back steadily.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to happen, you d-didn’t deserve this,” he manages between sobs, and you shush him quietly. “I know baby, I know. I believe you, I should’ve talked to you sooner. I should’ve believed you. I can still trust you, right?” You feel him nod, “Yeah, please.”

You two stand there a little longer before Kenan lifts his head and smiles, relief flooding every crevice of his face at having you and your trust back. You return it before he takes your hand and leads you out into the setting sun, the rays of daylight washing over you like a golden love.

dividers by: @cafekitsune

[archangeldyke-all]

hello sweet girl!! how was your day? 🫶🏽

i hope you know that you’re so deeply loved and appreciated by us all!! <33

how would you feel about writing more highschool sevika and reader!! i absolutely love them! maybe the two of them get roped into babysitting the neighbors kid or something and at first sevika is pissed because she doesn’t wanna spend her friday night changing diapers when she could be making out and causing mischief with her gf hehe!

But as the night goes on, she actually has so much fun and realizes how much she loves kids! And watching reader be so good with kids makes Sevika realize that this is exactly what she wants in the future. To be moms and raise kids with reader together. To have a family together! A sweet and sappy moment when Sevika falls in love even deeper with reader 🥹

oh my god i LOVE THIS AHHHHHHHHH

men and minors dni

"remind me again why we're doing this?" sevika whines.

"because we're broke and we need money for weed." you huff. this is the sixth time she's asked since you started your walk over.

your neighbor caught you and sevika goofing off in the front yard the other day, and she practically begged you for help watching her kids so she could go on a date. when she mentioned what she was willing to pay for just eight hours of work, you elbowed sevika to keep her from saying no, and happily accepted.

which is how you're here. "c'mon, sev, it could be fun."

"i don't see what could possibly be fun about changing diapers our entire saturday night."

"there's only one baby. the other two are three and six. we'll get to play with 'em!"

"play what? i don't think they know how to play poker, babe."

you snort and kiss sevika's cheek. "sevika. their bedtime is eight. their mom won't be home 'til midnight. it's four hours of dealing with the kids, then we can make out on the couch for the rest of the night. she's even leavin' us money for pizza."

sevika huffs and grumbles the rest of the walk. she's quiet as ms. haili leaves you instructions. and she's weirdly standoff-ish with the kids for the first thirty or so minutes.

you're all in the living room, the kids coloring and sevika glaring at them, when a horrible smell fills the room.

"uh-oh baby. looks like you made a poopy." you giggle as you scoop up the baby from it's play pen. "i'll change 'im. be right back."

"don't leave me!" sevika calls. you snort.

"you'll live."

when you come back to the living room, you're shocked to find sevika laying on her belly, coloring along with the two oldest kids.

"what's your favorite color, sevi?" the six year old asks. sevika shrugs.

"purple's cool. what about you?"

"i like purple too! and red. and also green."

"nice."

you lean against the wall and watch the scene, not wanting to embarrass your girlfriend.

"what about you, pipsqueak? what's your favorite color?" sevika asks, nudging the three year old.

"mmm... blue!" the boy declares. sevika nods.

"blue's pretty."

"like the sky!" he says, nodding with excitement. sevika giggles.

"yeah, like the--" she cuts herself off when she catches sight of you, a blush creeping up her cheeks. you grin at her.

throughout the night, sevika grows more and more comfortable with the kids.

during your game of tag, sevika lets the kids cling onto her as she runs around the yard.

during dinner, sevika takes great care of making sure the baby eats all her food, wiping her chin after each messy bite she takes.

at bathtime, sevika lets the kids pile bubbles up on her head, laughing along with them as they make various hairdos and hats for her out of bubbles.

by the time the kids are asleep, sevika's grinning like she's high.

"you want sausage on your half?" you ask as you look down at the pizza menu. sevika's curled up on the couch beside you. she doesn't respond. "sev?" you ask, looking up at her.

sevika blinks at you dreamily. "do you want kids?" she asks.

you choke on your own spit. "what!?" you scream. "we're still in high school!"

sevika giggles. "not now, dumbass. just... someday... would you ever want to have kids with me?" she asks.

you blink at your girlfriend, a small smile on your lips.

you've never really considered kids before --fuck you're still a kid-- but there's one thing that you've known for years now: you're gonna spend the rest of your life with sevika.

"with you, sure." you say. "how many do you want?"

sevika grins and tackles you to the couch. you burst into giggles. "like four? five?" she asks. you snort.

"and who's delivering all these babies!?"

sevika shrugs. "you. or me. or we'll just adopt, y'know?"

something warm inside you flutters, and you blink dreamily up at your best friend. "you're a sap." you whisper. sevika giggles.

"'s your fault. you're cute with a kiddo on your hip."

you pull her down for a kiss, humming against her lips. "we got a long way to go before we have any rugrats, y'know."

"i know. gotta marry you first." sevika says with a smile. you snort.

"i was thinking more like graduating high school and finding a place to live, but sure, you gotta marry me first too." you giggle.

"whatever. i know it'll be a while. but... it's exciting, isn't it?" she whispers. you smile.

"exciting?"

"to have something so nice to look forward to." she explains.

your heart melts and you pull sevika in for one more kiss. "so exciting. so... you gonna join me next weekend to watch mr. tannis' kids?" you ask.

sevika grins. "i guess so."

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3 @lesbones

@chezze-its @lez-zuha @vikashoneybee @shanesevikasfuckdoll @imheadintothemountains

@nanajustnana-a @helaenabugmom

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

[wlwsoccerfics]

World Cup Semi-Finale Drama(StephCatleyXGwinnReader)

A/N: i Hope you enjoy this request.

Warnings: Lots of Angst and self doubt. Mental health struggles.

Summary: you are the captain of your national Team cause your sister is out injured and you Play against your wife's team. Australia wins and you blame yourself for the loss.

There it was. The final Whistle. You were Out of the world Cup. Losing in the semi Finals against Australia. Your wife's team. So there was now one Captain Catley that made it to the finals and one captain Catley that was doubting all of her skills. You were the second one.

You had been dreading this day. This Game. Everything felt like the world was ending. Which in a way it did for you. Not knowing If you would ever get another Chance to make it this far in the world cup.

Of course you were proud of your wife. She deserved it. But you felt like your team deserved it as well. You weren't a good captain and that's why they lost.

Your wife and her Team were celebrating. Well your wife was struggling. She was over the moon that she Made it to the finals but she saw you sitting on the pitch. Hiding your head in your Jersey. Your entire Body was shaking from the sobs. Your best friend Laura was sitting next to you. Hugging you close. Even though she was crying as well. Your sister made her way over to you as well.

"Babe..." Steph whispered out. You stood up quickly. Looking at your wife. Giving her a hug before pulling away just as quick.

"congrats. I am proud of you, stephy!" You told her, you couldn't even stop crying while talking her. She really wished she could make you feel better but she knew she couldn't. And the distance you put between you and her was a sign that you clearly couldn't deal with being close to her. Not while you had so many negative thoughts about yourself running through your mind.

"she is gonna come around." Your best friend and teammate whispered to your wife. Steph sighed sadly and walked away. Greeting Fans and giving Interviews. Thankfully you didn't have to give one. Sara & Klara did.

Harper ran over to you, hugging your legs so you picked her up.

"auntie Y/n. Don't cry! You can always win another Game!" She told you. It was the child Like innocene of not understanding how important this game was for you and your team. And that you felt like you also let the Fans down. Not only your Team. No you let everyone down.

"i will be okay. You are right. I can always try again." You told her. Then she just held onto you and you held onto her. She always managed to cheer you up or at least take a little bit of the pain away when things were rough. Giulia, your sister was rubbing your back, she was sad as well, you could tell because of how quiet she was and it looked like she was trying not to cry.

After a while you put Harper down cause she went back over to Mini and the rest of the team.

You and your team left the Pitch and walked inside to the changing rooms. You took a few deep breaths before you spoke up.

"i would like to apologize to you. I let you all down! I take full responsibility for what happened Out there! I wasn't a good Leader!" You told them.

"y/n...this isn't your fault! We are a Team! We win together and we lose together! It hurts right now! But we all were Out there and didn't make it work!" Sara told you.

"yeah Sara is right! Like i think you did so well as a Leader. You managed to Score the only Goal we Made. Yes we lost. 3-1 but this Is not your fault!" Felicitas stated.

"i am proud of you! You stepped in for me! You did a good Job! You were leading until the end. Sometimes things just don't work out in our favor!" Giulia answered.

Before you could speak up again, your other best friend showed up in the doorway. Kyra was also one of your teammates at Arsenal. Your coach also showed Up.

"y/n? I wanted to check in. Sorry about your loss Guys. But you all did a great Job." She said, walking over to you. Pulling you in for a hug. You hugged her back. Tearing up again. The rest of the Team congratulating her.

"thanks Kyra. I am proud of you!" You let her know. Hugging Kyra close. Sobbing again. "Where is Steph?" You asked her. Knowing you couldn't just let this go like this. You needed to talk to her. Maybe it was a good thing that Kyra showed up cause you were tempted to step down from international Duty for Germany and just Focus on your Club. It was something you had thought about before and this day kind of pushed you more towards it. But you were emotional right now so this might not be the right time to drop something like that in case you might regret it in a few days.

"she is in the changing room with the others. let's go See your wife. Cause she is struggling as well. She is over the moon we won but also sad and actually cried cause of the pain you are going through!" Kyra admitted. You frowned softly. You didn't intend to make your wife feel that way.

"Go See your wife!" Jule said.

"now!" Your sister stated.

"i agree!" You coach replied.

you left with Kyra to the other changing room.

"Steph? I have someone who wants to see you!" Kyra stated. You were greeting your wife and her team with a sad smile.

"hey, congrats guys." You spoke up.

"thanks. You did great as well. And we are all proud of you!" Mini told you.

"thanks you! It's appreciated." You answered and looked at your wife after replying. Walking over to her. Hugging her, giving her a soft kiss. Wiping away her tears. She hugged and kissed you back.

"auntie y/n is Not Mad at auntie Steph anymore!" Harper announced. You pulled away from the kiss and gently pushed a strand of hair behind your wife's ear.

"i was never mad at auntie Steph. She is the best. I was just hurt cause i didn't feel like i was a good captain and that i let the fans and the team down!" You tried to explain to her. The reply surprised everyone. They knew you were heartbroken over the loss, but they had no idea how you put all the blame on yourself.

"Baby. You fought hard. You were an amazing captain. Don't blame yourself!" Steph said, kissing your forehead gently.

"i am working on letting that go. It just...i am sorry for not reacting more positive and congratulate all of you earlier." You explained.

"what are you sorry for? Your emotions matter. I understand how difficult this must be for you, love!" Your wife replied. You kiss her her cheek.

"means alot to me to hear! I love you." You replied.

"i love you too. Always will!" Steph answered.

"i Love your love!" Macca said. You smiled at her. There still was a hint of sadness which was probably gonna stay for a bit but you genuinely did feel a bit better being in your wife's Arms.

You talked to your sister, your best friends and your wife about your thoughts on ending your international career. They listened and didn't judge. They also helped you figure out that you don't want to retire just yet.

You played for the third place against spain and won. Your wife and her Team were there to Support you.

Australia won the world Cup against England and of course you were there wearing your wife's Jersey. Sitting in the stands with Harper & Harley in your lap. You were so very proud of the entire team.

[delaware-lemme-smash]

Sfw and nsfw HCs Poly relationship of Bakugou and Kirishima with their female reader?

An explosive combination!

Characters: Bakugou Katsuki/DynaMight, Kirishima Eijirou/Red Riot

Contents: poly!relationship, feminine pet names, afab reader, nsfw, oral, biting,

Bakugou Katsuki/DynaMight & Kirishima Eijirou/Red Riot

SFW

I'm going to go ahead and give Kirishima the credit for getting this little throuple together, because there's no damn way it was Bakugou. He's too hot-headed and there are too many feelings involved in the whole thing for him to sit down and think it through. Especially if there's been some jealousy and some miscommunications in the run-up to The Discussion.

So it was basically you and Kirishima who approached Bakugou and suggested giving the whole polyamory thing a try.

For a few minutes he just squints at the two of you, trying to work out if he should be pissed off or not. You wanna date him and Kirishima. What the hell, are you trying to say he's not enough for you?! Wait, but doesn't this mean he gets what he wants and he doesn't have to watch Kirishima mope around like some kind of boulder puppy?

Once he's done working through the Five Stages of Whatever, he turns a wicked grin on you.

"You think you need two guys to keep you satisfied? We'll see about that. Don't you dare underestimate me!"

"Dude, chill, it's not a contest," Kirishima says, trying to calm him down.

"Yeah? Sounds like loser talk to me."

And that was how your relationship started.

Given their busy schedules as Pro Heroes, it's likely you all live together to split the household chores and just to get an opportunity to see each other between missions and patrols. Bakugou had the nicest, largest place (and probably Kirishima already as a roommate), so it made sense for you to all move into his apartment. Something he bitched uproariously about, even though he knew it was logical and he actually wanted it too. Being pissy is like a reflex for him.

You got a nice big bed for the three of you. Bakugou rigidly enforces "his side", even if he's out on a night patrol. He grouches that your big head has deflated his pillow if you slept on his side. (And proceeds to shove his face in said pillow the next time he sleeps, 'cause it smells like you now.) You don't get a "side" per se, because your place is in the middle, the filling in the muscle sandwich.

Kirishima's the biggest cuddler, but don't let Bakugou convince you he's not almost as bad. He is, and he'll get moody if you point it out. Let him keep his delusions.

Kirishima wants you to wear his clothes. Those cute sleep sets you keep buying? Mysteriously disappeared (hidden in the linen closet). In their place? A bunch of oversized, faded Crimson Riot or "manly" t-shirts for you to wear to bed. Bakugou might get in on the action and chuck in some of his skull or Deep Dope shirts. Take the hint.

Bakugou's standard of cleanliness is higher than yours or Kirishima's. He's not the type to set up a cleaning rota and shifts though (Iida-like behaviour). He just blows a fuse and attacks it all at once. You'll come home to a spotless apartment and a fuming Bakugou in the kitchen, scrubbing the dishes. Picture Explosion Murder God: DynaMight in a pair of yellow rubber gloves.

He has different reactions to mess for you or Kirishima. If he finds Kirishima's socks on the bedroom floor, he'll ball them up and toss them as his friend's head. "Pick up after yourself, rockbrain." If they're yours, he'll still throw them at Kirishima's head, but address you instead: "Don't be so fucking lazy, babe."

I'd say all of you are fairly decent in the cooking department, but Bakugou's irrepressible competitive streak always gives him the edge. The stuff he cooks always looks the best, but he leans into his spices a little too much. A little too hot saucy. Kirishima can only really do basic stuff, but he knows all the good takeout places in the city—Fatgum showed him.

Movie nights are usually action movies. Wanna watch something different for once? Yell louder than the boys.

When it comes to gifts, Kirishima's are the cute and heartfelt, whereas Bakugou's tend to be cool, flashy, and expensive.

There's fitness equipment cluttering up what used to be Kirishima's room, and loads of tubs of whey protein and bulking powder in the kitchen. The guys are fitness freaks.

You're definitely a little spoiled. You just have to even vaguely move in the direction of the couch and there'll be someone grabbing your hips, pulling you down into their lap. It's a rare occasion when you sit on an actual chair.

NSFW

Oh, boy.

Let's begin by stating that, yes, your sex life is off-the-charts amazing. Bakugou and Kirishima are both young, strong, red-blooded guys with big personalities and dangerous jobs. There's a lot of testosterone, a lot of adrenaline, and a lot of man to go around. Their libidos are insane.

At the start of the relationship, sex tends to be a one-on-one kind of thing. You and Bakugou. You and Kirishima. But one thing led to another, and... Well, actually, Bakugou heard all those cute little noises Kirishima was drawing out of you in the bedroom, and he didn't feel like sitting in the living room playing video games anymore. Bakugou stalked into the bedroom, stripping off his shirt and growling that he wasn't gonna sit there like a cuck. It tends to be a group activity now.

You get groped. A lot.

As aforementioned, you'll be sitting on Bakugou or Kirishima's lap, and their hand will slide up to get a soft handful of titty, massaging it lightly through the fabric of your shirt. Bakugou in particular likes to slide one of his hands into your panties and just let it rest there, his calloused fingertip playing idly with your clit while he's watching a movie or an All Might documentary. When you start squeaking, it's time to hit pause, toss you over his shoulder, and take you to the bedroom, Kirishima whistling casually as he follows.

Trying to get from the bathroom to the bedroom after a shower is like running a gauntlet. When you're warm and dewy and smelling all fruity, it's like catnip to your boyfriends. You dodge Bakugou's casual swipe from the couch, gripping your towel as you almost make it to the bedroom. Only for Kirishima to block the doorway, grinning like a shark.

"Heeey, babe. Goin' somewhere?"

When you step back, you bump up against Bakugou's chest, who has silently crept up behind you. Great, now you're gonna need another shower by the time they're done.

Kirishima likes to bite. He's extra careful 'cause of his sharp teeth, but he likes to leave imprints on the fat of your inner thighs, biting down just enough to give you an exciting little pinch.

Bakugou's big on oral. He likes clamping your thighs around his head, his pulse racing in his ears while he lashes your clit with his tongue, sucking aggressively. He makes a lot of aggressive grunts and growls when he goes down on you, sounding like he's actually hungry. He doesn't stop until you're slippery wet after a couple orgasms, and he emerges wild-eyed, panting, his mouth and chin dripping with you.

Kirishima's a bit more versatile in bed. He can do the fun, loud sex that has you bouncing on the mattress, or the slow, intense, romantic sex where you're staring into each other's eyes.

Bakugou fucks. He bends you like a pretzel, hitting it hard and deep, his hands curled into fists either side of your head so he doesn't accidentally set off any explosions. Sex with him is hot, hard, sweaty, and primal. He's the one that gets you screaming (along with the ensuing noise complaints), biting, and clawing. He wears your nail drag marks with smug pride.

I hope you guys got that bed on a warranty, because their competitive streak follows you into the bedroom too. They keep a tally of who made you come and how many times before you tap out.

[ninyard]

a thought that's been spinning around in my head is what if jeremy did relapse? like what could drive him to that and how he would move forward considering the whole self hatred of "i'd rather die than be that person again" and shame in asking for help bc "ill never forgive you if you backslide"

OKAY so i’ve been sitting on this just thinking about it for a few days and although it’s not a theory that i believe would/will happen, it’s one of the few ideas i can come up with as to what could cause him to backslide

(i do believe him when he says he won’t. but god, for my own selfish reasons, do i want to see him crash out monumentally)

SO

Jeremy’s mom/stepdad stop allowing him to stay over at Laila/Jean’s place because of what happened to Bryson, how dangerous they think it could be, and how dangerous they think Jean is. Everything that has happened has made their control over Jeremy a thousand times worse. It’s torture for him, his final year, commuting to and from the university every single day for practices and that’s it; no parties, no free time, just practice, and classes, and then home. He’s forced into isolation, almost, but he still talks to the guys on video calls, and lies about having practices that don’t exist just so he can see them. But it’s few and far between. For him, mentally, it takes a huge toll. He hasn’t felt depression like this in a long time, if ever, really. It’s not good - He’s stuck with Bryson far more often that he’d like, and the only solace is those few hours a day where he gets to relax with Jean, Cat, Laila, and the few trojans he gets a chance to see outside of practice.

The guys notice this heaviness in him; Laila in particular gets worried to a point where she shows up at his house a handful of times just to make sure he’s okay, but the Wilshire household is a hostile place for her to be, and Jeremy hates her being around them if it at all can be avoided. Even the diplomats daughter excuse fails Mathilde and Warren: Jeremy has to focus on his LSATs, and he can’t afford outside distractions stealing his attention.

Jeremy pushes sitting the exam further out, and further out. He comes up with all the excuses he possibly can until he’s exhausted every single one, and with Bryson’s threats, he fails the first exam he sits. and it makes everything so much worse.

His phone is taken away from him at night, he’s not allowed to go for runs when he’s unaccompanied or without sharing his location the entire time. Everything the same as it’s been, but amplified, so much more suffocating than what’s healthy.

While all this is going on, the Trojans are doing well. They make it through to the Spring championships as expected, and one night Mathilde allows him to stay at Jean’s place, with the condition that he’s home by 10am the next morning. Its supposed to be a night of relief, a well deserved day off, but he cries in his friends arms and tells them that his family is destroying his life, and he doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t know what to do. Laila only looks at him with mild dissatisfaction as he spends most of the night sitting on the balcony, or out the front of the building, with cigarette after cigarette between his lips. They try to come up with a million ways to get him out of there but he knows none of them will work - he’s trapped, and there’s really nothing he can do.

Bryson corners Jeremy again, when he learns that he’s finally taking a resit exam, and tells him he has to fail this one too. Jeremy almost accepts the consequences of not doing what he says, that some planted coke or pills would be far less of a punishment than living in this prison is, but he takes the test, and he fails. It’s only half intentional, too. His mental health is in the gutter, because he’s a social butterfly, and he needs people around him to feel like himself. how can he focus on studying when he’s spending most of his days bored and resisting the temptation of the escape promised to him all those years ago?

The Trojans qualify for the semi finals, and then they qualify for the finals. It’s the Trojans V Penn State, or by another miracle, it’s the Foxes again. The date has been set. It’s a Friday, the same time of year that it usually is. It’s hard to enjoy the well earned chance at victory when he’s spent most of the year just trying to survive that big house with all its empty rooms and ghosts that walk the halls.

Warren has had enough of his failures, of course he has, the silly achievements of college sports irrelevant on his tall ladder of expectation. Jeremy spends a full night being berated, and belittled, called every name under the sun, full of vitriol and hatred for the disappointment of a son who refused the name of success and landed himself in such a position. Twice? He’d slammed Jeremy’s poor results on the table in front of him. Are you stupid, or do you faggots just get off on being embarrassments?

That night he texts his old dealer from high school, but when the response dings into his inbox, Jeremy deletes the message. He can’t. He thinks about Noah, and he thinks about everything riding on his sobriety. He can’t. He can’t do it.

But he wants to, so badly, and after that, he spends every waking second trying to prevent himself from asking again.

A morning or two later, Mathilde neatly sticks a sticky note to the top of the LSAT guides Jeremy has been pretending to study.

“What is that?” he asks, a date and time scribbled in her fancy scrawl across the green paper.

“It’s your exam, because you insist on avoiding it.” She says, turning around to do something else, like this was unimportant and meaningless to her. “I took the liberty of booking it for you. You aren’t going to fail this one.”

Jeremy picks up the piece of paper and stares at it. “I can’t do that date.”

“That’s too bad,” She almost laughs, sickly sweet. “It’s the only one they had this side of the month.”

“No, mom, I can’t do this date.” Jeremy’s head is in his hands already. This can’t be happening, and he doesn’t have the energy to argue anymore. “We’re flying out to Pennsylvania the night before. We play that evening. It’s the finals.”

She shrugs like that meant nothing to her, and Jeremy isn’t stupid enough to be surprised.

“Well,” She puts a hand on his head and endearingly rubs a thumb over his forehead. “You should have thought about that before failing the other two, Jeremy.”

He calls Cat as soon as he manages to pull his head out of the clouds of disbelief. It’s not long before the other two are on the other end of the line begging Jeremy to just leave, and they’ll figure it out later.

But he thinks of his life, that rides on a good relationship with the Wilshire empire, his reputation, and the Wilshire’s ability to ruin any potential recruitments he might have dreamt about in the future. One leaked document and every pro team in the country will know about Jeremy’s past, and his multiple run ins with the law. He thinks of his documents hidden under floorboards he’ll never find or safety deposit boxes he’ll never have access to. For a moment he wishes David Wymack had spent his time coaching a pro team, so maybe then he’d have a chance. He spends all his time agonising, trying to find a way, but everything in his life feels like it’s falling apart. He’s drinking so much coffee that he feels like his heart is going to burst. He’s barely even able to focus on playing anymore. He’s just about failing ceramics, for gods sake, and he’s not sure about most other classes - he has barely attended more than a lecture or two in weeks.

He spends hours, days, begging his mom to understand that this can’t be negotiable, it can’t be. He can’t let the team down at this point. Even Rhemann attempts to talk Mathilde down from her high pedestal, but Warren’s strong hand on her shoulder stops her from backing down. Jeremy’s dad stops answering his calls, not interested in being interrupted in the middle of the night to listen to the son he never cared about’s woes.

So the night before the championship finals comes, and Jeremy texts his teammates to have a safe flight, and he calls his dealer. They can’t meet anywhere suspicious, so he asks him to join him on the route he’s forced to run on. He knows his mom watches his every move when he leaves the house for even a second these days - he can’t stay still for too long either.

It’s not long later before he’s running home, with too much cocaine in his pocket, too many tears running down his face at what a disappointment he’d become. Noah would hate him for this; To be let down again, a promise broken, again, looking down from heaven at enough white powder to trigger a heart attack beforeJeremy even gets the chance to sit the exam.

He doesn’t take any of it that night; he knows he can’t fail again. The temptation is incredible, though, and it’s a very difficult thing to resist. He settles for some adderall he stole from Bryson’s room, and crams as much as his frazzled mind can take it.

He cries as much as he studies, every now and again just looking at the clear baggie that he hid in his wallet, heart racing every time he remembers that rush, that feeling.

The exam goes about as well as he expected, but he manages to find an hour somewhere afterwards before he’s expected to be home. he turns his phone and location off, and finds the nearest booty call to him in his contact list.

The coke goes down much easier than he was expecting it to, as if being out of practice would have made it different, but by the time his pupils are tiny and his heart is pumping, he’s at the front door of a bad idea. He doesn’t even feel able to question himself, unable to spend a half a second in his body to remember how much he’s destroying his life all over again, in that moment, because his brain and body are in seperate places. He doesn’t remember driving home, if his hookup kinda drove his car and got a cab back, or if he’d drove high out of his mind for the tedious 45 minutes that it takes. He hoped it was the former, but knew it was the latter. He just hoped he hadn’t caused an accident somewhere on the way.

His mom doesn’t stop him to ask how it went before he’s shutting his bedroom door behind him. He has a few hours to kill before the game, so he spends his time wisely between putting his nose in the bag, or smoking out of his bedroom window like a teenager afraid to be caught. By the time the game starts his paranoia has set in, an old and unwelcoming friend, and he hides his cigarettes deep in his closet for fear the tabloids would leak a photo of him smoking 10 cigarettes in an hour.

He cries when Jean takes to the court. He almost snaps his phone in half when Cat gets injured. When Derrick steps back from a fight, when Cody calls a timeout for an injury, all he feels is this hollow, empty pit in his stomach. When the Trojans lose, he can’t keep it in, and he feels his world start to crumble.

He wonders if this is how Noah felt before he made that decision to jump. He wonders if he’s high enough off the ground for it to work.

Laila calls him an hour or two later, and her face drops at the sight of Jeremy. When she asks him to hold the phone up to his eyes he smiles, an empty smile, obliging before she starts to cry. She hangs up, not out of anger, or rage at his decision to relapse, but sheer heartbreak at seeing him in such a state, alone, alone, alone, not able to do a single thing to stop it.

Cat calls him back minutes later, and he doesn’t feel heartened by how her voice cracks when she asks him what he’s taken. He’s angry, he thinks, a ball in his stomach and a voice in his head saying, “how dare they make this about them?”

She tells him to call his sponsor. She begs him to think this through. She knows she lost him when he’s half lucid and forgets he’s on a video call, dipping his head down to his bedside locker to snort a line he’d lay out earlier.

There’s an ending here, somewhere, a happy one, maybe, a complete one more likely. He said it himself; he can’t live with himself if he gets high again. He’d rather die than feel like that again. So maybe that’s just how it goes.

[lunarxcity]

In the Shadows of Desire - part I

- azriel x day court!reader

- synopsis: When a dark magic is found in the border of Day and Night Helion sends his second-in-command to the Night Court. After getting off on the wrong foot with Rhysand's moody shadowsinger, can you guys find a way to work together to stop the threat without tearing each other apart?

—

You consider yourself to be a rather calm and rational individual, at least that's what you told yourself as you launched your right shoe at your highlord's head. That bastard. You were angry. Angry with Helion, angry with yourself for wasting 375 years working for such self-centred, no-good, piece of-

"You will go to the night court and carry out this mission. You will work with Rhysand's team to conduct whatever research I need you to conduct and go on any missions that they deem necessary. Frankly, you are the most competent person that I employ and I don't trust anyone else with a mission of this caliber. This position requires you to be in the night court indefinitely, and that is final." Helion looked as grim as you have ever seen him. In all the years you have been friends, he's never pulled rank like this.

You can't believe he's trying to send you away after everything you've been through together. A minute of silence lapses and you finally reply, "Do I at least get to chose the style of dress I'll be donning or will you be making that decision for me too? Has our work together here in day been for nothing? You are my closest friend and confidante is my position so miniscule to you that you think you can ship me off at a moments notice?"

Helion was the highlord but everyone in their right mind knows that you run Day as much as he does and that you have been prepared on a multitude of ocassions to lay your life down for its wellbeing and people. Your eyes burned with unshed tears, but you refused to look away you needed him to know how angry you are, you need him to know that you'll go, but not without a fight or a reason.

Pensiveness coats your face, you slow down and take a breath and tell him, "If you're going to send me away, I need to at least know the reason why. I know you Helion, stop lying to me. I know this pains you as it does me, now tell me why exactly you need to send me to another court for god knows how long."

Helion has never had a good poker face. This shows at his failed attempt to feign indifference, when in reality doubt (and a bit of fear?) coat his features, he takes a breath and slowly says, "There's a dark magic in Prythian, I don't know what it is or what's causing it. Rhys and I can both feel it, and we don't know what it is or how it will manifest. Creatures have been seen in the land, one's straight from the stories that mother's would tell their young to keep them out of the woods. So far they've only been seen in the forests that borders night and day. You're the best I have and Rhys has the most extensive library on dark magic because of the Night Court's history with the prison. I need you go to investigate and try to figure out what's causing this. If it ensures your safety and the rest of Day's, then I will send you off to another court for as long as it takes."

You exhale the breath that's been you hadn't realised had been caught in your throat. Helion is rarely serious, preferring to run his court in a lighthearted and fun manner, which only makes the situation that much more alarming.

You meet his gaze and earnestly respond, "Okay I'll go. Thank you for telling me, the burden of this information is too heavy to bear alone." You rarely treat Helion with the level of respect that expected of a high lord, but you find yourself bowing to him out of respect and a sense of duty. "It has been an honour to work with you. I look forward to reassuming my position when I return."

You walked out of the throne room, alone for the first time that I can remember.

-

The next few days were a blur. You had gotten all your affairs in order. You attempted to train the other members of Helion's staff to handle your duties (which seemed to be neverending) to the best of their ability, you threatened to place various curses upon Helion as the consequences that you will bestow upon him if he doesn't regularly write you back, and packed up the only life you have ever knew. You had never been away from Day longer than a short trip, the blood of Day ran through your veins, you didn't know how you were going to be away from your court for so long.

Although if you were going to be working with any other highlord you're relived that it's Rhysand. When your parents died in the war fighting in the Day court army, Helion took you in and raised you as his own. You and Rhysand being roughly the same age meant that at every political gathering or ball you would always be causing some sort of mischief. There was one particular year where the both of you were still learning how to control your powers, and wanted to see how much dessert you could winnow out of the banquet which ended up in a not so pleased highlord of autumn covered in pastry cream.

With the aftermath of under the mountain and the war, it has been a while since you've been able to properly speak with Rhysand. Maybe this new position will give you guys a chance to grow closer. You tried to think of any other pros of this move, while Helion loaded up the last of your things and held his hand out to winnow you to night. You had already said goodbye to your friends and courtiers in Day, so you took a deep breath, took his hand, and closed your eyes.

You opened your eyes to see snowcapped mountains, backdropped by stars so intense in a way you had never seen them before, and a glimmering city that spanned in all directions. It was beautiful. You just stood there in awe of the view.

You were so mesmerised you almost didn't notice the small black tendril snaking around your wrist, snapping you out of your daze. You didn't notice that while you had been nervously tapping your fingers. The smoky tendril had held your hand steady, with a surprisingly soft touch. It looked as though it would've been cold, but the floating slither of night was a comforting touch that helped ease your nerves. Cat-like in its motion, the shadow circles up your arm and goes to whisper something in your ear when it stops suddenly like a deer in the headlights. Seemingly spooked the tendril scurries into your shadow and disappears from sight. Stray wisps of darkness just floating around, is this normal here in night?

-

Your thoughts were interrupted by a mischievous voice you knew all too well. "Curious things the shadows are. They rarely ever wander around without their master, you'll meet him soon enough. Long time no see." You turn around to see Rhysand in all his highlord glory, sauntering in with a welcoming grin. He comes up and gives you and Helion a greeting hug. "It's always good to see you Rhys." You grinned in reply. You were suddenly very thankful that this supernatural commotion was not occurring in autumn as you would not be this excited to see Beron.

Rhysand showed you both around the palace, which was seemingly empty of his inner circle that you had gotten glimpses of during the years. You then spent hours drinking and laughing and catching up. It was morning now and Helion needed to return back to his court. "Do take care of yourself. I may not be with you but Day will always be." Helion looks as if he's fighting back tears. You embrace and say your goodbyes before he finally departs back to day.

The exhaustion of staying up all night finally hits and you ask Rhysand to take you to your quarters so you can finally sleep. "I told for the millionth you we're good friends please just call me Rhys." He says after hearing you call him Rhysand as you had always been fond of calling him by his full name, partly to annoy him but he didn't need to know that. "Okay Rhys, can I go to bed now?" You had already been at your door going back and forth, while sleepiness had you in it's clutches. He chuckles, "Yes okay. I'll see you tomorrow and formally introduce you to all the members of my inner circle. They can be a lot... so for now try to get some rest." He said as he closed the door to your room leaving you alone for the first time in your life.

You knocked out as soon as your head hit the pillow, the emotions and exhaustion starting to get to you. You hadn't let yourself breathe since you found out you would be going to night, either from worrying about how Day is going to be without you or how bad the unknown threat is to Prythian. So when you slept you didn't awake until it was pitch dark outside. You had no idea what time it was and had almost forgotten why you weren't in day.

It seemed you had slept through the day, which your stomach was protesting. Groggy and famished, you set out on your mission to find food. Right after opening the door, you saw what appeared to be the same tendril from the previous night. It started swirling around excitedly when it saw that you spotted it and made almost a beckoning motion to follow it. You were honestly too tired to question how sentient a shadow was and if it knew you were hungry so you decided to follow it.

Believe it or not, the shadow actually led you down the stairs and into the kitchen. Excitedly you went to start raiding all the cabinets, only to realise that they were all empty. Tired and hungry, you thought you were having a rough night until a pouting Illyrian warrior walked in, looking like he had gone to war and back. His mood was so sour, that it looked as if grey storm clouds should have been floating above his head. You were trying your best to blend into the background, terrified of facing the possibility of his wrath when a cup of tea slams down on the counter out of nowhere. This frightened you to the point that you jumped and spilled the tea all over the counter, which magically disappeared in the same way that the mug appeared but still drew his attention to you. His hazel eyes were daggers that bore into your skin and you would've thought him to be beautiful if he weren't scowling at you and your mishap. He was about to reach for his dagger, when a small look of realization flashed over his eyes.

"You must be Helion's guest from day." He looks you up and down, maintaining a look of indifference on his face. "The house conjures whatever you need, you don't need to scour through the cabinets like a starved animal." He says coldly. Shadows mirroring the one who brought you here emanated from his very being. You turned to your side and noticed that the shadow that had brought you here had been cowering in your shadow. Well you could see why the shadow would hide from him if he was normally as unpleasant as he is right now. "I totally knew that. I was just curious as to what was in the cabinets." You were lying and he probably knew it, but you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of your incompetence.

He raises a brow in response. You refuse to break his gaze, no matter how intimidating it is. In response to your little stare-off, the house plops down two full mugs of hot chocolate with whipped cream. This again makes you jump. "By the Cauldron-" He just eyes you weirdly, as if mugs of hot chocolate falling from the sky is normal. There is nothing that ticks you off more than rude individuals, Helion has always taught you to introduce yourself to people and win them over via conversation. You're fairly popular in the political world able to charm and talk your way out of anything, even a grumpy Illyrian. You smile and hold out the mug with the least amount of spillage, "Nice to meet you. I assume you're one of the members of Rhys' inner circle, thank you for welcoming me into your home." He just takes the mug and starts to slowly sip it, that bastard. Nothing?

He just meets your gaze again, and while he didn't seem as visibly upset as he did when he first got in here his feature's were schooled into a mask of almost complete indifference. He just looks at you, nods, and says "Azriel" before turning around and walking off into the shadows. Offended at his lack of manners you scoff and start hoping that the rest of Rhysand's court is not rude or as odd as Azriel, apparently since you assumed he was telling you his name. All you knew is that you were going to have a very interesting time in Night and your time there hadn't even started yet.

-

note: this has literally been sitting in my drafts since october. I'll go back and proof read it later, but it just needs to be out at this point. I never realised how long writing takes... but oh well at least she's out now. Hopefully part 2 will not take nearly as long.

[xylatox]

When Cameras Stop Rolling | psh by the lovely Rei!! I'm so excited to read it :))

Before I start I wanna say how genuinely excited I am

that reader is actually an aspiring director here, I feel like I haven't seen that explored so it's a new perspective!!

It’s just another day in the world of film production—one where your name barely carries weight, where you’re another invisible cog in the relentless machine that keeps everything running. No one notices you unless they need something.— my heart already breaks, poor baby:((

Rising star, adored by millions, praised for his talent, his charm, his ability to command a scene like he was born for it. He’s the kind of actor whose name alone can secure funding for a film. He’s also notoriously difficult.— hehe Sunghoon introduction (im so downbad for him). I'm smiling like an idiot reading this, I'm so excited!!

God, their first interaction makes me so excited to see how this relationship will progress. —He doesn’t matter. You’re here for your career, for your dreams. And Park Sunghoon? He’s just another actor. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. For now.— Rei your words, are always able to enrapture me, it's so good.

Sunghoon’s coldness also interests me, like, what more is there to it? What causes you to behave like this? Defense mechanism perchance? I'm so invested. —Sunghoon scoffs, adjusting the lapel himself with a flick of his wrist. “I don’t need your help with that.” Your fingers curl into a fist at your side, nails digging into your palm.— if this happened to me though, I'd feel so embarrassed ah😭

The tense atmosphere as they read through the lines??? oh my god. —You stand your ground. “I said no. We’re not moving the table just because you don’t like where it is. The set designer put it there for a reason, and I’m not going to mess up the entire continuity just to satisfy your need for control.” — we love it when women talk back to men, we cheer! AND THE WAY HE JUST LISTENS 😵‍💫 ugh I love it.

You let out a sharp breath. “Because your tantrum is delaying the schedule, and if you refuse to wear it, I have to be the one to fix the mess it creates. So, forgive me for caring, but some of us don’t have the luxury of making everyone cater to our every whim.” — God I'm so in love with reader wow she's amazing😭

He smirks—just barely, a flicker of amusement crossing his face before he masks it with indifference. “Alright then.” And with that, he starts.— he's so infuriating in the most attractive way. God, I absolutely love all the tension between them, it so attractive.

You glance up and find a cup of coffee placed beside your elbow. You blink. Look up. Sunghoon is standing over you, hands tucked into his pockets, expression unreadable.— he's so fucking cute I'm going to cry I love him. And the way the small gestures continue ugh, my poor heart.

You nod, turning your gaze to the dimly lit set in front of you. “Work keeps your mind busy. When you’re constantly moving, constantly focused on something, you don’t have time to think about the things you don’t want to face.”— I'm so loving this moment, they finally have a bonding moment about constantly being busy. I totally get it, being busy, despite the tiredness you often feel, helps with not thinking, especially when you want to avoid the loudness that thoughts bring. I love how Sunghoon opens up, and we see how he too struggled in the beginning and it makes sense why he behaves the way he does.

I love that the conversation sets the tone moving forward and the subtle change in the relationship is there with Sunghoon’s sweetness popping out a bit more.

The next thing you know, you’re being pulled upright—too fast, too close—until your body collides with solid warmth. You suck in a breath. Strong hands steady you, one gripping your wrist, the other settling lightly against your waist. You don’t have to look up to know who it is. — giggly and smiley!!! I love them so much.—His grip on your waist tightens—just a fraction. Just enough for you to feel it. For the first time, you think he might actually smile– I WILL GO INSANE AHH

The realization hits you like a freight train. Your stomach flips, your breath catches, and for one terrifying moment, you think you might actually let him. — I will pass out

THE KISS, IN THE RAIN????? I AM GOING TO DIE OH MY GOD.

Suddenly he completely pulls away, you open your eyes at the lack of contact. His hand reaches out, gently grabbing yours as your fingers entwine. “Where’s your bedroom?” he says, catching his breath. No other words pass between the two of you as you lead him down the hall.— no but it's so cute thst he intertwines their fingers what if I ??? I'm freaking out.

"Baby," he pleads, "look at me." You force yourself to open your eyes, and the moment they meet his, he smiles. "There you are."— I am not okay, mentally running laps.

"I'm sorry, baby, but I can't wait any longer." His hands find your waist, pulling you further up the bed until your head rests against the pillows. His voice drops, thick with need. "I need to feel you."— the things I wanna say, my face is so hot LOL😭

Sunghoon is still beside you. He’s lying on his side, face relaxed in sleep, dark lashes fanned across his cheekbones. His hair is tousled, strands falling messily over his forehead. His bare shoulder peeks out from beneath the sheets, and one of his arms is draped over your waist, keeping you close even in sleep.— I could cry, i love that he's still there the day after :(( —But before you can, he glances over his shoulder one last time. “I’ll see you on set.” And then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him, and you’re left staring at the empty space where he stood.— :(((((

Sunghoon watches you carefully, searching for something in your expression. He takes a breath and says, “I can’t promise everything will be perfect. But I want you. Will you be mine?”— I'm going to cry :(

I love how we see the slip ups, going from subtle to more obvious, I am loving this.

His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly, the weeks of restraint snap like a frayed wire. The first kiss is slow, deliberate, his mouth moving against yours with a patience that contradicts the tension crackling between you. But then you grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, and his control shatters.— I am going to insane rn.

ALMOST GETTING CAUGHT???? AHHH

No but them hiding and going out is actually so cute :( I love them aww. Also I love how supportive Sunghoon is about reader's dream :((((

And the angst creeps in....the way he pulls away, the way he's leaving to go overseas, the way reader was transferred to another crew, I'm heartbroken:(

I am so glad that despite the angst between them, reader finally got her moment and is having her first movie and Sunghoon isn't the star this time :( and it somehow gets worse??? he's with someone no :((

REI REIIIIII😭 I FORGOT YOU WRITE THE MOST GUT WRENCHING ANGST AND IT JUST ENDING NOO[ MY BABIES DIDNT GET A HAPPY END :(((

I was so invested in this I absolutely forgot how good Rei is at doing an angst, I was so caught up that the ending crept up on me like a stranger in the night. It was an amazing piece though Rei :( I always love your work. I never really comment on smut as it isn't my thing, but I have been trying my best to let people know my thoughts relating to it and I just wanna say that portion was absolutely insane, like the emotions were there, it wasn't overdone to a point where it's a bit much, it was just perfect. Again Rei, it was a wonderful piece even if you left me heartbroken in the end ♡

When Cameras Stop Rolling | P.SH

Pairing: actor!sunghoon x fem aspiringdirector!reader Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut Warnings/Themes: Mature content, explicit language and sexual content, kind of enemies to lovers to ??? , multiple smut scenes (2), soft dom!sunghoon, fingering!, oral! (f! and m! rec) , unprotected!sex, kind of public!sex, creampie! (reader is on birth control but wasn't mentioned), (might've missed some)

Summary: When the cameras stop rolling, the world still watches. You’ve spent years behind the scenes, dreaming of the day you’ll call the shots.

Then there’s Sunghoon—an untouchable star, distant yet impossibly captivating. To him, you’re just another face in the crowd—until tension sparks and walls crack.

When love and ambition collide, will either of you risk it all?

Word count: 21.1k

You weave through the chaos of the set, clipboard in hand, heart pounding as you check the schedule for the hundredth time today. The towering lights cast long shadows over the crew, the air thick with the scent of coffee, sweat, and expensive perfume from the high-profile actors preparing for their next scene.

It’s just another day in the world of film production—one where your name barely carries weight, where you’re another invisible cog in the relentless machine that keeps everything running. No one notices you unless they need something.

“Y/N, can you grab another battery pack for the boom mic?” someone shouts.

“Where’s the set list?”

“We need a fresh slate over here—hey, Y/N, did you double-check the continuity?”

The calls blur together, but you answer each one with practiced ease. You’ve been here long enough to know how it works: the crew hustles behind the scenes, the actors shine under the lights, and the director calls the shots. And you? You exist somewhere in between—essential but unnoticed, striving for a position that still feels painfully out of reach.

Directing. That’s the dream.

Not running errands, not handling last-minute crises, not fetching coffee for people who don’t bother to learn your name. You want to be the one in the chair, guiding the vision, telling a story the way you see it. But for now, you bite your tongue and do the work, knowing that ambition means little in an industry where experience and connections dictate your worth. Still, it stings.

You pause near the monitor, watching as the director—your director—gives notes to the lead actor. He commands attention effortlessly, his vision shaping the world on screen. You watch, envy curling deep in your gut, because that’s where you want to be. “Someday,” you murmur under your breath, gripping your clipboard tighter.

A sharp voice jolts you from your thoughts. “Y/N! Stop standing around! We need the next prop setup now!”

With a sigh, you push your dreams aside and dive back into the fray. Because in this industry, dreaming is the easy part. Making it happen? That’s another battle entirely.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The day has been long, and you’re running on little more than sheer willpower and the half-empty cup of coffee you left somewhere on set hours ago. The schedule is tight, and tensions are high—as they always are on a production of this scale. You’re used to the pressure. Used to being the unseen force that keeps things moving. But today, something is different.

“Y/N!” Your head snaps up at the sound of your name. One of the assistant directors is striding toward you, her expression pinched with impatience. You barely have time to acknowledge her before she thrusts a neatly folded call sheet into your hands.

“You’re assigned to Park Sunghoon today.” You blink. “What?”

She exhales sharply, already looking past you to another crisis unfolding elsewhere on set. “Sunghoon’s personal assistant isn’t here, so you’re filling in. Keep him on schedule, make sure he has what he needs, and for God’s sake, don’t piss him off. Got it?”

Your stomach sinks. Park Sunghoon. The industry’s golden boy.

Rising star, adored by millions, praised for his talent, his charm, his ability to command a scene like he was born for it. He’s the kind of actor whose name alone can secure funding for a film. He’s also notoriously difficult.

Rumors circulate about him—how he’s cold, distant, impossible to please. He rarely speaks to crew members unless necessary, and when he does, it’s often with clipped, impersonal words. Some say it’s arrogance. Others say it’s just the way he is.

Either way, being assigned to him is a daunting task. You swallow your apprehension, nodding before the assistant director disappears. There’s no time to dwell on your nerves. Straightening your shoulders, you make your way toward Sunghoon’s trailer.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The door is slightly ajar when you reach it. You hesitate for only a second before knocking firmly against the frame. No answer. Another knock. Still nothing.

Taking a steadying breath, you push the door open and step inside.

The air is noticeably cooler inside the trailer, the hum of the AC the only sound aside from your own footsteps. At first, you don’t see him. Then, your eyes land on the figure seated in the far corner, completely absorbed in his phone.

Park Sunghoon.

Up close, he’s even more striking than in magazines or on screen. His sharp features are almost too perfect, framed by jet-black hair that falls effortlessly into place. He’s dressed in his costume for the next scene—a tailored black suit, pristine and elegant. He looks every bit the star he is. But what stands out the most is the air of disinterest that radiates from him. You clear your throat lightly. “Mr. Park?”

Nothing. He doesn’t even look up. You shift on your feet, fingers tightening around the call sheet in your hand. “I’ve been assigned as your assistant for today. If there’s anything you need—”

“I don’t need anything,” he says flatly, still not sparing you a glance. His voice is smooth but devoid of warmth, and the dismissal in his tone is obvious.

You hesitate. “Right. Well, I still have to make sure you’re on schedule, so I’ll be around—”

“Do whatever you want,” he interrupts, swiping through something on his phone. “Just don’t get in my way.”

The words are a slap to the face. You’ve worked with difficult actors before, but something about his complete disregard stings more than you care to admit. He doesn’t even acknowledge your presence properly—just writes you off as another faceless crew member not worth his time.

Still, you’re professional. You force a neutral expression, ignoring the quiet prickle of irritation crawling up your spine. “There’s water and snacks here if you get hungry,” you say, motioning toward the neatly arranged table near the window. “And if you need any adjustments to your costume or makeup before the next scene, let me know.”

Sunghoon finally looks up, his dark eyes settling on you for the first time. For a brief second, you think he might say something—maybe even a simple acknowledgment. But instead, his gaze flickers over you, uninterested, before he leans back in his chair.

“Are you done?”

Your jaw tightens. “Yes.”

“Then you can go.” You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to nod before turning on your heel and walking out.

The second you’re outside, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You should have expected this. The rumors weren’t exaggerated. Sunghoon doesn’t just act indifferent—he embodies it. And yet, despite the irritation simmering beneath your skin, you shake it off.

He doesn’t matter. You’re here for your career, for your dreams. And Park Sunghoon? He’s just another actor. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. For now.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The tension on set is suffocating.

It’s been a long morning of filming, the crew scrambling to keep everything on schedule. The lead actors are preparing for the next scene, cameras are being adjusted, and you—unfortunately—are still tethered to Park Sunghoon, ensuring everything runs smoothly on his end. Not that he’s made it easy.

Since your first encounter, he’s continued to treat you with the same cold indifference. He never acknowledges you unless absolutely necessary, and when he does, it’s with clipped words and dismissive glances. You try to ignore it, reminding yourself that this is just part of the job.

You’ve worked with plenty of high-maintenance actors before. But none of them have ever gotten under your skin quite like this.

“Y/N, make sure Sunghoon’s costume is properly set before we roll,” one of the assistant directors calls.

You nod and step forward, glancing at Sunghoon’s suit. It looks fine, but experience has taught you to double-check everything. You reach out to smooth the lapel of his jacket, making a small adjustment to the way it sits on his shoulder.

The moment your fingers brush the fabric, Sunghoon recoils. “Don’t touch it.” His voice is sharp, cutting through the noise around you.

You freeze, startled by the sudden hostility in his tone. “I was just fixing—”

“It’s fine,” he snaps, brushing your hand away as if your mere presence is an inconvenience. “Next time, ask before you do something unnecessary.” A hush falls over the surrounding crew. People turn to glance at the commotion, their eyes darting between you and Sunghoon.

Humiliation burns through you. It’s not just what he said—it’s the way he said it. Cold, dismissive, like you’re nothing more than an annoyance. Like you don’t belong here.

You swallow the lump in your throat, willing yourself to stay composed. “I was just doing my job,” you say, keeping your voice even. “Making sure you look perfect for the shot.”

Sunghoon scoffs, adjusting the lapel himself with a flick of his wrist. “I don’t need your help with that.” Your fingers curl into a fist at your side, nails digging into your palm.

This isn’t the first time you’ve been looked down on in this industry. You’re used to the hierarchy, to being treated like background noise. But something about Sunghoon’s attitude—his complete disregard for you—stings deeper than it should.

Because it’s not just indifference. It’s deliberate. He wants you to know you don’t matter to him.

The assistant director, sensing the tension, quickly intervenes. “Alright, let’s get into position! We’re rolling in five!”

The moment is over, but the sting of embarrassment lingers. You take a step back, forcing yourself to breathe, forcing yourself to ignore the quiet murmurs from the surrounding staff. Sunghoon, meanwhile, has already moved on—expression impassive, eyes fixed ahead as if you don’t exist.

You bite the inside of your cheek, swallowing the anger bubbling in your chest. Fine. If that’s how he wants to play it, you won’t let him get under your skin. You straighten your shoulders, stepping out of his space and returning to your duties.

You won’t let Park Sunghoon make you feel small.

Not today. Not ever.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The set is alive with movement—crew members adjusting lights, cameras rolling into position, and makeup artists doing last-minute touch-ups on the lead actors. You also stay busy, as you always do, keeping things organized and ensuring every detail aligns with the director’s vision.

And, of course, keeping your distance from Park Sunghoon.

It’s been a few days since he had humiliated you in front of the crew, but the irritation still simmers beneath your skin. You’ve barely interacted with him since, only speaking to him when absolutely necessary. If he wants to pretend you don’t exist, you’re more than happy to return the favour.

Still, your job requires you to be aware of everything happening on set—including him.

Sunghoon is standing near the monitors, listening intently as the director gives him notes for the next scene. His posture is straight, his face stoic and unreadable, every part of him exuding that effortless confidence he’s known for.

You hate to admit it, but you understand why the industry adores him.

He carries himself like a star—like someone who was born to be in front of a camera. Every movement is deliberate, every glance is calculated. He doesn’t just act; he becomes the character, slipping into the role with practiced ease when the cameras start rolling. It’s infuriating how effortless it seems.

You’re still standing at a distance, flipping through the schedule on your clipboard, when a voice calls your name. “Y/N, we need someone to run lines with Sunghoon before we roll. Can you do it just until his co-star gets here?”

You pause, gripping your clipboard tighter. Of all the tasks you could’ve been assigned, this is what they ask you to do? You glance around, hoping someone else is free to step in, but no one does.

Damn it. Forcing a neutral expression, you nod. “Got it.”

The second you approach, Sunghoon’s gaze flickers toward you. His eyes give away nothing—no recognition, no irritation, just the same blank indifference he always reserves for you.

“We need to run lines,” you say, keeping your tone strictly professional. Sunghoon barely reacts. “Fine.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes and open the script, scanning the lines. The scene is heavy—an emotional confrontation between his character and the female lead. It requires tension, anger, and heartbreak.

Not that you care. You just want to get this over with.

Clearing your throat, you begin reading. Obviously, you’re not the best at this, this wasn’t what you signed up for but you do your best. Your voice is steady, controlled, giving just enough emotion to make the lines flow naturally. You expect Sunghoon to do the same—to deliver his part with the same distant professionalism he treats everything with.

But then he looks at you. Really looks at you. For the first time, his gaze isn’t skimming past you or dismissing you outright. It’s focused—intense. He delivers his lines smoothly, his voice calm but layered with the controlled fury his character is meant to convey.

“You said you loved me… I gave you everything, I’d even give you the world if I could, but this? This is how you repay me?”

And for a moment, you almost forget that this is just a read-through.

“Let me explain, I can’t lose us but I also can’t lose this…”

You read from the script, voice quivering the slightest bit. Your pulse quickens, Not because of him, but because of the sheer force of his presence. It’s unsettling how easily he commands attention, how his eyes lock onto yours and make it feel like there’s no one else in the room. 

But this isn’t real. It’s just acting. It’s literally his job. He’s trained for this. And yet, the way he holds your gaze makes it impossible to ignore the shift in the air around you.

The second the scene ends, the weight of his stare disappears. He looks away as if nothing happened, flipping the script shut with practiced indifference.

“That’s enough,” he mutters. 

You blink. Once. Twice. You’re momentarily thrown off by how abruptly he drops the intensity.

He doesn’t respond. Just turns away, already focusing on something else, as if the last few minutes meant nothing at all. And they didn’t. You don’t dwell on it. You can’t. Because no matter how sharp his gaze feels when it lingers on you, or how easily he commands attention, you refuse to let it mean anything. 

He’s an actor.

He was just acting.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The days bleed together, a relentless cycle of early mornings and late nights, and somehow, you always find yourself clashing with Park Sunghoon.

It’s not intentional—at least, not on your part.

He just always has something to complain about. The lighting is too harsh. The script revisions are unnecessary. The costume department didn’t get his measurements right. And when there’s nothing else to nitpick, he directs his irritation toward you.

You, who is only doing your job.

You, who has done nothing to warrant the thinly veiled condescension in his tone whenever he speaks to you.

And yet, every interaction feels like another reminder that to him, you’re just an inconvenience.

“Y/N.” You glance up from the monitor, catching sight of Sunghoon approaching with that same unreadable expression he always wears. His suit is immaculate—no surprise there—but there’s a slight furrow between his brows, a sure sign that he’s about to complain.

You brace yourself. “Yes?”

“This—” He gestures to the set behind you, where props and lighting have been carefully arranged for the next scene. “It’s wrong.”

You blink. “What do you mean, wrong?”

“The setup,” he says flatly, as if it should be obvious. “The table is in the wrong position.”

You glance over your shoulder. The table in question sits precisely where it was placed per the set designer’s notes. Nothing has changed since this morning. “It’s exactly where it’s supposed to be,” you tell him, crossing your arms.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, clearly unimpressed with your answer. “It wasn’t there yesterday.”

“That’s because they adjusted it to match the camera angles for today’s shoot,” you explain, keeping your voice even. “It’s intentional.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “It’s distracting.”

You stare at him. “It’s a table.”

The muscle in his jaw ticks. “It’s in the wrong place.”

You release a slow breath, forcing yourself to remain patient. “Look, Sunghoon, I get that you have your preferences, but moving the table now would mess with continuity. Everything is already set up for the next shot.”

His expression remains impassive, but you don’t miss the way his fingers twitch at his side, like he’s resisting the urge to argue further. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to let it go. “Move it anyway.”

Your patience snaps. “No.” It’s a simple word, firm and unwavering, but it seems to catch him off guard.

His eyes narrow slightly. “Excuse me?”

You stand your ground. “I said no. We’re not moving the table just because you don’t like where it is. The set designer put it there for a reason, and I’m not going to mess up the entire continuity just to satisfy your need for control.”

A tense silence stretches between you. The crew nearby pretends not to eavesdrop, but you can feel their eyes darting toward the confrontation, waiting to see how Sunghoon will react.

His expression darkens, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve gone too far. “Fine.”

You blink. Did he just… give up? Sunghoon exhales through his nose, tilting his head slightly as he studies you. His gaze is sharp, calculating, as if he’s seeing you for the first time. But just as quickly, the moment passes.

“Do whatever you want,” he mutters before turning on his heel and walking away.

You watch him go, chest rising and falling with quiet frustration.

The crew resumes their work, the tension in the air dissipating, but you’re still left with a lingering sense of unease. Because for the first time since you started working on this set, Park Sunghoon didn’t just dismiss you.

He listened. And somehow, that unsettles you more than anything.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It happens again.

You don’t know if Sunghoon is actually making your life difficult on purpose, or if he’s just that naturally insufferable. Either way, he’s quickly becoming the single biggest source of frustration in your already overwhelming workload.

Today, it’s the costume. “I’m not wearing this,” Sunghoon says flatly, standing in the middle of the dressing room, arms crossed over his chest.

You glance at the mirror behind him, where the reflection of his current outfit stares back at you. The suit is tailored perfectly, sleek and elegant, designed specifically to fit the tone of the upcoming scene. It looks fine. More than fine. It looks good. But, of course, Park Sunghoon has a problem with it.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, inhaling slowly before responding. “Sunghoon, the costume department spent weeks finalizing the designs. It’s already been approved by the director.”

“I don’t care,” he says, tone as impassive as ever. “It’s uncomfortable. The fabric is stiff, and the collar is too tight.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “It’s a suit. It’s supposed to fit that way.”

“It’s restricting.”

“That’s the point.”

His eyes narrow slightly at your tone, but you don’t back down. You’re already exhausted from dealing with the hundred other problems popping up on set today. The last thing you need is Sunghoon refusing to cooperate over something as trivial as a suit.

“Look,” you continue, crossing your arms, “I get that you have preferences, but the wardrobe team put a lot of thought into this. You can’t just refuse to wear it because it’s slightly uncomfortable.”

Sunghoon tilts his head slightly, regarding you with that unreadable stare of his. “Why do you care so much?”

You let out a sharp breath. “Because your tantrum is delaying the schedule, and if you refuse to wear it, I have to be the one to fix the mess it creates. So, forgive me for caring, but some of us don’t have the luxury of making everyone cater to our every whim.”

The room falls silent.

A quiet tension settles between you, thick and unyielding. You can feel the wardrobe assistants nervously shifting in the background, the air charged with the weight of unspoken words. Sunghoon, for once, says nothing. He just watches you, gaze unwavering.

You hold your breath, expecting him to lash out, to throw another dismissive remark your way. But instead, he sighs. A small, almost imperceptible exhale. Then, without another word, he turns back to the mirror and adjusts the cuff of his sleeve. The message is clear. He’s letting it go.

You blink, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected lack of resistance. Then, realizing this is your win, you straighten your posture and nod. “Good. I’ll let the team know we’re moving forward.”

Sunghoon doesn’t acknowledge your words. He just finishes fixing the suit himself, his expression unreadable.

You turn on your heel and walk out of the dressing room, your pulse still buzzing with the remnants of the confrontation. But for the first time, you don’t feel small under Sunghoon’s scrutiny. You don’t feel insignificant. You stood your ground. And, whether he’d admit it or not, he backed down.

It’s a small victory. But in this industry? Even the smallest wins count.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You should have seen this coming.

When the assistant director approached you this afternoon, clipboard in hand, and told you that Sunghoon needed someone to help him rehearse lines for an overnight shoot, “You’ve done it before last time, you’re doing nothing else later too,” you should have made an excuse. Should have told them you were too busy. Should have assigned the task to someone else.

But instead, here you are. Trapped. In a dimly lit corner of the set, sitting across from Park Sunghoon in a cramped backstage area that barely fits the two of you.

The main set is being rearranged for the next scene, and since filming can’t resume until everything is in place, the crew is scattered—some grabbing a late-night coffee, others reviewing notes, all leaving you with no escape from this situation.

Sunghoon flips through the script, eyes skimming over the lines. He hasn’t said much since you sat down, aside from a brief nod of acknowledgment. He’s as unreadable as ever, and you’re too exhausted to figure out whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“You ready?” you ask, stretching your fingers as you grip your copy of the script.

Sunghoon barely glances at you. “You sure you can keep up?”

Your lips press into a thin line. It’s been like this for weeks. Constantly butting heads, trading sharp words that always carry the edge of something heavier. You exhale through your nose and roll your shoulders back. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He smirks—just barely, a flicker of amusement crossing his face before he masks it with indifference. “Alright then.” And with that, he starts.

The scene is intense—a heated argument between his character and the female lead, raw with tension and emotion. You read your lines smoothly, keeping your voice steady, but Sunghoon…

Sunghoon doesn’t just recite his lines. He delivers them. His voice shifts seamlessly into character, rich with frustration and unspoken anger, his presence filling the small space between you. Even though you’re just reading, the sheer weight of his performance is enough to make your pulse stutter.

His eyes lock onto yours, sharp and unwavering, and suddenly it feels like the world outside this moment doesn’t exist.

You know it’s just acting. You know that. And yet, there’s something unnerving about being on the receiving end of his intensity. You push through, refusing to let his presence throw you off. You meet his stare head-on, refusing to waver, delivering your lines with just as much weight.

The words from the script fly between you like sparks igniting dry air.

“That’s all you ever do. Walk away. Like none of this ever mattered to you.”“Don’t you dare turn this on me. I was the only one who ever fought for us.” Sunghoon scoffs, the sound low and bitter.

“Fought? Is that what you call it? Because from where I’m standing, all I see is someone who gave up the moment things got hard.” You tighten your grip on the script.

“No. I gave up when I realized I was the only one still trying. YOU chose to not have me, have US, as a priority.”

The words hang between you. Heavy. Unrelenting. It’s just a script. Just a scene. But the weight of it presses down like something real.

The next line in the script is a pause—a moment of silence where the characters stare at each other, the fight teetering between rage and something neither of them can name.

Neither of you move. The quiet hum of distant voices from the main set barely reaches you. The only sound between you is the faint rustling of paper as Sunghoon shifts his grip on the script, his gaze still trained on you.

Your heartbeat is annoyingly loud in your ears. You should say something. Make a joke. Brush it off. But before you can, a crew member’s voice suddenly cuts through the silence.

“Sunghoon! You’re needed for blocking in five minutes!”

The moment shatters.

Sunghoon blinks, the tension breaking just as quickly as it had formed. He exhales, rolling his shoulders back before finally looking away.

“Guess we’re done here,” he mutters, flipping his script shut.

You swallow, nodding as you quickly gather your things. “Yeah.”

Neither of you say anything else as you stand and step out of the confined space, rejoining the rest of the crew. But as you walk away, shaking off the strange weight lingering in your chest, you can’t shake the feeling that something between you and Sunghoon just shifted.

And you don’t know what that means.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The exhaustion is starting to creep in.

Overnight shoots have a way of draining every last bit of energy from you, stretching time into something unrecognizable. The set is bathed in artificial light to mimic the illusion of late evening, but outside, the sky is already bleeding into the soft hues of dawn.

You sit at the far end of the set, sipping what is probably your third—no, fourth—cup of coffee, going over the schedule for the day. Your body aches, your eyelids feel heavier than usual, and yet, you can’t rest. There’s still too much to do, too much to coordinate.

You barely register Sunghoon’s presence at first. He’s sitting nearby, reviewing notes with the director, his usually pristine appearance slightly undone—his tie is loose, the cuffs of his dress shirt unbuttoned, dark strands of hair falling into his eyes. It’s the most unpolished you’ve ever seen him. Not that you care.

You force your attention back to the clipboard in your hands, mentally preparing for the chaos of the coming hours. But then, something shifts.

A soft thud.

You glance up and find a cup of coffee placed beside your elbow. You blink. Look up. Sunghoon is standing over you, hands tucked into his pockets, expression unreadable.

For a moment, you just stare at the cup, as if trying to decipher its presence. “…What’s this?” you ask cautiously.

Sunghoon shrugs, gaze flickering away. “You’ve been up longer than most of the crew. Figured you needed it. Don’t want you messing things up again.”

You blink again, stunned into silence. Sunghoon? Offering you something? Voluntarily? The world must be ending. Slowly, you wrap your fingers around the warm cup, the heat seeping into your chilled skin. You hesitate before murmuring, “Thanks.”

Sunghoon says nothing. He simply nods once before walking away, leaving you with a cup of coffee and a strange, unfamiliar feeling curling in your chest.

You tell yourself it’s just exhaustion. That’s all it is.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The small gestures don’t stop there.

Over the next few days, there’s a shift. Subtle, but noticeable. Sunghoon still keeps his distance, still maintains that cool indifference that makes him impossible to read. But there are… moments.

Like when he passes by the props table and subtly fixes something out of place before you can do it yourself.

Or when he doesn’t argue—for once—when you tell him to adjust his costume before a scene.

Or when you find a neatly folded jacket draped over the back of your chair one evening, long after the sun has set, when the set has turned quiet and you’re the only one left working.

You never catch him in the act. But you know. And you don’t know what to make of it, because this isn’t Sunghoon. At least, not the Sunghoon you thought you knew. The one who went out of his way to ignore you, to dismiss you as nothing more than an inconvenience.

So why does it feel like—despite everything—he’s starting to notice you?

You shake the thought from your head. It doesn’t matter. This doesn’t mean anything. It can’t. Because Sunghoon is still Sunghoon.

And you? You’re still just another crew member. A nobody in his world for now. You have to focus on your goal.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The set is nearly empty, save for a few crew members wrapping up for the night. The usual hum of voices and movement has died down, replaced by the occasional rustling of equipment being packed away. You should have left hours ago, but your body moves on autopilot as you double-check the next day’s schedule, making sure nothing has slipped through the cracks.

The exhaustion clings to you like a second skin. You rub your temples, trying to will away the dull ache forming between your brows, when a voice cuts through the silence.

“You’re still here?” You flinch, turning sharply.

Sunghoon stands a few feet away, leaning casually against a production crate. His suit jacket is gone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his usual polished demeanor replaced by something looser, less composed. He looks just as tired as you feel.

You clear your throat. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, just studies you for a beat before shrugging. “Didn’t feel like going home yet.”

You frown slightly. “Why not?”

Another pause. His gaze flickers away for a moment, as if debating whether or not to answer. When he finally does, his voice is quieter than usual. “Silence feels heavier when you’re alone.”

The words catch you off guard. You’ve never heard Sunghoon speak like this before—without sarcasm, without that usual edge of indifference. Just… honest. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond. Then, before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Is that why you work so much?”

His lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t deny it.

You exhale softly, leaning back against the chair. “I get it.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicker back to you, sharp with curiosity. “Do you?”

You nod, turning your gaze to the dimly lit set in front of you. “Work keeps your mind busy. When you’re constantly moving, constantly focused on something, you don’t have time to think about the things you don’t want to face.”

There’s a beat of silence. “That’s surprisingly insightful,” Sunghoon murmurs.

You huff a quiet laugh. “I’m full of surprises.”

Sunghoon leans against the crate, tilting his head slightly. His usual sharp gaze softens, something unreadable flickering across his face. “I used to be terrified,” he says suddenly, his voice lower than before.

You blink, caught off guard by the confession. “Of what?”

His fingers drum idly against the crate’s surface. “Failing.”

You don’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.

“When I first started out, no one took me seriously. People saw my face and assumed I was just another pretty boy who got lucky.” He exhales through his nose. “I had to work twice as hard just to prove I belonged here.”

You watch him carefully. You’ve never heard him talk about this before—not in interviews, not in passing conversations with the crew. Sunghoon rarely lets people see beyond the polished surface, beyond the image of perfection he’s carefully built. But right now, there’s no mask. No arrogance. Just raw honesty.

You shift in your seat. “What was the hardest part?”

He hesitates.  “The rejection.” His fingers tighten slightly. “You think you’re good enough, and then someone tells you you’re not. Over and over again.”

You nod slowly. You understand that feeling all too well. “But you made it,” you say softly.

Sunghoon lets out a quiet laugh—one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. But the fear never really goes away.”

You tilt your head. “Even now?”

“Especially now.” His voice is calm, but there’s something heavy beneath it. “When you reach a certain point, people stop caring about how hard you worked to get there. All they see is what you are now. And if you slip, even for a second, they’re ready to move on to the next rising star.”

You don’t break his gaze. You should have guessed this—should have realized that someone as successful as Sunghoon would carry the weight of expectations heavier than most. Still, hearing it from him directly makes it feel different. Real.

“Do you ever regret it?” you ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer right away. “No.” A pause. “But sometimes, I wonder what it would feel like to just… stop. To not have to care about every little thing, to not have to be perfect all the time.” His voice is softer than before, almost distant. It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him sound tired.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “That sounds… lonely.”

Sunghoon exhales. “It is.”

The silence between you stretches, not uncomfortable but different. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t try to fill the space with unnecessary words.

And for once, you don’t feel the need to either. It’s strange—this quiet, fragile understanding between you. But maybe, just for tonight, you don’t have to question it.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You don’t know exactly when it happened, or how, but the shift between you and Sunghoon is undeniable. It’s not sudden or dramatic. There’s no grand moment of realization, no obvious turning point. It’s something quieter. Subtle.

You notice it in the way he doesn’t immediately shut you down when you speak to him anymore.

In the way his sharp remarks have softened, turning into dry humor instead of outright dismissal.

In the way he looks at you sometimes—not with disdain, not with indifference, but with something… else.

You don’t question it. You don’t acknowledge it because whatever this is, it’s fragile. And you don’t dare disturb it.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It starts with the little things.

Like today. You’re going over the schedule for the next scene when a shadow falls over your clipboard. You look up, surprised to find Sunghoon standing beside you.

“Here.” You blink as he hands you something. A protein bar.

You stare at it for a moment, then back at him. “What’s this for?”

Sunghoon shrugs, looking anywhere but at you. “You forgot to eat lunch.”

You frown. “How do you—?”

“I just noticed,” he says quickly, cutting you off.

You raise an eyebrow but take the protein bar anyway. “Thanks, I guess.”

He nods, already stepping away. But before he leaves, you hear him mumble, just loud enough for you to catch— “Don’t make a habit of skipping meals.”

You don’t even get the chance to respond before he disappears down the hall. You stare after him, heart thudding a little too loudly in your chest. This… isn’t normal. At least, not for him. Park Sunghoon doesn’t notice people. He doesn’t care about the little things. And yet, here he is, paying attention to you in ways that don’t make sense.

You shake your head, stuffing the protein bar into your bag.

It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t mean anything.

Right?

ㅤㅤ─────────────────────────

A few days later, it happens again.

This time, it’s late at night, and you’re reviewing notes in one of the empty break rooms. Most of the crew has already gone home, but you’re still here, buried in work as usual.

You barely hear the door open. “You’re still here?” You glance up, unsurprised to see Sunghoon standing in the doorway. This is becoming a pattern.

You sigh. “You really need to stop sneaking up on me like that.”

He smirks faintly. “Maybe you just need to be more aware of your surroundings.”

You roll your eyes but don’t bother arguing. Instead, you go back to your notes. “What are you still doing here?”

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“I work here.”

Sunghoon hums, stepping further into the room. He leans against the table beside you, arms crossed. “You work too much.”

You huff. “That’s rich coming from you.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just tilts his head slightly, studying you with that unreadable gaze of his. Then, after a pause, he says, “You’re good at what you do.”

You freeze. Of all the things you expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them.

Slowly, you look up. “What?”

Sunghoon’s expression is unreadable, but there’s no sarcasm in his voice when he repeats, “You’re good at your job.”

You swallow, caught off guard. Compliments aren’t something you hear often—especially not from him. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond.

Finally, you manage, “Thanks.”

Sunghoon nods once before pushing off the table. “Don’t stay too late.” And just like that, he’s gone again.

You stare after him, heart pounding with something you really don’t want to name because whatever this is—whatever is happening between you and Sunghoon—it’s starting to feel dangerously close to something real.

And you don’t know if you’re ready for that.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You don’t know what’s worse—the tension before you and Sunghoon started tolerating each other, or the tension now.

Before, you could dismiss him as insufferable, a man too caught up in his own world to care about anyone else. But now?

Now, he lingers.

Now, he notices.

Now, he watches you in a way that makes your skin feel too warm, makes the air between you feel heavier than it should.

And the worst part? You catch yourself doing the same.

It’s nothing—just a series of small moments, insignificant on their own but unbearable when strung together.

Like the way his gaze always seems to find you first when he enters a room.

Like the way your fingers brush against his more often than they should when handing him a prop or adjusting his mic.

Like the way silence between you is no longer uncomfortable, but something else entirely—something thick and unspoken.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. It has to be nothing because anything else would be a mistake.

ㅤㅤ─────────────────────────

You’re walking across the set, flipping through the pages of your clipboard as you weave between crew members adjusting lights and moving props. The scene is nearly ready, and you just need to confirm a few last-minute adjustments before filming starts.

You’re so focused on your notes that you don’t see the stray cable lying across your path. Your foot catches. The world tilts.

Your heart jumps into your throat as you stumble forward, clipboard slipping from your fingers. But before you can hit the ground, a firm hand grips your wrist.

The next thing you know, you’re being pulled upright—too fast, too close—until your body collides with solid warmth. You suck in a breath. Strong hands steady you, one gripping your wrist, the other settling lightly against your waist. You don’t have to look up to know who it is.

His hold is firm but careful, his fingers pressing against the fabric of your shirt, grounding you before you can fully process what just happened. For a moment, neither of you move. The air around you feels heavier, thick with something neither of you acknowledge.

“You should watch where you’re going,” Sunghoon murmurs, his voice lower than usual.

You finally look up.

Big mistake. Because he’s closer than you thought he was.

The dim lighting casts sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his dark eyes flicker with something unreadable. His breath is warm against your skin, and for a second, the world around you blurs—reduced to nothing but the space between you.

Your pulse pounds. “I—I was busy,” you stammer, trying to find some semblance of normalcy.

Sunghoon tilts his head slightly, gaze never leaving yours. “Too busy to notice where you’re walking?”

You swallow hard, willing your heart to calm down. “Maybe.”

His grip on your waist tightens—just a fraction. Just enough for you to feel it. For the first time, you think he might actually smile– 

“Sunghoon! We need you on set!”

His expression hardens in an instant, as if someone flipped a switch. His hands fall away, the warmth of his touch disappearing too fast. You take a quick step back, still trying to catch your breath. Sunghoon clears his throat, straightening his posture. “Try not to trip again.”

You scowl, trying to ignore the heat rushing to your face. “Try not to catch me next time.”

He smirks—just barely, just enough to make your stomach twist in a way you refuse to acknowledge. And then he’s gone. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, pressing a hand to your chest to steady yourself.

This—whatever this is—is getting out of control and you don’t know how much longer you can ignore it.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The air is thick with tension.

Not the bad kind, not the simmering annoyance that used to define your interactions with Sunghoon. This is different.

This is the kind of tension that makes your pulse race, that makes your skin tingle whenever he’s too close, that makes every glance feel too much.

The night shoot has stretched longer than expected, with last-minute script adjustments and lighting corrections delaying the schedule. Most of the crew is exhausted, but the director is pushing to get one last take before they call it a wrap.

Sunghoon has been in and out of wardrobe for hours, and by now, even he looks tired. His usual pristine appearance is slightly undone—his tie loosened, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, a few strands of dark hair falling into his eyes.

You try not to look. You really did, but you fail.

“Y/N, can you check the lighting cues with Sunghoon before we roll?” You nod, gripping your clipboard a little too tightly. “Got it.”

You make your way toward Sunghoon, who’s reviewing the script under one of the set lights. When he notices you approaching, he sighs. “What now?” he mutters.

You cross your arms. “Relax. I’m just making sure you’re ready for the next take.”

He exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. Just tired.”

You hesitate, taken aback by his honesty. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The usual biting remarks, the sarcastic exchanges—none of it comes. Instead, there’s just silence, filled with something heavier.

Sunghoon looks at you then. Really looks at you.

And that’s when everything shifts. It happens too fast.

One second, you’re stepping forward to adjust the collar of his shirt, fingers brushing against the fabric. The next, you lose your footing, maybe your own exhaustion catching up to you.

Either way, you stumble and Sunghoon catches you. Again.

His hands grip your arms, steadying you before you can fall. Your fingers clutch onto his shirt instinctively, holding onto him as the world tilts for just a moment.

And then you realize. He’s close. Too close.

Your breaths mingle in the small space between you, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around you. His hands are firm, his touch warm, and when you finally gather the courage to look up, his eyes are already on you.

Something flickers in them, something unreadable yet impossibly heavy. His gaze drops briefly—to your lips, just for a split second—before snapping back up.

The realization hits you like a freight train. Your stomach flips, your breath catches, and for one terrifying moment, you think you might actually let him.

Your grip on his shirt tightens, his fingers flex against your arms, and the world around you fades—reduced to nothing but this moment, this space, him.

Maybe, just maybe, you’re fine with the thought of kissi-

A loud crash from across the set breaks the spell. Someone curses, something clatters to the floor, and just like that, the moment is gone.

You and Sunghoon jerk away from each other as if burned, the air between you suddenly too cold, too empty. Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes—something dangerously close to frustration… or maybe regret.

You don’t stick around to find out. “I—uh—should check on that,” you blurt, stepping back too quickly. “The crash. Someone probably—”

Sunghoon nods stiffly, jaw tight. “Yeah. You should.”

And then you walk away. Fast. Too fast. Because whatever that was?

It can’t happen again. It won’t happen again.

You tell yourself it was nothing.

That the near-kiss, the tension, the way Sunghoon’s hands felt on your skin—none of it mattered. It was just exhaustion. A moment of stupid miscalculation. But deep down, you know that’s a lie.

Because now, every glance between you lingers too long. Every accidental touch burns a little hotter. And every moment spent alone feels like standing on the edge of something dangerous, something you don’t want to name.

You don’t know how much longer you can pretend it isn’t happening.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It’s raining.

The shoot ran late—again. By the time you step outside, the studio parking lot is nearly empty, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. The rain isn’t heavy, just a steady drizzle that coats everything in a thin sheen of water. You tug your jacket closer around yourself, shivering slightly as you rummage through your bag for your keys. Fuck where is it?

“You forgot this.”

You spin around.

Sunghoon stands a few feet away, holding out your clipboard. His hair is slightly damp from the rain, his white dress shirt clinging to his frame. He looks different like this—less put together, less like the untouchable star everyone sees on screen. More real.

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh. Right. Thanks.” He doesn’t move. Doesn’t walk away.

Instead, he just watches you.

Like he’s waiting for something.

Like he’s fighting something.

And you know—you know—that this is the moment.

The one where you either walk away and pretend none of this ever happened.

Or you give in.

You swallow hard, pulse hammering in your ears. “Sunghoon…” His name comes out softer than you intended and that’s all it takes. The tension between you snaps.

One second, you’re standing in the rain, barely breathing. The next, Sunghoon is closing the distance between you in two quick strides, his hands coming up to cup your face as his lips crash into yours.

Your breath catches as heat floods through you, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of urgency you’ve never felt before. His grip is firm but careful, as if he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he holds too tight.

And maybe he should be. Because this—whatever this is—feels impossible. But right now, at this moment, you don’t care. You kiss him back.

Your hands grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, pouring every ounce of frustration, of confusion, of longing into the kiss. The rain keeps falling, soaking into your clothes, tangling in your hair, but neither of you notice. The only thing that exists is this.

Sunghoon tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his fingers threading through your hair. He tastes like coffee and rain, like something dangerous and addictive all at once.

And you know—you know—that this is a mistake. But you don’t stop.

Not when his hands slide down to your waist, pulling you against him.

Not when your fingers slip into his damp hair, tugging lightly, making him groan softly against your lips.

Not when he presses you back against the side of your car, his body solid and warm against yours despite the cold night air.

You don’t stop, because for the first time in weeks, you don’t want to.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You don’t remember how you get home. All you know is that one minute, you’re in the rain, drowning in him, and the next, you’re in your apartment.

His jacket is on the floor. So is yours.

His lips molding against yours, passionate and hungry. Your back meets the door, hands travelling to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepens as your tongues fight against each other.  

Suddenly he completely pulls away, you open your eyes at the lack of contact. His hand reaches out, gently grabbing yours as your fingers entwine. “Where’s your bedroom?” he says, catching his breath. No other words pass between the two of you as you lead him down the hall.

You stop in front of your bedroom door, his free hand opens it and turns some of the lights on.  This time when your eyes meet, it's different. His eyes are dark and wreaking with lust as he closes in. His slender fingers reach forward as he cups your chin. He tilts your head up, eyes searching mine.  

He must have found exactly what he was looking for because he finally leans back in. Somehow, this kiss is even more passionate than before. You barely notice the movement as he slowly guides you toward the bed.

The moment your knees hit the frame, he pulls away. His hand on your chin trails down to your chest, pushing gently. You fall onto the bed, a surprised gasp leaving your lips as your back meets the soft material of your comforter.

He moves forward, his gaze never leaving yours. One of his knees props up against the bed next to your thigh. You look down briefly before focusing your attention on his fingers, watching as they slowly work at the buttons of his white button-up shirt, releasing them one by one until he reaches the final one.  

He shrugs off his shirt, allowing it to fall effortlessly, showing his toned chest and firm stomach. Your breath catches as he totally removes the sleeves before flinging the fabric on the floor.

If you had any doubts about what was going on, they were quickly dispelled when you noticed the tent in his pants. Is this actually happening? To be honest, everything seemed to fall into place too wonderfully, almost like a dream.

Sunghoon moves forward, taking his place above you. You’re so close that instinct kicks in, and you shift slightly, ensuring you're comfortably situated on the bed beneath him.

His hand moves down, tracing along your sides with slow, deliberate sensuality. Each brush of his fingers sends a warm shiver down your spine.

"Your hair, your eyes, your lips," he murmurs, his touch following the path of his words. "Fuck, you're so beautiful," he rasps, his voice thick with something you can't quite name. "What are you doing to me?"

Your heart skips a beat when he grasps the bottom of your shirt. "There's just something about you..."

"May I?" he asks, though all you can manage is a small nod.

A wave of last-minute nerves crashes over you as he slowly drags the fabric up, taking his time revealing your upper body. Once he’s done, he moves on to your jeans, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you before tossing them aside.

You squeeze your eyes shut, heat rising to your face in a flush of embarrassment. "You're beautiful," Sunghoon says, his words so genuine it almost hurts.Your hands fly up to cover your face, the warmth of your own skin only confirming how flustered you feel. But thinking back to his words, his actions—there’s no reason to be embarrassed at all.

You feel him shift before his hands grasp your forearms, gently pulling your hands away from your face. You let him, but you still can’t bring yourself to open your eyes.

"Look at me," he says softly. You can't.

"Baby," he pleads, "look at me." You force yourself to open your eyes, and the moment they meet his, he smiles. "There you are."

His head dips down, his lips capturing yours in a sweet, fleeting kiss. When he pulls away, he trails kisses down your neck, each one wet and slow, traveling lower—across the crook of your neck, down to your chest, your stomach, and then—your thighs.

His lips press gently against the top of your thigh, a lingering, tender kiss. His fingers graze your skin as he does so, the simple touch sending a shiver through your body.

The closer his kisses get, the deeper you feel them, your stomach twisting with anticipation. Soon, he reaches the inner part of your thigh, and the second his skin meets yours, a fire ignites inside you. The insecurities from before melt away, replaced by a single, overwhelming thought.

The kisses quickly turn into pure torment. "Sunghoon," you whine, "stop teasing." He hums in response, his fingers hooking onto your underwear. He pulls it down slowly, giving you every chance to stop him—but you never do.

A groan escapes him as he finally sees the part of you he's been waiting for. He slides the fabric down your legs, discarding it to the floor before moving back up—closer, hungrier.

Each of his hands grips your thighs, gently pushing them apart. You hide your face again, this time out of sheer shyness. Any lingering insecurities are so far gone they don’t even cross your mind anymore—not when you feel his right hand leave your thigh and trail toward your core.

The moment his fingers graze over your clit, a breathless mewl escapes your lips, the sound completely involuntary. He chuckles. "You're so wet already, and I haven't even touched you properly."

You groan, both flustered and frustrated by his teasing. "’hoon."

He laughs again, his left hand squeezing your thigh. "What?"

"Touch me, please," you plead, your voice quiet, needy.

"Anything for you."

His fingers move into your folds, spreading them apart, before pressing his thumb against your clit. He begins with slow, rhythmic circles, each one sending waves of pleasure through your body.

It feels good—too good—but you crave "more." He obliges without hesitation, understanding exactly what you desire as his lips meet your heat. A hushed cry escapes your lips, and your fist flies up to your mouth, biting down in an attempt to muffle any crude sounds.

His hand moves aside, then back to your thigh while his tongue takes control. He grabs the back of your thighs, forcing you up slightly as he devours you, working his mouth against you with such fervor that your head spins.

It doesn't take long before the familiar feeling coils inside you. The sensation grows stronger with each flick of his tongue and measured movement of his lips, with pleasure increasing by the second.

A long moan leaves you as his hold tightens and his tongue presses down with precisely the proper pressure. He smiles against you, a soft chuckle spilling from his lips, and the vibrations send another rush of pleasure through your body.

Your hand flies from your mouth, clutching the blankets. "Fuck," you gasp, your hand clenched.

His right hand moves away from your thigh and back to your core, but this time he isn't simply focusing on your clit.

Your breath is caught as his fingertip softly pushes past your entrance, slipping inside with ease, your arousal covering his digit. Sunghoon groans at the vulgar sight, and the sound sends jolts down to your heat in more ways than one. Then he inserts another finger, carefully pushing it in and out as his lips suck down harder on your clit.

It's just too much.

A shattered cry escapes your mouth as your peak draws near. You pry your eyes open, looking down at him—and instantly wish you hadn't. Seeing him positioned between your legs is nearly unbearable.  

His gaze catches yours from beneath, deep and brimming with desire, and you sense his grin on your skin. His fingers turn, curling perfectly as the pressure on your clit intensifies. The way he moves creates waves of pleasure surging within you, his tongue synchronizing flawlessly with his hands.  

The feeling is so strong that your body surrenders, collapsing onto the bed as your head touches the plush duvet. Your abdomen constricts, your muscles gripping his fingers.  

"I'm almost there," you whine, voice trembling and gasping.  

He remains unwavering, maintaining his pace as the strain in your stomach intensifies to the limit.  "Oh God—fuck," you exclaim, your hand moving to bring him nearer.  

Your fingers weave through his dark hair, pulling gently, and the low groan that slips from his mouth resonates profoundly within you. That sound—combined with the movements of his tongue—pushes you to the brink.  

A sharp breath escapes you as your spine bends, ecstasy flooding your body in overwhelming surges. Blinding sparks fill your sight as your climax overwhelms you. Your grip on his hair strengthens, and your thighs instinctively squeeze around his head.

"It feels so good," you murmur, voice dazed and dripping with lust. "Shit, Sunghoon, you're so good.”

He hums with contentment, his tongue skillfully navigating you through your peak, extending every surge of pleasure until it gradually starts to fade. You fall onto the bed, your hold on his head loosening, your legs parting a bit.

His fingers withdraw from you—but his mouth remains. His tongue caresses your delicate folds once more, savoring every single drop of your climax.  

A whimper slips from you. "Sensitive, ah—"  Your thighs shake, the overexcitement delivering intense yet pleasurable jolts throughout you. It's intense—agonizing and exhilarating simultaneously.

Satisfied, he finally pulls away. "You taste so good," he murmurs, voice thick with desire. "So sweet."

Your dazed eyes meet his, and you watch as he licks his lips, his lower face glistening with your arousal. Just seeing this sight alone sends another chill up your spine.

He climbs up your body, trapping you beneath him. The moment his lips crash into yours, you groan, tasting yourself on his tongue. When he pulls away, you instinctively chase after his lips, only for him to chuckle and gently push you back down.

He presses a wet kiss to your cheek before moving down to your neck, lips trailing lower in search of your sweet spot. When he finds it, your body jerks, a sharp inhale giving you away. He smirks against your skin, sucking down before biting softly, marking you his.

He continues his path down, leaving a trail of bruises along your neck and collarbone. Your hands find their way to his bare shoulders, nails digging into his skin as his lips descend further.

Kneeling between your legs, his hands slide around your back. You arch instinctively, allowing him access to the clasp of your bra. His fingers fumble with the material, trying to unhook it.

A quiet curse leaves his lips when he fails. He tries again—another curse. You giggle, tapping his back. He lifts his head, meeting your amused gaze with pleading eyes.

Chuckling, you sit up slightly, giving him room as he leans back on his knees. Your hands move behind you, unclasping your bra on the second try. He watches, mesmerized, as you shrug it off, discarding the fabric to the floor.

He’s about to push you back down, but you stop him, pressing a hand to his chest. Reaching forward, you hook your fingers into the loops of his slacks. "Take it off," you say, voice firm with want.

You’re already completely bare beneath him, while he’s only shirtless. That’s not fair, is it?

Sensing your impatience, his fingers work swifty to unbuckle his belt, throwing it aside before undoing the button of his slacks. When he pulls down the zipper, you let go, allowing him to rid himself of the material on his own.

Your mouth practically waters as Sunghoon reveals his black boxer briefs, the outline of his arousal leaving nothing to the imagination. He kicks them off, letting the fabric join the scattered mess of clothing on the bedroom floor.

Your fingers instinctively reach forward, tracing the rigid shape still clothed beneath the thin material. A low groan escapes him at your touch, his brows furrowing as pleasure flickers across his face. The way he reacts makes your stomach tighten—you want to return the favor.

You grab hold of the waistband, ready to pull them down, but before you can, he pushes you back against the mattress, towering over you once more.

"Wait," you whine, looking up at him. "I wanna make you feel good."

"I'm sorry, baby, but I can't wait any longer." His hands find your waist, pulling you further up the bed until your head rests against the pillows. His voice drops, thick with need. "I need to feel you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, equal parts frustration and anticipation curling low in your stomach.

Your gaze stays locked onto his briefs—he still needs to take them off. But he's moving too slowly, teasing you on purpose. Huffing, you reach forward and yank them down in one swift motion.

His cock finally springs free, the motion making it smack against the firm plane of his stomach. You can’t help but stare. It’s odd to admit, but—God, it’s pretty. Of course, it is. Just look at his damn face.

He chuckles, the deep sound laced with amusement. "Is my baby getting impatient?"

"You're such a tease," you mumble, cheeks burning as you refuse to look away from his lower half.

"But you like it, don't you?"

You don’t deny it, though words fail you. As much as you love his teasing, the ache inside you is unbearable now, your body begging for his. The want in your stomach is almost outmatched by the throbbing between your legs.

A groan of frustration slips past your lips as you throw your head back against the pillows. "Sunghoon," you scold, voice strained with impatience.

"Hm?" He hums innocently. "What is it?" The playfulness in his tone only makes it worse.

You swallow hard, your entire body burning with need. "I need you."

"Yeah?" His hands settle on your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh.

"Yeah." A sharp gasp leaves you as he grinds against you, his cock sliding along your folds, spreading the wetness. The friction makes your breath hitch, but it’s not enough. You reach for him, arms winding around his back, pulling him closer.

"Stop teasing," you beg, voice trembling. "I can't take it anymore."

His gaze darkens as he takes in your desperate expression. "Shit. I can’t either."

One of his hands leaves your thigh, wrapping around his length as he strokes himself briefly. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he aligns himself at your entrance.

A sharp moan tears from your throat as he pushes inside, inch by inch. The wetness between your legs makes it easy, the stretch deep but not painful. He bottoms out, and for a second, neither of you moves, the moment overwhelming.

Not only is he perfect, but he fits inside you like he was meant to be there. Like your body was made to take him.

"You feel so good," he groans, his head dipping to press against your neck. "So fucking good."

His breath is warm against your skin as he starts to move, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm. You get lost in the sensation—the heat of his body against yours, the way he fills you so perfectly, the rough yet tender press of his lips at the curve of your throat.

His pace quickens, his strokes deeper, more insistent. Each thrust ignites something inside you, and you whimper, fingers threading through his hair.

"I don’t think I'm gonna last long," he confesses, voice hushed against your ear.

"That's okay," you whisper back, your lips brushing against his temple. "Just feel good for me."

A strangled groan rumbles from his chest. His teeth graze your neck before biting down gently. One of his hands snakes between your bodies, fingertips finding your clit. The moment he starts to rub slow, firm circles, you let out a gasp.

Your hand tightens in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. Your other arm clings to his back, fingers digging into his skin.

"More," you plead, voice breaking.

"Like this?" He applies more pressure, his movements precise, skilled.

Your only response is a hurried nod, your body arching into his touch. "Yes—just like that."

He lets out a desperate moan, hips snapping harder. His rhythm falters slightly, but the intensity only makes it better. Each thrust hits something deep inside you, winding the coil in your stomach impossibly tight.

You’re close. So close. "Sunghoon—"

He answers before you can even finish, slamming into you just right. The air is knocked from your lungs, a cry of pleasure escaping before you can stop it.

The knot inside you snaps. Your entire body trembles as pleasure crashes over you in waves, your walls tightening around him. Your hands fall from his body, too weak to hold on any longer.

A broken moan tumbles from his lips. "Fuck—baby, I'm gonna—"

His hips stutter, his cock twitching deep inside you. A strangled groan escapes him as he spills his seed inside you, his face still buried in your shoulder. Even through his climax, he keeps moving, his thrusts growing sloppy as he works you both through the high.

Eventually, his movements slow. The pleasure lingers, buzzing through your veins even after he pulls out. His fingers slip away from your clit, leaving your body aching but satisfied.

Silence settles between you, the only sound filling the room being your ragged breathing.

Sunghoon is the first to move, letting out a low groan as he sits up. 

You let out a slow breath, running your hands over your face, then through your now-messy hair. The post-orgasmic haze still lingers, making you feel weightless. When you turn your head, you find Sunghoon already watching you.

He offers you a lazy smile. "How do you feel?" His fingers trace gently along the side of your face.

"Amazing," you murmur. "I feel amazing."

"Good." He leans down, his face hovering inches from yours.

You reach up, fingers curling into his hair, and pull him in for a slow, lingering kiss, before exhaustion takes over both of you.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The first thing you notice when you wake up is warmth.

The second is that you’re not alone.

Your eyes blink open slowly, adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through your curtains. Your body is sore in ways that make your face heat up, the memories of last night flashing through your mind in fragmented pieces—his hands on your skin, his breath against your neck, the way he whispered your name like it was something precious.

You swallow hard, pulse stuttering.

Sunghoon is still beside you. He’s lying on his side, face relaxed in sleep, dark lashes fanned across his cheekbones. His hair is tousled, strands falling messily over his forehead. His bare shoulder peeks out from beneath the sheets, and one of his arms is draped over your waist, keeping you close even in sleep.

For a moment, you just stare. Because this? This is different.

You’ve seen Sunghoon in a hundred different ways—on set, in magazines, under the harsh glow of studio lights. But never like this. Never so unguarded.

Your heart clenches, confusion and something dangerously close to longing twisting inside you.

Whatever this is—feels real. Too real and that’s what scares you the most.

You shift slightly, trying to untangle yourself from him, but the small movement stirs him.

Sunghoon hums low in his throat, his grip tightening around you for just a second before his breathing changes, his body stretching out as he starts to wake up.

His eyes open, still heavy with sleep, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he looks at you without his usual guarded expression.

His gaze flickers over your face, his fingers tracing absent patterns against your hip beneath the sheets. “Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough and quiet.

Your throat goes dry. You should say something. Something easy. Light. Anything that will make this feel normal. But before you can, reality slams into you like a freight train.

This is Sunghoon.

Sunghoon, who is always in control.

Sunghoon, who has spent weeks pretending you didn’t exist only to kiss you like he was drowning last night.

Sunghoon, who—despite everything—still belongs to a world that isn’t yours.

The thought is sobering And judging by the way his gaze sharpens slightly, the way his fingers still against your skin, he sees the shift in your expression. He sighs. “You’re overthinking.”

You force a small, stiff laugh. “I just—”

“I know,” he cuts in, voice unreadable now.

Your lips press together.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Sunghoon is sitting up, the warmth of his body leaving yours as he runs a hand through his hair. The loss of contact makes something inside you ache but you don’t stop him.

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees for a second before exhaling sharply. Then, he reaches for his clothes. And just like that, the spell is broken.

You watch as he dresses, his movements slower than usual, as if he’s waiting for you to say something, but you don’t, because you don’t know what to say.

By the time he buttons his shirt, the tension between you is suffocating. Sunghoon finally turns, his gaze meeting yours again. “I have to go.”

You nod. “Right. Early shoot.”

He hesitates. “Yeah.” He doesn’t move right away. Doesn’t leave. Just lingers by the bed, like there’s something else he wants to say.

“You regret it?” The question is quiet, but it cuts through the air like a blade.

Your stomach twists. “I—”

Sunghoon’s expression is unreadable. “It’s fine if you do.”

You don’t know what you feel. But regret? No.

You shake your head, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Sunghoon exhales through his nose, nodding once before stepping toward the door.

You watch as he reaches for the handle, your fingers clenching against the sheets. You should stop him. You should say something.

But before you can, he glances over his shoulder one last time. “I’ll see you on set.” And then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him, and you’re left staring at the empty space where he stood.

And for the first time, you wonder if walking away was easier when he was just a stranger.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The next few days are torture.

You and Sunghoon don’t talk about that night. You don’t talk at all.

It’s not like before, when he was cold and dismissive, or when every glance between you carried an undercurrent of tension.

This is different. This is silence filled with something too heavy to ignore.

And Sunghoon? Sunghoon looks at you like he’s waiting.

For you to acknowledge it.

For you to say something.

For you to do something.

But you don’t.

Until one night, he makes the decision for you.

You’re the last one on set, flipping through notes in one of the break rooms, pretending you’re focused when your mind has been elsewhere all day.

You hear him before you see him. The quiet shuffle of footsteps. The faint sigh of someone bracing themselves before speaking.

“We need to talk.”

You tense. Slowly, you look up.

Sunghoon is standing in the doorway, hands tucked into his pockets, expression unreadable.

You swallow. “About what?”

He exhales sharply, stepping forward. “You know what.”

You force yourself to hold his gaze. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

A humorless chuckle. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Your jaw tightens. “Sunghoon—”

“Why are you pretending it didn’t happen?” he cuts in, voice edged with frustration.

You flinch. “Because it shouldn’t have.”

His expression flickers—just for a second. But you see it.

The hurt. The hesitation. Then, just as quickly, it’s gone.

“So that’s it?” His voice is quieter now, calmer. “You’re just going to pretend nothing happened?”

You exhale, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know what you want from me, Sunghoon.”

He’s quiet for a beat.

“I want you.”

Your breath catches.

He steps closer, gaze steady. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

He swallows hard, voice softer now. “I just care about you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

Sunghoon watches you carefully, searching for something in your expression. He takes a breath and says, “I can’t promise everything will be perfect. But I want you. Will you be mine?”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

And you realize…

Maybe you don’t have to be ready.

Maybe you just have to try.

So you inhale deeply, steadying yourself. You nod and Sunghoon smiles.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Keeping a secret relationship on set is harder than you thought.

It’s not just about avoiding suspicion—it’s about suppressing the way your eyes linger on each other longer than they should. About keeping your hands to yourself when all you want to do is reach for him. About pretending that nothing between you has changed, when in reality, everything has.

And Sunghoon isn’t making it any easier.

It’s in the way he watches you when he thinks no one is looking.

The way his fingers brush against yours when he hands you something, even though there’s no reason for them to.

The way his expression softens, just barely, whenever your eyes meet.

It’s subtle, but it’s there. And every time it happens, your heart stutters in your chest.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The first time you slip up, it’s barely noticeable.

You’re standing by the monitors, going over the director’s notes, when Sunghoon walks past you. It’s nothing out of the ordinary—he’s just moving to his next position for the scene, but as he passes, his fingers graze lightly against your waist.

It’s so brief, so quick, that if anyone were watching, they’d assume it was an accident, but you know better, and judging by the way he smirks as he walks away, he knows you know better.

You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to stay composed. This man is going to be the death of you.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The second time, it’s more obvious.

You’re on set, waiting for the next scene to start, when you feel the weight of his gaze. You try to ignore it and you fail. Against your better judgment, you glance up—and sure enough, Sunghoon is watching you from across the room. His eyes are unreadable, dark and steady, as if he’s daring you to react.

You scowl, mouthing, What?

Instead of answering, he tilts his head slightly, gaze flickering down—just for a second—before meeting your eyes again.

It takes you a moment to process what he just did, and when you do, your face burns, because he wasn’t just looking at you. He was looking at your lips.

You inhale sharply, whipping your head away before anyone can catch the way your expression betrays you. Sunghoon chuckles under his breath, clearly entertained.

You hate him. You really hate him. But the worst part? You don’t. Not even a little.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The third time, it’s a problem.

Sunghoon is filming an emotional scene, one that requires complete focus. The cameras are rolling, the entire crew is watching, and you should be paying attention to the details—the lighting, the sound cues, the blocking, but instead, all you can focus on is him.

Because for the first time, his eyes aren’t just on his co-star. They’re on you. It’s subtle, barely noticeable to anyone else. But you see it.

Every time the camera resets, every time there’s a break between takes, his gaze flickers to you. Just for a second. Just long enough to make your stomach twist.

Then, during takes, a green monster appears. The female lead—a well-known actress, beautiful and elegant—laughs at something Sunghoon says. She leans in slightly, playfully nudging his arm, and he chuckles in return.

It’s nothing. It’s acting. It’s professional. But it still makes something bitter curl in your chest. You hate that feeling. You have no right to feel it, and yet Sunghoon glances at you then, as if he knows. As if he can see the shift in your expression, despite how hard you try to mask it.

You force yourself to look away, because this is dangerous. Because if you let yourself get caught up in this—if you let yourself forge that this is a secret—you’re going to get hurt.

And Sunghoon? You can’t be the reason his career gets ruined.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Keeping your relationship a secret is turning into a losing battle.

It was easier at first. The stolen moments, the quick touches, the looks that only the two of you understood—it was thrilling in a way, like playing a game where no one else knew the rules. But the longer it goes on, the more reckless Sunghoon gets. And the more reckless you get.

The moment happens during a break in filming. You’re standing near the refreshment table, absentmindedly stirring sugar into your coffee, when you feel him before you even see him.

He doesn’t say anything at first—just steps up beside you, close enough that his arm brushes against yours. Your body tenses instinctively, your grip tightening around your cup.

“Careful,” Sunghoon murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “You’re gonna spill.”

You exhale sharply. “Maybe don’t sneak up on me, then.”

He smirks, leaning in slightly. “Didn’t realize I was sneaking.”

You roll your eyes. “What do you want?”

He hums, pretending to consider it. “I could use some sugar in my coffee.”

You move to hand him the packet in your hand, but instead of taking it, he wraps his fingers around yours, holding them in place. Your breath catches. This is dangerous. Anyone could see. Anyone could notice.

You try to pull away, but his grip only tightens for a second before he finally releases you, his fingers grazing yours as he takes the sugar packet. The smirk never leaves his face. You glare at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Sunghoon chuckles, tearing the packet open. “Maybe.”

You shake your head, muttering under your breath before turning to leave. But before you can take a step, his voice stops you. “You look good today.”

You freeze. Your heart lurches against your ribs. You turn slowly, meeting his gaze. “What?”

Sunghoon shrugs, casually stirring his coffee. “Just saying.”

There’s nothing just about it. Your stomach twists, heat creeping up your neck. “You’re impossible.”

He grins. “And yet, here you are.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you walk away before you do something really reckless. Something like kissing him in the middle of set.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The director is giving notes to the cast, and you’re standing at a distance, pretending to be focused on your clipboard when, in reality, your thoughts are nowhere near work.

You don’t mean to look at Sunghoon, but you do, and he’s already looking at you. Your pulse stutters. You don’t know how long he’s been staring, but he doesn’t look away when your eyes meet. Instead, he smirks. It’s barely there—a small twitch of his lips, a flicker of amusement—but you feel it.

Heat prickles up your spine, your fingers gripping the edge of your clipboard so tightly your knuckles turn white. You mouth, Stop it.

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly, pretending not to understand. He knows what he’s doing. And worse? He’s enjoying it.

You scowl, turning your attention back to your notes. But the damage is already done. Your face is warm, your thoughts scrambled, and you know Sunghoon isn’t going to let you live this down.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You’ve spent weeks walking a tightrope, balancing between professionalism and the undeniable pull toward Sunghoon. Every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every moment spent too close when no one is looking—it’s all been a careful game of control. But control is a fleeting thing. 

And tonight, you lose it.

It happens after another long shoot, exhaustion weighing heavily on you.

The set has cleared out for the night, most of the crew heading home, but you linger, finishing up last-minute adjustments for tomorrow’s call sheet. You don’t hear him approach—you never do.

“You’re still here.”

You sigh, glancing up from your notes. “So are you.”

Sunghoon shrugs, stepping closer. “Didn’t feel like leaving yet.”

You exhale, rubbing a hand over your face. “You should. We have another early morning.”

Instead of listening, he moves behind you, leaning down slightly until his voice is right beside your ear. “So should you.”

Your breath catches. You should step away. You should remind him that this is dangerous. That someone has already seen too much, that you’re walking on thin ice. But instead, you stand there, your fingers gripping the edge of the table as warmth spreads down your spine.

Sunghoon notices. Of course he does. “Come with me.”

You blink, turning to face him. “What?” He’s already reaching for your wrist, tugging you gently toward the far side of the set. You hesitate for only a second before following, your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

Sunghoon leads you down a quiet hallway, past dressing rooms and storage spaces, until he finds an unlocked door. Without another word, he pulls you inside. It’s a small space—an old wardrobe storage room, lined with racks of costumes and forgotten props. The air is still, thick with dust and the faint scent of fabric softener.

And then, before you can even ask, Sunghoon shuts the door and locks it. Then he turns to you.

Your back presses against the cool surface, his hands resting on either side of you, caging you in. The only sound is the distant hum of the studio lights, the uneven rhythm of your breaths mingling in the quiet. “This is a bad idea,” you whisper.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, his gaze flickering down to your lips. “Probably.”

You swallow hard. “Then why—”

“Because I can’t do this anymore.” His voice is lower now, rougher. “I can’t pretend like I don’t want you.”

Your pulse skyrockets. You should stop this. You should. But when Sunghoon leans in, so close that his lips brush against your jaw, you don’t.

His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly, the weeks of restraint snap like a frayed wire. The first kiss is slow, deliberate, his mouth moving against yours with a patience that contradicts the tension crackling between you. But then you grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, and his control shatters.

A quiet groan escapes him as he deepens the kiss, one hand sliding up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head to get more.

More of you.

More of this.

More of everything he’s been denying himself.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him curse under his breath. The sound sends heat pooling in your stomach, and suddenly, you don’t care where you are. You don’t care about the risk. All you care about is him.

Sunghoon presses you further against the door, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands tracing fire along your skin. You gasp, tilting your head back, and he takes the opportunity to press another open-mouthed kiss just below your ear.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your skin.

You don’t. Instead, you pull him back to you, crashing your lips against his once more.

Sunghoon groans, gripping your hips tighter, and you know you’ve lost. Completely, but if this is losing, you don’t think you ever want to win.

The kiss is scorching, heat pooling between you as Sunghoon tightens his grip on your ass and lifts you effortlessly against the wall. A gasp escapes you, your lips parting, and he takes full advantage—his tongue slipping past your own, greedy and demanding. A needy whine slips from your throat as your legs wrap around his waist, his arousal unmistakable as he presses against you.

“Sunghoon, fuck,” you breathe, your head falling back to hit the wall with a soft thud. He seizes the opportunity, dragging his mouth down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing sensitive skin.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, licking a slow stripe up your neck before nipping at your earlobe. “Someone could walk in. Do you really want them to hear you?”

You glare at him, the expression meant to be a warning—but all it takes is a slow roll of his hips, and any fight in you melts away.

“What—what are you doing?” he asks, blinking in surprise as you suddenly push at his shoulders, dropping down onto your knees before him.

“What do you think?” You flash him a knowing look, amusement laced with something darker, more deliberate, as your fingers make quick work of his belt. Tugging his pants down his thighs, you smirk. “Didn’t get to do this last time, remember?”

Sunghoon’s head falls back with a groan the moment you pull him free from his boxers, wasting no time in taking him into your mouth.

“Fuck, why didn’t I let you do this sooner?” he groans, fingers threading into your hair as you begin to bob your head. You hum around him, the vibration making his knees nearly buckle.  

His hips jerk shallowly, testing, and when you grip his thighs and let your mouth open wider, he gets the message. Glancing up at him with watery eyes, you meet him halfway, hollowing your cheeks. A curse falls from his lips as he tightens his hold on your hair, taking control. His thrusts grow deeper, his pelvis pressing into your face with every movement, and you use his thighs to steady yourself as he groans above you.

“Baby, fuck—you feel so good,” he pants, muscles tensing as heat coils low in his stomach.

Your jaw goes slack as you accept more of his cock, relaxing into the feeling. He picks up the pace, basking in view of his glossy cock dragging against your lips. You’re a vision. So beautiful to him. The disgusting wet noises your throat makes when he pulls away are deafening. He loves the way you gag when he pushes back in.

“Mhm, it’s yours, baby. Take it.” He licks his lips and nods, looking at you with hooded lustful eyes. You hollow your cheeks, drawing a strangled moan from him. “Shit, I’m not gonna last.”

Determined, you push forward, taking him to the base, your nose pressing against the soft hair at his pelvis. He lets out a broken curse, his grip tightening as he thrusts once, twice—before he’s unraveling with a sharp groan. “Fuck—”

“Excuse me?” A voice. From outside the storage room.

Sunghoon’s eyes snap open, panic flashing across his face.

“Yes?” you call out, pulling away as if you hadn’t just had him down your throat moments ago. There’s a translucent strand of spit connecting his penis to your mouth. You swallow, wiping your chin with the back of your hand. A fit of coughs want to erupt through your chest, but you’re able to stop it. You can’t really focus at the moment.

“Uh… is everything all right?”

“Yep! All good,” you reply, voice bright but just a little hoarse as you quickly pull his pants back up. “I just dropped something while looking for some equipment.”

“Oh. Do you need help?”

“Nope, I got it. Thanks, though!” A pause. Then retreating footsteps.

Sunghoon sags against the wall, exhaling hard. “Holy shit.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Holy shit indeed. Now, let me go out first. Meet me at my apartment later?” You grin before slipping out the door, leaving him to catch his breath.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It’s been days since that night in the storage room—days of stolen moments and whispered conversations, of Sunghoon pulling you into empty hallways when no one’s looking, of his lips ghosting against your skin right before he’s called back on set.

It’s reckless. It’s dangerous. But it’s addictive.

And now, sitting beside him at a long restaurant table filled with the entire production team, you’re starting to realize just how stupid this is. Because Sunghoon is doing it again.

That thing where he pretends to be focused on his conversation, nodding along to whatever the director is saying, while his foot slowly nudges against yours under the table.

You shoot him a warning glance. Stop it. He doesn’t. If anything, he makes it worse. His foot slides up the side of your calf, subtle but deliberate, sending an involuntary shiver up your spine. You nearly drop your chopsticks, barely managing to recover before anyone notices. Sunghoon smirks behind the rim of his glass, taking a slow sip of his drink like he isn’t actively trying to ruin your life.

You inhale sharply, gripping your napkin with unnecessary force. Two can play this game. Carefully—casually—you shift your foot, pressing against his ankle before dragging it up just enough to make him twitch this time. His smirk falters, just barely, but it’s enough Your turn to smirk.

Sunghoon narrows his eyes slightly, and you know—you know—he’s not letting this slide. And then, without warning, his hand finds yours under the table.

Your breath catches. You weren’t expecting that. The teasing was one thing. The flirting, the pushing, the secret little games you played when no one was watching.

But this? This is different, this was… sweet. His fingers lace through yours, warm and solid, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your knuckles. It’s not playful. It’s not reckless. It’s soft. And that’s what terrifies you.

You could have ignored the teasing. You could have laughed off the flirting. But this quiet gesture—the way he holds your hand like it’s normal, like it’s natural—makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t want to acknowledge.

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening slightly around his before you can stop yourself.

Sunghoon’s gaze flickers toward you, barely for a second, but the look in his eyes makes your heart stutter. He knows. He feels it too.

But before either of you can say—or do—anything, someone calls your name. You jolt, quickly pulling your hand back, hoping your face isn’t betraying anything. One of the assistant directors grins, nudging your shoulder. “You’ve been quiet. What, Sunghoon making you nervous?” Your stomach drops.

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, effortlessly sliding back into his usual composed demeanor. “Why would she be nervous around me?”

You force a laugh, shaking your head. “Please. If anything, he’s the one who should be nervous.” The table erupts in laughter, and just like that, the moment is gone. But under the table, Sunghoon’s fingers brush against yours one last time before pulling away.

And even as the dinner continues, even as conversations shift and drinks are poured, you can still feel the imprint of his touch against your skin.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The rumors are starting.

You hear them in passing—casual whispers from crew members, quiet speculations during coffee breaks, the occasional knowing glance when you and Sunghoon are in the same room. No one knows, not for sure. But people are noticing, and that’s dangerous.

So when Sunghoon pulls you aside after filming one night, his expression unreadable, you already know what he’s about to say. “We need to be more careful,” he mutters, arms crossed as he leans against the wall of an empty dressing room.

You sigh, mirroring his posture. “No kidding.”

He exhales sharply, tilting his head back slightly. “Someone almost caught us last night.”

Your stomach twists. “Who?”

“One of the lighting techs,” he says. “They walked in right after you left my trailer.”

You curse under your breath. “This is getting impossible.”

Sunghoon pushes a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “We need to lay low for a while.”

You frown. You hate this—hiding, pretending, the constant paranoia that one wrong move could ruin everything. But you also know he’s right.

You nod slowly. “Okay.”

For a second, it seems like the conversation is over.

“…You free tonight?” Sunghoon asks, glancing at you.

You blink. “Didn’t we just agree to be careful?”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “We will be.”

You narrow your eyes. “I don’t like that look.”

His smirk widens. “Trust me.”

You groan. “That’s exactly what someone untrustworthy would say.”

But despite yourself, you agree.

And that’s how you end up standing outside his car later that night, staring at the ridiculous disguise he’s holding out to you.

A frumpy cardigan. A floral scarf. And—dear god—gray wig.

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “No.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “You got a better idea?”

You do, actually. It’s called staying inside like normal people instead of dressing like retirees on a Sunday stroll.

But Sunghoon is already shrugging into his own disguise—a baggy windbreaker, oversized glasses, and a gray newsboy cap that makes him look like he belongs in a retirement home. He looks ridiculous. You bite your lip, trying so hard not to laugh.

He catches it. “Say one word, and I’m leaving you here.”

You hold up your hands in surrender. “Not a word.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re walking side by side through the city, looking like an elderly couple that escaped their nursing home. You shake your head, tucking the scarf tighter around your neck. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

Sunghoon adjusts his fake glasses. “Genius, isn’t it?”

“I think ‘genius’ is a stretch.”

He smirks. “No one’s looking at us, are they?”

You glance around. To your absolute disbelief, no one is paying attention. Not a single person gives you a second glance. And somehow, that makes you laugh.

Sunghoon looks at you, amused. “What?”

“This is so stupid,” you giggle, shaking your head.

He grins. “Yeah. But it’s working.”

You sigh, looping your arm through his dramatically. “Fine, Grandpa. Where are we going?”

Sunghoon chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Wherever you want, Grandma.”

And for the first time in weeks, the weight of secrecy feels a little lighter. Because right now, in this ridiculous moment, it’s just you and him.

And nothing else matters.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It’s late when you both make it back to your apartment.

After spending the night disguised as an elderly couple—walking through quiet streets, sneaking into a small late-night café, laughing at how absurd you both looked—there’s a strange kind of warmth settling in your chest.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t looking over your shoulder.

For the first time, you and Sunghoon were just two normal people.

Now, you sit on your couch, legs tucked beneath you, watching as Sunghoon flips idly through an old book on your coffee table. “You really read all of these?” he asks, eyes scanning the spines of stacked screenwriting books on the shelf.

You nod, sipping from your mug. “Some of them multiple times.”

Sunghoon hums in approval, setting the book down before leaning back against the couch. “You’re serious about this directing thing, huh?”

You shoot him a deadpan look. “I work on a movie set, Sunghoon.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, but a lot of people say they want to be directors. Not everyone actually means it.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around your mug. You’ve heard that before. From coworkers, from mentors, from people who’ve been in the industry long enough to know how brutal it is. Everyone wants to be a director, but only a few ever make it. And you refuse to be part of the majority that doesn’t. “I do mean it,” you say quietly. “I don’t just want to be some assistant forever.”

Sunghoon watches you carefully. “You won’t be.”

You glance at him. “You say that like it’s a guarantee.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Because it is.”

Your throat tightens. You don’t know when Sunghoon started believing in you so much, but hearing it from him now—when you’re still fighting to believe in yourself—hits differently. A small silence stretches between you before you muster the courage to ask, “What about you?”

Sunghoon blinks. “What about me?”

You shrug. “You’ve been acting for years. You ever think about what’s next?”

He exhales slowly, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “I try not to.”

You frown. “Why not?”

His lips press together, as if weighing his words. “Because thinking about the future means thinking about the end. And I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

You stare at him. For all his success, for all the ways he’s established himself in the industry, Sunghoon still carries fear. The same fear you have—the fear of not making it. The fear of being forgotten. You set your mug down, shifting closer. “Well,” you say softly, “if I ever do make it as a director…”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “If?”

You roll your eyes. “When I make it, then.”

He smirks, satisfied. “Go on.”

You inhale deeply. “I’ll cast you in my first movie. You can be the lead.”

Sunghoon scoffs, but there’s amusement in his expression. “Oh? That’s bold of you.”

You tilt your head. “What, you think I wouldn’t?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No. I think you would.”

You smile, nudging him lightly. “And then when it wins an award, I’ll make sure to thank you in my speech.”

Sunghoon hums. “What would you say?”

You pretend to think. “Something like, ‘I’d like to thank Park Sunghoon, my first-ever lead actor, for not throwing a tantrum on set and actually listening to my direction.’”

Sunghoon laughs, a full, real laugh that makes something warm bloom in your chest.

“You’re hilarious,” he mutters.

“I try.”

He watches you for a moment, his laughter fading into something quieter, softer. His fingers brush against yours on the couch, his touch deliberate. “Promise me something,” he says.

Your breath catches. “What?”

“When you make it big—” His voice is low, steady. “Don’t forget about me.”

You blink. “Sunghoon…”

“I mean it.” His gaze is unreadable, but there’s something vulnerable beneath it. “You’re going to do great things. I know it.”

Your chest tightens. “I won’t forget you.” A small pause.

Then, just barely above a whisper, “You better not.”

Your fingers entwine with his, the silence between you heavy with things unsaid. And for the first time, you wonder. If this could last beyond stolen moments and whispered secrets.

If this—you and him—could ever belong to the future you’re both afraid to think about.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

For a while, everything is perfect.

Or at least, it feels that way.

Sunghoon’s hands find yours more easily now, even if they have to let go before anyone notices. His glances linger longer, his smiles come easier, and the time spent together—hidden away in the late hours of the night or in the quiet spaces between scenes—feels real.

The secrecy is still there, but it’s different now. It’s not something you tiptoe around in fear. It’s something you choose—a fragile world that exists only between the two of you, protected from the outside.

And for a while, that’s enough.

Until it isn’t.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It starts with small things.

Sunghoon doesn’t touch you as much anymore—not even when no one’s looking.

He still meets you in quiet corners of the set, still kisses you breathless when you’re alone, but there’s a distance now. A flicker of something restrained in his gaze, something held back.

At first, you think you’re imagining it. But then the silences grow longer. The laughter comes less often. Then you realize Sunghoon is pulling away.

The first time you bring it up, he brushes it off.

“I’m just tired,” he says, rubbing his temples.

You hesitate. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

His jaw tightens. “Yeah. Long shoots. Too much press. It’s nothing.”

But it doesn’t feel like nothing. The more time passes, the more you feel him slipping away.

It gets worse when he starts missing your usual late-night meetings.

You wait for him after shoots, sitting alone in the dimly lit studio hallways, only for your phone to vibrate with a short, clipped text.

Can’t make it tonight. Sorry.

The first time, you let it slide.

The second time, you tell yourself he’s just busy.

The third time, you feel something inside you crack.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

One night, after another grueling day on set, you decide you can’t take it anymore.

You find Sunghoon sitting in his dressing room, scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t look up when you enter. You close the door behind you, arms crossing over your chest. “What’s happening?”

Sunghoon finally glances at you, his expression unreadable. “What do you mean?”

You inhale sharply, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like this—” you gesture between you “—is fine when we both know it’s not.”

He exhales, setting his phone down. “Y/N—”

“You’re pulling away,” you cut in, voice quieter now, but no less firm. “And I don’t know why.”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leans back, rubbing a hand over his face. When he finally speaks, his voice is tired. “I have a lot on my plate,” he mutters. “There’s a ton of press lined up, and the agency is already breathing down my neck about scheduling conflicts. They want me to be careful, especially with—” He stops himself, but you already know what he was going to say.

Especially with you.

Your chest tightens. “So what? I’m just another inconvenience?”

Sunghoon’s gaze snaps to yours, sharp and unyielding. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But it’s what it feels like.” Your voice wavers despite your best efforts. “You’re choosing to distance yourself, Sunghoon. And I don’t understand why.”

He exhales heavily, standing up and pacing across the room. “Because I have to, okay? Do you know what would happen if this got out? Do you know what the agency would do?”

You swallow hard. “So you’re just going to push me away?”

His hands clench at his sides. “I don’t have a choice.”

You laugh—bitter and hollow. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Sunghoon flinches, but he doesn’t argue, and that hurts more than anything.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “What’s happening to us?”

He doesn’t answer. The silence tells you everything.

You nod slowly, stepping back toward the door. “I get it.”

Sunghoon’s brows furrow. “Y/N—”

“No,” you interrupt, voice raw. “I get it. You don’t have to say anything else.”

You leave before he can stop you, and for the first time in weeks, you feel alone.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You barely see Sunghoon after that night.

You don’t wait for him after shoots anymore. You don’t check your phone for his messages. You don’t seek him out in the quiet moments between takes. And, most of all, you don’t ask him for explanations he’s never going to give.

It’s easier this way. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. But deep down, you know that’s a lie. Because every time you step on set, every time you hear his voice in the distance, every time you feel his presence before you even see him—your chest tightens.

Sunghoon might be pulling away, but that doesn’t mean you’ve stopped wanting him to stay.

The breaking point comes when you least expect it.

Sunghoon has been acting off all day—more distant than usual, his shoulders stiff, his jaw clenched. The crew is extra careful around him, treading lightly, trying not to provoke whatever storm is brewing beneath the surface.

You do the same, but when the director announces a sudden scheduling change, everything snaps.

“We need to push the final filming dates up,” the director says, glancing at Sunghoon. “Your overseas project confirmed your start date, so we have to wrap this production sooner than expected.”

Your stomach drops. Overseas project? You turn toward Sunghoon, heart pounding.

He doesn’t look at you. “Understood,” he says stiffly.

The meeting ends, people disperse, and you stand frozen in place, trying to process what just happened. You don’t realize you’re walking toward him until you’re already standing in front of him. “Overseas?” your voice comes out unsteady. “When were you going to tell me?”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicker, but his expression remains guarded. “I was going to.”

“When?” You exhale sharply, frustration bubbling up. “After you left?”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Y/N—”

“No.” Your hands curl into fists. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to pull away for weeks and then act like this is nothing.”

Sunghoon clenches his jaw. “I never said it was nothing.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Really? Because that’s exactly what it feels like.”

The tension in the air is suffocating. Crew members glance at you both nervously from a distance, sensing the hostility radiating off of you, but you don’t care. You’re too angry. Too tired.

“You’re leaving,” you say, your voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “And you weren’t even going to tell me.”

His lips part, but no words come out. And that—more than anything—breaks you.

“Right,” you whisper, nodding to yourself. “Got it.”

You turn to leave.

“If you love me, why are you making me choose?” His voice is quiet. Frustrated. Pained.

You freeze. Slowly, you turn back to face him.

Sunghoon’s eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

Then in a hushed voice, “If you love me,” you whisper, “why won’t you choose me?”

His expression falters.

Silence. Heavy. Unforgiving.

Sunghoon looks at you, his gaze full of everything he wants to say but won’t, and that’s all you need to know.

You inhale sharply, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “I hope your career was worth it. Take care ‘hoon, I mean it.” Then you walk away.

And this time, Sunghoon doesn’t stop you.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The set feels off today.

Sunghoon notices it the moment he steps onto the lot.

Everything looks the same—the cameras rolling into position, the crew bustling around, the murmurs of last-minute adjustments to the schedule.

But something is missing. No—someone is missing.

His eyes instinctively scan the space, searching for you. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it at first. It’s second nature by now—finding you in a crowd, watching you from across the set, waiting for the moment your eyes meet his.

Except today, that moment doesn’t come.

A strange weight settles in his chest. Maybe you’re just running late. Maybe you’re off handling something behind the scenes. Maybe—

“Sunghoon, we need you on set!”

He blinks, snapping out of it. Right. Focus. But as the morning drags on, the unease only grows.

By lunch, when he still hasn’t seen you, it becomes unbearable. He stops one of the assistant directors on their way back from a meeting. “Where’s Y/N?”

The assistant director hesitates. “You don’t know?”

Sunghoon’s stomach twists. “Know what?”

“She transferred to another crew.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He stares at them, unable to process it. “What?”

“She requested a transfer last night.” The assistant director shifts uncomfortably. “The director approved it this morning. She’s working on another set now.”

Sunghoon’s breath catches. You left. Not just him. Not just the late-night moments and stolen glances. You left everything. And you didn’t tell him. Didn’t give him a warning. Didn’t give him a chance.

For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t know what to do. All he knows is that the set feels emptier now. Colder. And no matter how many times he looks, you’re not coming back.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Time moves forward, with or without you.

At first, it feels like you’re running on autopilot. The transfer to another crew is exactly what you needed—a fresh start, a clean slate, a distraction. The work is just as exhausting, the deadlines just as relentless, but at least here, no one looks at you like they know.

No one whispers behind your back.

No one searches for your eyes across the set.

No one makes your heart ache just by existing.

And that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To forget? To move on?

You tell yourself that enough times, and eventually, you almost start to believe it.

Months turn into years. Your career flourishes.

At first, you’re just another assistant, working your way up, taking whatever projects come your way. But then, little by little, your name starts to mean something.

Your hard work doesn’t go unnoticed. Producers take note of your efficiency. Directors praise your instincts. Soon, you’re getting bigger responsibilities—helping with shot lists, offering creative input, refining scenes.

Until, one day, you get the call.

The one that changes everything.

The one that makes your dream of becoming a director something more than just a dream.

Your first movie. Your name on the credits, not as an assistant, not as someone behind the scenes, but as the director.

You should be overjoyed. And you are. Really.

But success has a funny way of feeling lonely sometimes.

Because no matter how many awards you win, no matter how many people praise your vision, there’s still a part of you that wonders—

Would Sunghoon have been proud of you?

Would he have smiled the way he did that night on your couch, when you told him your dreams?

Would he have been your lead?

You never let yourself dwell on the answers, because the past is the past, and Sunghoon is nothing more than a ghost in it.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Sunghoon gets everything he ever wanted.

The overseas project is a massive hit. Critics rave about his performance, calling it his most compelling work yet. He wins awards, lands more prestigious roles, works with some of the biggest names in the industry.

His career skyrockets. Every magazine cover, every interview, every red carpet event cements his status as one of the top actors of his generation. And yet, the higher he climbs, the emptier it feels.

The first few months after you left were the hardest. He would step on set and instinctively look for you, only to remember—you’re gone. He would scroll through his phone late at night, resisting the urge to type out a message he knew he’d never send. He told himself he had no right to miss you. That he made his choice. That this was the price of success. 

But sometimes, when the nights were too quiet and the loneliness too loud, he wondered, had he really chosen his career? Or had he just been too afraid to choose you?

But life moves on and Sunghoon learns to live with it.

He throws himself into work, into press tours, into pretending that nothing haunts him. It works. For a while.

Until one day, he sees you on a screen instead of beside him. Your name flashes across an industry article—"Breakout Director Y/N Takes the Film World by Storm." There’s a photo of you attached to it. You’re smiling, standing on a stage, accepting an award.You look different. More polished, more confident. Like the version of yourself you always wanted to be.

And for the first time in years, Sunghoon feels like he lost, because you made it. Without him.

And he doesn’t know if he should be proud of you, or devastated that he’s no longer a part of your story.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Success is supposed to be fulfilling.

That’s what you tell yourself when you sit in an empty editing room late at night, staring at the final cut of your latest film. The screen glows in the dimly lit space, casting shadows across your desk, but you don’t move.

You should be proud. This is your film. Your vision. Your name stamped onto something that will live beyond you. But right now, all you can feel is exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders.

And something else. Something lonelier.

Your phone buzzes on the desk, breaking the silence. You blink, glancing at the screen. A message from an old friend from your assistant days.

Did you see the headlines?

Your fingers hesitate before typing. What headlines? It doesn’t take long for the reply to come through.

Sunghoon just won another Best Actor award. His speech was everywhere.

You inhale sharply. Of course he did. Of course he’s still winning, still thriving. He’s Park Sunghoon. This is what he was always meant to do.

Still, your hands move on their own, searching his name. And there it is. A photo of him on stage, trophy in hand, looking every bit the polished, untouchable star he’s become.

You tell yourself not to click on the video. You tell yourself not to care, but your finger taps play before your mind can catch up.

Sunghoon stands before a packed audience, cameras flashing, his expression calm and composed as always.

“…There are too many people to thank,” he says, his voice steady. “But more than anything, I want to thank the people who believed in me before the rest of the world did.”

He pauses, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “And to those I let go of along the way,” he exhales quietly, “I hope you’re doing well.”

Your breath catches. Because he knows. He knows you’d be watching. He knows you’d hear those words and wonder, was he talking about you?

A lump forms in your throat. You close the video before it can play any longer, tossing your phone onto the desk as you press the heels of your palms into your eyes.

This is ridiculous. It’s been years. You shouldn’t still feel like this. But as you sit there, alone in a room filled with nothing but the echoes of your own thoughts, you realize something terrifying. No matter how much time has passed, no matter how much you’ve accomplished.

Sunghoon is still a part of you, and you don’t know if that will ever change.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Years later, you’re working on the biggest project yet.

The set is already bustling when you arrive.

Your latest film—the one you spent years working toward—is finally in production, and you’re at the helm. The director’s chair belongs to you now, the vision in your hands, the weight of the project resting on your shoulders.

It should feel like a victory, but the moment you step onto set, something shifts.

A whisper moves through the crew, quiet but undeniable. You turn to your assistant, frowning slightly. “What’s going on?”

She hesitates. “Uh… the lead just arrived.”

Your stomach drops. You already know who it is. But what you don’t expect is for him to walk in with her.

Sunghoon enters the set with his co-star—an actress whose name has been plastered across magazines, her face just as recognizable as his. She’s beautiful, effortlessly poised, the kind of woman who fits perfectly into the world he’s built for himself.

And she’s holding his hand.

Your grip tightens on the clipboard in your hands as you watch her lean in close, whispering something against his ear. Sunghoon chuckles, his lips curling into an easy smile—one that looks far too public, too polished. Too different from the way he used to smile at you.

Your chest tightens. Because this? This is nothing like what the two of you had.

Sunghoon was never the type to be affectionate in front of others. With you, everything was secret—stolen glances, hidden touches, late-night meetings where the only witnesses were the shadows.

But with her? He isn’t hiding. He isn’t holding back. It’s as if whatever existed between you never even mattered. You force yourself to breathe, schooling your expression into something unreadable.

Sunghoon’s eyes sweep over the room, taking everything in, before they land on you. And for the first time in years, your gazes lock. The noise around you fades. The years that have passed, the distance that’s settled, the choices that have been made—they all press into the space between you, heavy and suffocating. Sunghoon’s smile falters for just a second. But it’s enough. Because in that second, you see it—the flicker of recognition, of hesitation. The realization that you’re here, that this is real, that after all this time, after all the choices that led you both here— You’re standing in front of him again. And then, just as quickly, the moment is gone.

Sunghoon’s expression smooths over, unreadable once more. His grip on her hand tightens ever so slightly, a silent reminder of the life he’s built without you. He takes a step forward, nodding in greeting.

“Director,” he says, his voice even.

You swallow down the lump in your throat. “Mr. Park,” you reply, just as composed. The formalities sting. Especially when the last time you spoke, you were begging him to choose you.

Sunghoon watches you for a moment longer, as if searching for something in your face, and for the first time in years, you don’t let him find it.

You glance at your assistant, clearing your throat. “Let’s get started.” Then you turn away.Because no matter how much your heart still aches, no matter how much it kills you to see him like this.

You refuse to be a part of his past anymore. Because you’re living your future.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You do what you do best. You focus.

You drown yourself in your work, in camera angles and shot compositions, in the steady rhythm of directing. You give feedback, adjust blocking, consult with the cinematographer—anything to keep yourself from thinking about the fact that he’s here. That he’s with her. That you’re finally in the same place again, but this time, he’s standing next to someone else.

Sunghoon is professional. You expected nothing less. He follows directions with sharp precision, delivering each scene flawlessly, slipping into character with the kind of ease that made him famous. He listens when you speak, nods when you give him notes, keeps his distance when the cameras aren’t rolling. And for the first few days, it works.

Until one night, after an exhausting day on set, you step outside for some air and find him already there, waiting. The cool night air is a relief against your skin, but the sight of him standing by the railing, hands tucked into his pockets, sends a sharp wave of something unwelcome through your chest.

You should turn around. You shouldn’t let this happen. But then he turns, his gaze meeting yours, and just like before—just like always—you can’t look away. He exhales slowly. “I was wondering when we’d actually talk.”

Your fingers tighten around your jacket sleeves. “We talk every day.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “What do you want me to say, Sunghoon? That it’s weird seeing you again? That it’s strange directing you? That it’s exhausting pretending like the past doesn’t exist?”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. But something in his expression shifts. A crack in the carefully composed exterior. “That night,” he says quietly. “The night you left.”

Your breath catches.

“I let you walk away,” he continues, voice heavier now. “And I thought—no, I told myself—that was the right choice.”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stay still. To stay indifferent.

“But I watched your career take off. I saw your name in the headlines. I saw you win—without me.” His voice is softer now, more raw. “And for years, I convinced myself that was enough.” Silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. “It wasn’t.”

Your heart clenches. This isn’t happening. You can’t let this happen. “You don’t get to do this,” you say, your voice colder than you intend. “You don’t get to come back after all this time and say this.”

Sunghoon takes a slow step forward. “Why not?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Because you made your choice, Sunghoon. You chose your career. And I chose to stop waiting for you to choose me.”

He exhales sharply. “Y/N—”

“You have her now,” you cut in, your tone sharp, pointed. “So why are you standing here, saying these things?”

Sunghoon falls silent. For a moment, you almost think he won’t answer. “She’s not you.”

Your breath stutters. “Don’t,” you whisper, shaking your head. “Don’t say that.”

“I thought it would be easier,” he continues, ignoring the warning in your voice. “That if I had someone who fit into my world, who didn’t make me question everything, it would be enough.”

You inhale shakily, willing yourself to stay calm. To stay unaffected.

“But it wasn’t,” Sunghoon murmurs, looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. “Because no matter where I went, no matter who I was with—” His voice drops lower, heavier. “It was always you.”

The words slice through you like a knife. But you don’t let them break you. You can’t. Because the past is the past. And you’re not that girl anymore. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before meeting his gaze. “Then I feel sorry for you.” Sunghoon stills. You exhale slowly, your voice quiet but firm. “Because I moved on.”

It’s a lie. A lie so fragile that if he pushed just a little harder, if he looked at you just a second longer, it would shatter.

But Sunghoon doesn’t push, because maybe, just maybe, he already knows he’s too late.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The next few days pass in a blur.

You and Sunghoon fall back into professionalism, neither of you acknowledging what was said that night. The crew doesn’t notice the way your exchanges are clipped, the way you avoid being alone together, the way Sunghoon’s co-star pulls him into picture-perfect embraces while you pretend not to see.

It’s exhausting. But you refuse to let it break you. You’ve spent years building yourself up again. You won’t let him tear you down now. So when you see him lingering after a late-night shoot, standing alone by the trailers, you tell yourself to keep walking. You don’t owe him anything.

“Y/N.” You stop. Sunghoon exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Just—stay for a second.”

Against your better judgment, you do. But when you turn to face him, your expression is unreadable. “What do you want, Sunghoon?”

He hesitates. “The truth.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “The truth?”

He nods. “Did you really move on?”

Your stomach twists. Because you should say yes. You should lie. But you don’t. Instead, you take a deep breath and meet his gaze, steady and firm. “I had to forgive you,” you say quietly. “Not for you. For me.”

Sunghoon doesn’t speak. He just watches you, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

You exhale slowly. “I had to forgive you because holding onto the anger and resentment wasn’t healthy for me. But remember that it made me who I am now.”

He swallows hard. “Y/N—”

You shake your head. “You have a long-term girlfriend now, too.” Your voice doesn’t waver. “You made your choice years ago. You have to live with it, just like I did.”

His fingers twitch at his sides. “I know.”

You pause, letting the words settle between you. Then, with a small, tired smile, you add, “Don’t treat her like you did with me.”

Sunghoon’s breath catches.

“And hey,” you say, your tone softer now, “you’re already a step ahead of where we were. Be proud to be able to share her with the world.”

He doesn’t respond. He just looks at you, something fragile and almost broken in his gaze. But you don’t let yourself fall into it. Not anymore.

“We both moved on, maybe not from each other yet, but we’ve moved on with our lives already,” you continue, offering him one last bittersweet smile. “And I hope you find peace with it.”

Sunghoon doesn’t argue. He finally understands. You’re not his anymore, and you might never be again.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

On the last day of filming, as the crew wraps up and the cast exchanges goodbyes, you step outside for a breath of air.

You should be celebrating. This film—the one you fought for, the one you poured your soul into—is finally complete. And yet, all you can think about is the fact that this means you’ll never see him again. That after today, Sunghoon will just be another name in the credits. Another person in your past. You exhale slowly, pressing a hand against your forehead. This is good, you remind yourself. This is how it’s supposed to be.

“Y/N.” You stiffen. You knew he’d come. You don’t know how, but you knew. Sunghoon stands behind you, hands tucked into his pockets, his expression unreadable. “So… this is it.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He exhales, glancing up at the sky. “It’s funny. I used to think we’d meet again and everything would just… fall back into place.”

Your heart aches, but you don’t let it show. “That’s not how life works,” you murmur.

Sunghoon looks at you then, and for the first time, there’s no longing. No regret. Just quiet acceptance. “I know,” he says. Silence stretches between you. “I’m proud of you. Take care, Y/N.”

You swallow down the lump in your throat, offering him a small, soft smile. “You too, Sunghoon.”

And with that, you turn and walk away. For the last time.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You watch as your hard work gets shown on the big screen, proud of where you’ve come.

The final shot of the film is of him.

The camera lingers as he delivers his last lines, “I’m happy for you,” his gaze drifting past the lens, it’s not obvious, but you notice it. And for a fleeting moment, as you and thousands of people watch the end of your film, you wonder if he’s looking at you.

But then the scene ends, the cameras stop rolling, and the moment fades.

Just like everything else.

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© all rights reserved ─ @gyu-tori 2025

Rei's Notes ✎: It's here woooo, no one dies this time dw. I hope the smut improved from last time T^T Was heavily inspired by the k-drama Melo Movie, but the fic is more of a rough inspiration. Once again, I've broken my longest word count record, this time we went past 20k. Had to use a different divider instead of the usual image cuz of how long this was. As always I'd love to hear your thoughts and how this made you feel so leave a reblog or reply!! <33

[bri-licious08]

˖𓇬˖Something to be Done˖𓇬˖ Bakugou x Reader

[Disclaimer] As always with this character, heavy cursing, swearing, inappropriate language, minor angst, mellow fluff at the end, and SEXUAL THEMES MENTIONED. Mentions of cheating and alcohol use. Every character is aged up to their thirties. MDNI!! Author note: This is part two of my story "Nothing to be Done," but it can also be read as a stand-alone fic. This fic is veryyyy long and I apologize for that! 12,612 words. I also want to apologize for taking so long to write the sequel to the prequal but college has been kicking my ASS T-T and for that I've conjured a longggg fic that is 20 pages long on word doc as compensation ^.^ As always, happy reading!! <3

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The loud blaring of Katsuki's alarm causes him to jolt awake. He groans annoyedly, stretching his arm out to turn the darn thing off. Patting around his nightstand to find it, and once he did, he kept tapping the button to turn it off. The universe seemed to test him today because the fucking thing didn’t stop the alarm which only irked him more. Finally lifting his head from his pillow just enough for one of his eyes to see it, he lifts his palm and releases a small explosion toward the cursed thing. A small boom echoed in the room as the alarm finally halted. Katsuki smirks as he allows his head to fall back to his pillow, still smirking before it falters as he realizes he has to buy another goddamn alarm clock, that’s the fifteenth one this month…

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The sound of sizzling and music is the best part of Katsuki’s morning. Nothing beats a good song with good food cooking to start his morning. The coffee maker makes a small beep sound to alert Katsuki that his coffee has finished brewing. He moves about his kitchen preparing his breakfast of eggs and avocado toast with a caramel iced coffee. Katsuki takes his breakfast out to the patio of his home.

A jingling sound catches the blonde's attention as he smirks, knowing the noise's source. Little pitter-patter against the floor's wood confirms what’s coming towards Katsuki. Katsuki moves to hold his coffee and plate of food in one hand so he can open the patio door wide for himself and his friend. 

“C’mere boy,” Katsuki calls to the German Shepard running to him with a smile and tongue flopping about as he rushed to his human.

The big dog quickly leaves for the patio before Katsuki closes the door behind them. He places his breakfast on the patio table as the noise of nature instantly floods his ears. The sound of the wind dancing through the trees surrounding his home along with the falling leaves, birds chirping and the occasional rustle of leaves flowing brings him a sense of tranquility.

The breeze cools against his warm face as he closes his eyes to feel the cool air. He breathes in deeply and takes note of the earthy fresh smell of the surroundings he’s become so familiar with. A loud bark takes Katsuki out of his trance as his head snaps to look at his dog. He scoffs with a smirk before responding to his companion. 

“The fuck you want?” Although his words are harsh, he speaks with nothing but love for the dog.

The dog barks at Katsuki again, as if responding to him.

“You want breakfast?” Katsuki asks.

The dog barked twice at him. 

“And the fuck you want me to do about it?” The dog growls as he lowers his head slightly at Katsuki, glowering at his owner. Katsuki scoffs with a smirk before rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it ya shit.” He told the dog as he went back into his home to prepare his dog's meal.

He grabbed a wooden frame with a metal bowl in the center that had a carving of a name on it. Dexter. Katsuki heads back out to the patio with Dexter’s food made and as he steps out his expression turns sterned as he clicks his tongue and shouts, “Oi” at his pet that had his front paws on the table and was about to take a bite of katsuki’s breakfast. Katsuki’s firm shout instantly made Dexter back off and get away from the table. 

“Ya little shit! I told ya I was gettin’ yer meal!” Katsuki scolded as he shut the door behind him and walked to a placemat that was laid out on the wooden deck. He places the food down and returns his attention to Dexter again. Dexter, already used to the routine, lays down with his tongue out as he panted. His amber eyes stare at Katsuki as he waits for his call.

Katsuki stares back and waits a good ten seconds before saying “Now”. Dexter quickly gets up and rushes to his bowl and begins to scarf down his breakfast. 

“Good boy,” Katsuki praises as he bends down to give the dog a few firm pats on his back before heading to his own meal.

Katsuki spent a good few hours sitting on his chair as he ate his meal and played fetch with Dexter while taking sips of his coffee from his tumbler here and there. Katsuki grabbed the ball Dexter dropped at his feet and threw it over the deck railing as it flew through the air and bounced on the ground a good feet away. Dexter took off after it, flying down the deck stairs as he hounded after the ball. Katsuki smiled at the sight but looked down at his phone sitting on the table.

A small “ding” had caught his attention. He reached towards the device and turned it over so he could see what alert was requesting his attention. A text message from the group chat of his friends that consisted of his high school class popped up.

He read a text from Pinky (Mina) that read,

SHE’S HERE!

She’s here. 

She.

You.

 You’re back. His heart rate instantly picked up speed and he felt his palms begin to sweat. His mind began to ramble with thoughts of you, something he hadn’t done in a while. It’s probably been half a year since he has. He tried to forget. No. No, he didn’t. He just tried to stop holding out for you. Tried to stop waiting, wanting, wishing for you. Ten years. Ten long fucking years since he’s seen you. From the ripe age of twenty and five to an older age of thirty-five. He still remembers when he was twenty and bashfully beat around the bush to ask you to move in with him. He still remembers when he was twenty-five and the- incident happened.

 He still remembers stalking your social media until he accidentally pressed onto your fresh story on Instagram and the next day he couldn’t find your account anymore. He still kept up with news of you from the group chats you both were in until he found out from a drunken Denki that a new one was created without him for your comfort. He found out from a blabbering Deku that after four months from the breakup you were moving to America. Having been offered a position of a lifetime for an upcoming hero, you accepted it, even though that meant you had to leave your home, had to leave him. He didn’t blame you, anyone would’ve taken it without hesitation as you had, maybe it was just the mourning state he had been in that made him believe he wouldn’t have been able to take it. At least being in Musutafu meant he was still somewhat close to you. Although you had left, your leaving for America hurt Katsuki more, because now you were truly leaving him in every way.

Yes, it had been four months but unbeknownst to you, he was still able to see you. He would extend his patrol areas into yours and see you from afar. He would alter his patrol routes to match the time and places you’d visit on your time off. He would get to admire you still. Of course, he never meant it in a weird stalker, obsessive way, he just cared about you, and he missed you. Seeing you sometimes oddly healed him for a bit. Until you left. He no longer got to see you. He would turn to American News to keep up with your status through social media or the news. He would always congratulate you in his head whenever he saw you made a headline for stopping a major villain gang or aided in a natural disaster or took down a villain.

Maybe it helped him in a way. He was no longer distracted on his patrols or during fights. Except for one time, he saw the back of a woman who had a similar profile from behind about to be attacked by a villain. He froze before he panicked and rushed an attack that created major city damage, something he hadn’t done since his rookie years. Something the chief of Heroes administrator chewed his head off for. He understood it, but while the chief was yelling at him, his mind was plagued with thoughts of you.

Right when he believed he was moving on, that just had to have happened. Two weeks after the incident Kirishima had set Katsuki up with a woman. A sidekick from a hero agency on a Hero dating platform Ashido helped him with. Surprisingly, as much as his heart refused, he complied. The date was an utter failure, that was certain, but it wasn’t like Katsuki hadn’t tried. He tried, really hard actually. He asked questions, seemed intrigued, and engaged in conversations. Sure the girl wasn’t a top hero like you- he was, but she knew her stuff. Her looks weren’t half bad compared to you- other heroines on the mart. It’s just not fair, it wasn’t his fault everytime he awaited a response from the girl it was nowhere near anything you would’ve said.

It was weird, getting to know someone when he was so used to knowing or being known. It was weird not laughing while conversing or being playfully punched when he made a playfully rude remark. It was weird. It was wrong. He drove the girl home, blocked her contact, and deleted his account, and the app from his phone. He wasn’t going to try something he knew wouldn’t work. His being single wasn’t the problem, it was just being without you that was. He’s always liked you since freshman year of high school. Aside from not having the balls to ask you out until after graduation, it doesn’t change the fact his heart had belonged to you way before you both started going out.

Before you became friends and before you knew you loved him. The problem was that Katsuki was made a “one mate for life” kinda guy and he had already found his mate. He was so depressed after the breakup he allowed himself to sit down and watch animal documentaries and the channel was talking about how some animals have mated pairs for life and that had a deep influence on him. He believed you were his mate for life. He wouldn’t go out and look for more fish in the sea or hoe around like a mighty stag. He was a swan, swimming in the grandest lake he’d ever been in, searching for the love he lost downstream. This was a decade ago now. He thought he’d put all this behind him, yet here he was, panicking in the safety of his home.

Hell, he almost forgot how he bought this place while thinking of you. Every decoration, every alteration, he made for your accommodation. Whether your home tastes changed he didn’t care, he knew at one point you wanted your home like this and he’s gone ahead and bought and made your dream home. Miles and miles away from the city, surrounded by nature and wildlife, away from civilization. A grand slightly modernized mansion in the woods with a grand lake a few miles out from the home, with loads of land as yours to house you, him, your future family, and wild injured or scared, or hungry animals you’d like to house. He remembered it all.

Every detail you’d mention, every tik tok you showed him or Instagram photo of something that caught your eye, or the Pinterest boards you spent hours making as you daydreamed of visualizing what you wanted your dream home to be. Your dreams were his because you were his dream. It didn’t matter what your home looked like, he wanted to get you your dream home because if you were happy, he was ecstatic. Sure, a big part of him sorta knew there was never going to be a time when you would get to see it. But a small part of him was fulfilled with building this for you.

He didn’t mind living in this home. He loved it actually. He didn’t know he’d love such isolation until he moved here. He’s still a hero, and the drive to his agency is pretty lengthy but living here is quite therapeutic, something he hated altered to be enjoyable due to the new surroundings. Not going to actual therapy and talking to a useless dork but the atmosphere calms him, grounds him and he likes that it does.

Dexter also loves it. Dexter, being a retired police dog, a work dog that’s had many, if not more, dangerous experiences as Katsukis’ had. This place is a good place for both of them and it’s thanks to you in a way. Speaking of you he needs to get his head straight. Multiple texts have flooded his phone but one catches his eye the most. 

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Shitty Hair She’s mentioned you She wants to see you at the surprise party that’s no longer a surprise thanks to Denks. You gonna come? ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Butterflies or something started to do fucking summer-saults in his stomach. His mind began rearing. You wanted to see him? You? Oh fuck. He scrambled out of his chair to rush into his home. Almost forgetting Dexter he rushed back out to call him. Dexter quickly rushed to his owner's call and went inside the home along with Katsuki. Katsuki spent probably an hour trying on different clothes and hairstyles before he gave up and decided on something simple. Something that showed ‘I dressed nicely for you but I didn’t try’ as if something like that existed. 

After trying to comb and gell his hair, it’s not a surprise it didn’t work, it exploded back to its original form. He really should’ve seen that coming since Jeanist had tried for months years ago. Katsuki groaned in annoyance before combing some of his hair in the back and braided it. He then wrapped the braids in wrapping and added his little Dynamight explosion hair pieces at the end.

He smiled lightly as this had been a routine for him. A little honoring and remembrance of Bloodshot. Katsuki then headed downstairs to Dexter playing with a bone toy in front of the stairs. Katsuki whistled twice and Dexter immediately perked up at his owner's call. Once Katsuki descended the stairs and reached the floor he made his way to the kitchen’s pantry as Dexter followed.

Katsuki fixed Dexter his dinner and added more water to his water bowl before saying, “I’ll be back late bud. Don’t get into too much trouble and don’t leave the house once it gets dark. I don’t need a vet bill because someone thought he was tough enough to take on a fucking bear, again.” Katsuki chuckled at the memory as he ruffled the dog's head and made his way to his garage. 

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

He left his home in his classic new Porsche and headed to the location of the party Kirishima sent him. As he arrived his nerves began to eat him alive. He parked his car outside the estate's gates and kept staring at the home ahead. It was an Airbnb Kirishima and Mina had rented for the special occasion. Knowing you’d like something private but would still like to party, this would fit. The home was nice, big but small for about twenty-some people. Perfect, you’d say. He couldn’t move.

His limbs froze as his grip on the wheel tightened turning his knuckles white. His eyes bored at the entrance gate of the home. You were here. A few hundred feet away. Ten long years since he’s seen you last. Five since he’s seen you on television. He wonders how different you must look. He wonders if that American boyfriend of yours is here. The last he heard any news of you was two years ago, when he heard you’d gotten engaged. He definitely took the news well. He definitely congratulated you in his mind and he definitely did NOT blow up his apartment amid a breakdown. He feels vile to begin to creep up his throat. God, he’s pathetic.

Still helplessly in love with a woman who’s long forgotten him. Katsuki shuts his eyes as he leans his body hunched over to rest his forehead against the steering wheel. The sound of a loud engine roaring catches his attention. He lifts his head slightly up enough to catch a glimpse of the car and immediately recognizes the hot pink 2001 Honda S2000. Pinky. You. You’re here. He watches as the card goes up to the gates. Mina lowers her window, and punches the code on the keypad operating the closed gates and the gates open. He’s so nervous. He reminds himself to use the breathing exercise he’s learned years ago.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Once his breathing settles he shifts his gear to drive and heads to the gates. He checks his phone for the keypad code and presses the numbered buttons. The gates opened and Katsuki drove up the semi-long driveway to the entry of the home. He parks his car behind many that had parked in front of the entrance of the curved driveway.  He grabs his coat laid out over the passenger seat and puts it on. He takes a few good deep breaths before he opens his car door and steps out. The crunching of the loose gravel beneath his feet sounds like a faint noise compared to the rearing thoughts swirling in his mind. He makes it to the front door and as he reaches his hand out to knock on the door he catches his hand shaking slightly.

He thinks back to doing his breathing exercises before his brows crease in annoyance and he huffs at his stupidity. How can a thirty-five-year-old be acting like a stupid fucking little boy with a puppy love crush? He’s a goddamn adult now. He shakes his head and slams his fist against his head, leaving it there for a second, releasing a deep breath, then shakes his nerves away and knocks on the door. About a minute later someone finally comes to open the door, and to his fucking luck. 

“Oh, Katsuki!” 

“Izuku,” He nods his head in acknowledgment, he takes Izuku opening the door as a chance to peer behind him to scout out the area. Was he hoping to catch a glimpse of you that would convince his mind to run away? Of course not, he’s no pussy. 

“Come in, come in! Everyone’s already here!” Izuku welcomed his childhood friend inside and closed the door behind him.

Katsuki walked deeper into the home and his ears flooded with the sound of music and laughter. His nose smelled food and treats being made or that had been made. His eyes caught the balloons littered all over the ceiling and the floor. Your favorite colors. Izuku walked around Katsuki as he turned to smile at him and waved to follow as the green-haired male led the blonde to the main area.

As Katsuki walked he could feel his heart pulsing throughout his body. His breath became heavy and he rubbed his palms continuously to rid of the sweat. He was so nervous he felt like he wanted to barf and cry and explode and just- 

“Bakugou!” A familiar voice called. Katsuki snapped out of his head and looked at Kirishima. 

“You made it!” The redhead exclaimed happily as he walked to his friend’s side and wrapped an arm around the blonde's shoulder.

The blonde rolled his eyes at his friend's antics before his eyes began scouting the room. He caught everyone from U.A., a few hero agency workers, and recognized your parents. His eyes met your mother's and her eyes widened. He watched as she tugged your father's jacket sleeve to get his attention. Katsuki internally chuckled as he realized you used to do the same thing with him. Katsuki thought it was a cute little detail he just pieced together.

He didn’t have much time to reminisce as your parents walked up to him. Your father was almost as tall as him and your mother was a bit shorter than you were the last time he’d seen you. Katsuki braced himself for a possible rage from your parents, but instead, your mother opened her arms indicating a hug from him. Katsuki, confused at first, quickly gave in and hugged your mother. He regrets not having put enough time and effort into seeing your parents more, and of course you too. 

“How have you been son?” Your father asks as he pats Katsuki’s shoulder when your mother breaks the hug to go back to her husband's embrace. 

“Uh-good. I’ve been good.” Katsuki clears his throat at the unexpected kindness from your parents. He begins to wonder if they remember the whole ordeal of the bad breakup. 

“That’s good to hear. We’ve seen you made the top five, you should be proud of your hard-working success. You’ve come a long way.”

Your father reached his hand out as a gesture to shake Katsuki’s hand. Katsuki’s eyes shoot down to look at his hand and he reaches out to firmly grasp it. Your father removes his other arm from your mother's waist to bring it to pat Katsuki’s shoulder a few times. 

“I mean it son, you should believe it too.” Katsuki’s eyes begin to sting at your father's words. How can your parents be so supportive and kind when he was so horrible to you-

“Katsuki, we all make mistakes sometimes, but just because you make a mistake shouldn’t mean you should demean yourself for it the rest of your life. You’ve grown, changed, that’s a great accomplishment in itself. You’ve achieved far more than that. It’s why our Y/n loved you, because you understand the importance of changing not for the world but for yourself.” Your mother smiled at him with such a bright smile, just like yours.

You’re just like your mother. Why is he always so late to learn things about you? Your mother could see the younger man lost in his thoughts. She shared a look with her husband before turning her attention back to Katsuki. 

“Bakugou have you heard of Y/n’s engagement with pro-hero Hydro Wave?” 

Your mother's words snapped Katuski out of his thoughts just to spiral into his emotions of hot green envy of his desirous greed for you. His belly churned and his throat swelled tight. The mere mention of your name makes him dizzy just knowing that your name will forever be attached to a faceless man who’s made you his with a big dazzling emerald-cut diamond ring. Something he knew you used to dislike. You weren’t a flashy girl. Weren’t too big on extra things that made you stick out unnecessarily or over dramatically. He’s seen the engagement photos. His eyes burned holes into his phone as the zoomed-in photo of the big gem adorning the fingers he loved holding.

After what seemed like hours of staring at the same picture, his hand glowed bright orange with yellow as smoke emitted from his palms. A small spark and boom followed the sound of breaking glass. That was the first time in a year he had broken his phone. He couldn’t get the image of your teary-eyed, bright smiled, face as a giant rock adorned your finger so prettily, out of his head. It fucked him up. All the progress he made of forgetting you, the love you once shared, the memories, the moments, they hit him like a freight train. He couldn’t sleep.

He always felt the need to throw up the second his thoughts swirled with images of you and your name in big, bold, captioned letters. Your name will change with another man’s name. Another man. A man that isn’t him. God, he wanted to puke right now. He can’t do this. He needs to leave. He has to get out of here. His heart is beating rapidly, his thoughts spiraling, and his sweat is getting harder to wipe away as more emits from his palms. He needs to run. 

“Katsuki,” Your mother called as she touched his arm gently, causing Bakugou to crash down back to earth. 

“Are you alright dear?” She asked Bakugou as she looked at him with worried eyes as she witnessed his odd behavior. 

Katsuki shook his head straight and nodded a response to your mother. Your mother smiled warmly as she removed her hand from his arm and spoke again. 

“I’m not sure how much you’ve heard of my daughter's engagement but what I was going to say was-” 

“WELCOME HOME!!!” Multiple voices shouted and interrupted your mother's words.

Katsuki and your parents' heads whipped to the source of the excited shouting and noisemakers going off and there he saw it. Sees you. His world stopped for a second as it had all those many years ago when he first actually noticed you. His eyes glazed with a shimmer of something it hadn’t in so long. Love. His eyes widened and his lips parted. You were so beautiful, always had been, but you’re just as beautiful as the day he lost you if not more. He didn’t ever imagine you could get any more unrealistically beautiful, but he fell in love with you because of just that. You never cease to amaze him. From where he stands he has a perfect view of your face.

Your smiling that big, bright, smile. Your eyes began to glaze with water as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. The shock and surprise of the not-so-surprise party still hit you as you get to reunite with your dearest friends. You immediately get jumped on by everyone, boys and girls, well men and women you should correct. You’ve grown so much that you hardly recognize some old classmates. But seeing all but one pulls at your heartstrings and causes your suppressed tears to fall as you embrace all that you can as you’re enveloped in a giant group hug. Once everyone begins to separate the waterworks fade away as the cheerful emotions work back into the mood. 

“Long time no see aye number 4?” Sero says as he reaches over to pat your shoulder as a congrats before returning to his original standing. 

“Yeah, thanks Hanta. I have to say I hardly recognized you now that you’ve finally hit puberty. Took you a few decades, congrats.” You taunted and those around you burst into laughter. Hanta blushes with embarrassment but laughs at your joke. 

“It’s great to have you back L/n!” Ochako exclaimed cheerfully as she hugged you again.

“I missed you all so much.” You smiled warmly as you returned Ochako’s hug and your eyes darted to every face in the room. 

“Y/n!” A familiar voice called you that made you turn your head. 

Your mother and father rushed to you and enveloped you in a hug. You immediately cried upon being embraced by your parents after so long. Your mother sobbed against your shirt and your father barely allowed his tears to show as he embraced you. Once the moment was over they detached themselves from you as your father kept a hand on your shoulder and your mother grabbed your arms above your elbows and backed her body away enough to get a proper look at you. She observed every new feature of your face while tears slowly fell from her eyes. 

“My sweet girl,” Your mother said warmly as one of her hands reached up and cradled your face, to which you leaned into. 

“We’re so proud of you,” Your mother whispered lovingly. 

“Extremely proud,” Your father added with a loving smile. You tried to stop your ugly crying but couldn’t.

Your parents laughed at your reaction before hugging you again. Your friends and Katsuki watched your loving reunion with your parents as some even got teary-eyed. Katsuki watched with a smile, happy for you to have seen your parents again. That was before his smile dropped when your closed eyes opened and looked up to meet his gaze. He inaudibly gasped as his body straightened and stiffened. God damn those gorgeous, hypnotizingly lethal eyes of yours. While your parents detached themselves from you for one final time Mina exclaimed that snacks and games were outside which caused the party to move to the backyard patio with everyone heading out.

You turned your gaze away from Bakugou to greet everyone who came up to you to say their greetings before heading back and returning our thanks and appreciation. Once the final person came up to welcome you back you thanked them kindly and stood as you watched the back of them head to the backdoor. You stood still as you took a deep breath and turned back, meeting his gaze once again. Bakugou sucked in a sharp breath at your sudden gaze as he stiffened again. You smile slightly as you walk to him. Your body is on fire from your nerves and his the same. You stopped a bit away but in front of him as you greeted him. 

“Hi, Bakugou.” God that voice. Oh, how he missed it so. 

“Hey nerd,” He smiled, which caused you to smile. You both spent a few seconds looking at each other with smiles adorning your faces before you both spoke again.

“How have you-” You both lightly laughed before he started again.

“H-How have you been, Y/n?” 

“Oh, fine-good-well-uh good, I’ve been good. You?” You stuttered. 

“Great-good! I’ve been good too.” 

“Ah, that’s good.” You nodded as you spoke, trying not to sound so awkward. 

“Yeah, same with you,” Bakugou responded awkwardly as he tried not to be awkward. He inwardly wanted to slap himself. 

Bakugou averted his eyes in embarrassment and caught sight of your left hand, specifically your ring finger. You quickly drew your hands behind your back as you bounced back and forth on the balls and heels of your feet bashfully. 

“Well uh- i-it was good seeing you again Bakugou,” You said with slight awkwardness and nervousness.

“Y-yeah, same here,” He nodded as he agreed. His eyes looked into yours as he opened his mouth to ask you a question before someone else spoke before him from behind you, causing your attention to be redirected. 

“Hey guys, we’re gonna play some games if y'all wanna join! It’s finna get it!!” Denki exclaimed as he called for the both of you urging you both to come outside.

“Y-yeah yeah, we’re going,” You responded as you began to head outside. Bakugou stayed still for a moment before following. 

The night was amazing. The games were so much fun and the food was so delicious. Todoroki lit the giant fire pit that was in a small section of the large backyard as everyone grabbed blankets and drinks to sit around the fire. You all conversed and told stories, jokes, and drama, all catching up with each other. Your parents had left a while ago along with others and some were so drunk they passed out and were taken to some of the many rooms of the grand home.

The rest consisted of Todoroki, Yayorozu, Ochako, Midoroya, Mina, Jirou, Kirishima, Bakugou and yourself. Todoroki and Yayorozu had their chars together and shared a giant blanket as did Midoriya and Ururaka and Mina and Kirishima. You and Jirou shared one as Bakugou was the odd man out, not that he cared all that much. Not one bit. 

“So Y/n, what made you wanna come back home?” Momo asked as she cuddled up to Shoto.

“Yeah, I honestly thought you were just gonna stay in the Americas for forever,” Ochako added. 

“Well, I had honestly thought of staying there, but, my last mission, let’s just say went south and I had a close call. I guess I realized I just wanted to come back home to my family and friends. It’s been long overdue.” You answered as you looked down into the fire nonchalantly. But Katsuki read it, your sadness, your true emotions. 

“Oh my god, I’m glad you’re okay though,” Momo said with a worried expression.

“Yeah, we’re glad you’re back home, safe and sound with no missing limbs,” Mina added. 

You laughed lightly before smiling and thanking the girls. 

Katsuki couldn’t help but stare at you as he continued to read your facial expressions. There’s something else you're not telling, but what?

“Well, I think I’m done for the night. You gonna come with babe?” Kirishima yawned before asking Mina if she’d join him to bed as well. 

“Yeah,” she yawned.

“I’m pretty dead too, goodnight guys! See you all tomorrow!” She exclaimed as she made her rounds hugging everyone goodnight.

“We’re gonna head to bed too,” Todoroki spoke for both himself and Yayorozu as they both got up to bid everyone goodnight as well. 

“Great having you back L/n,” Kirishima said before he hugged you and you returned the gesture.

“Yeah, thanks. ‘S great being back,” You said as you hugged him goodnight. 

“I’m so happy you’re back home! I missed my bestie!” Mina cried as she jumped onto you to which you laughed and swayed back and forth while hugging.

You bid the remaining people, Jirou, who excused herself to go check on her “drunken doofus” Denki who was asleep, and Izuku and Ochako goodnight as well, until all that was left was you and Katuski again. It was awkward and quiet for a bit. You wrapped the blanket you were sharing with Jirou around yourself as you stared into the fire, while Bakugou sat in his chair opposite of you and the fire pit as he glanced from the fire to you now and then. After a while of silence, he broke it. 

“Did you like America?” 

“Hmm?” You hummed as you looked up, eyes snapping to his as you processed what he asked and then responded.

“Oh yeah, I did, it’s real nice there.” At first, all Katsuki did was nod at your response, then let the fire be the only noise aside the crickets occasionally chirping fill the quiet. After a bit, he asked another question. 

“Did you like it more than here?” 

“Oh, no. Nothing can ever compare to home,” You shook your head no as you answered. Your response made the blonde across from your smile slightly as he rested further back into his chair.

“Did you ever leave Japan for a mission?” You asked.

“Yeah, been to a few countries. Went over ta’ Russia, the Philippines, Canada, America, Columbia, Brazil and Mexico.”

“Oh wow, you’ve been to a few.”

“Heh, yeah.”

“Wait- did you say America?”

“Mhm,”

“You went to America?”

“You deaf or somethin’?”

“N-No! I’m just shocked, I never got word you were there. What part?” 

“Los Angles, California.”

“What?! I was based there most of my stay in America. Thats crazy.” “I knew.” “I’m sorry?”

“I knew you were there. I asked Sargeant Mattias not to tell you I was there. Thought it’d be better that way.” Katsuki informed you, with a sad tone in his voice. Your mood shifted from shocked to guilt. You tried to change the mood by asking him a different question. 

“Well, did you like any of ‘em?” 

“Yeah.”

“Which ones?” “All of ‘em.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d you like about them.”

“A lot of things, the difference of food and culture mainly.”

“Huh,” you smiled amusedly. 

“What?” Katsuki asked as he caught on to your change of tone.

“Oh nothin’, just didn’t think you’d look that deep into other cultures like that, ‘s all.” 

“Hah? What, ‘ya think I can’t appreciate other people's beliefs and food or somethin’?” The blonde asked with a sassy attitude.

“No, no, ‘s not that,” You laughed lightly.

“Then?”

“Just, it’s nice to see a change in you after all these years, is all,” You said smiling as your eyes watched the embers of the fire dance around in front of you. 

“Tch! ‘Course I did,” Bakugou grumbled which caused you to let out a small chuckle.

Silenced bestowed upon the both of you again but this time was less awkward to be in than before. Katsuki noticed which suddenly gave him the courage to speak up again. 

“So, why did you really leave America?”

“Huh?” His question interrupted your thoughts and caused a small brain fart that disabled you to process what he asked.

“Ya heard me,” he mumbled, his red ruby eyes that only glow and shine brighter with the dancing embers of the flames, something you always adored about his eyes with his quirk. 

You cleared your throat and repositioned your body to sit comfortably with your blanket as your nerves began to rise. 

“I already said why.” Your face looked sad as you looked into the burning embers of the flames.

Katsuki could see it plain as day. He knows you better than he knows himself. You’re not telling the truth; he desperately wants to know why. He admits he doesn’t know why it’s so important to know, but he just knows he has this itch deep inside that he’s desperate to scratch and won’t feel satisfied till it’s gone. 

“Ya’ don’t have ta’ lie to me. Don’t gotta hide from me, either. Maybe the others but never me.” He doesn’t know why he’s being comforting, he never really is, but one thing he does know is that when it comes to you, he’s softer than a baby’s fuckin’ bottom.

His words were out of character for him, even when you both had dated a decade ago he was never this calm and comforting when speaking. It was so uncanny it caught you by surprise and left you unable to process a response. You went from ten years of never seeing nor having a single thought about this boy-man and now suddenly you're choked up about having to have a conversation you haven’t told anyone but your parents, and now you’re gonna spill it to your ex. 

Why?

“Why?” He repeated. You’re so lost in thought you don’t even realize you said it aloud. 

“Why? Why are you asking? Why are you so eager to know? Why do you care? Why is it important to know? Why are you even talking to me?!” You rambled, your frustrations, anger, sadness, pain, all your emotions overflowing with each sentence you conjure until it all becomes one huge dam of emotions that begins to overfill your mental capacity and then it all just snaps.

Your great concrete walls that protected the dam of your tears cracks. It cracks and cracks and cracks and cracks until it crumbles, and the dam overflows. You began to tear up and you couldn’t hold the tears in any longer. You cried and you cried hard. You’ve tried so hard to be okay with what happened and where it’s left you but you can’t. You can’t do it any longer. Katsuki bolts out of his seat when he realizes you’re crying and rushes to your side.

He sits on the outdoor couch beside you and wraps you in a hug. Tight and warm, something you’ve both needed desperately. You wipe at your tears as he rubs your shoulders comfortingly, something he remembered you loved but never asked him to do back then. He knows this isn’t the time to be thinking such things when you’re upset but he couldn’t help but smell your vanilla coconut smell. Being so close to you he can smell it, remember it, and overdose in it. 

Your sniffles die down as you compose yourself as best you can. Without looking at the blonde you thank him and straighten your posture. Katsuki nods in response even if you can’t see it, but you know he did. 

“Y/n, what happened?” He asked gently, not wanting to overwhelm you but he needed to know what was causing you so much pain so he could have it dealt with and lessen the load off your shoulders. With one final deep breath, you gather the strength to finally verbalize your pains. 

“Recently, my engagement broke off with my fiance,” You exhaled with a shaky breath and shaky hands.

Your eyes dampened again with tears at the memory. Katsuki’s heart twists, both with jealousy and heartbreak for you. His red eyes lace with pity and sadness. His urge to grab you and wrap you in a hug is grand but he settles for reaching a hand out slowly, careful not to startle and scare you, and takes hold of your hand in his as he squeezes it gently.

Before speaking Katsuki gulped, “W-Why?”

You sighed before forcing out the truth, “My partner had been in correlation with another woman.” Katsuki was beyond astonished, he looked the most shocked he’d ever been. 

“The fuck? He cheated on you?” He asked no one in particular with an upset tone. 

You couldn’t verbally respond so you nodded as confirmation. At that Katsuki grits his teeth seething. After so long of hurting due to your breakup, this a-hole came into your life, lied about being perfect for you, and did worse than what he did to you, he would’ve never, EVER have done this to you, and he’s sure as hell ain’t gonna let that fucker get away with it either, but for now, he’s gonna focus on you. 

Katsuki scoots closer to you and gently wraps you in a warm embrace again. 

“That fucker didn’t deserve you just as much as you didn’t deserve this, Y/n.”

“What’s wrong with me?” You asked with a heartbroken sob. Katsuki’s heart twists painfully at the sight. 

“Nothing, he was a moron Y/n, you’re fuckin’ perfect, ain’t no bad thing about you.”

“There has to be, I can’t ever keep someone I love, maybe I’m just not meant to be loved.”

“That’s enough,” Katsuki scolded as he got up and came around to face you kneeled on the ground, and took your hands in his to keep them from covering your pretty face.

“Ya hear?” 

You nodded with a sniffle. Katsuki’s eyes drank every dip and curve of your face, ananylzing you. He didn’t say anything for a while, just letting you recollect your thoughts so you can talk without breaking down again. It’s not that he’d be annoyed if you did, his heart just wouldn’t be able to take seeing you like that again. 

“I’m proud of you,” He said in a hushed whisper tone. Your eyes looked slightly up to meet his eyes at his words. Without you responding Katsuki continues. 

“I’m proud of you for being able to leave him, like you did me, that you don’t stick around when you know you deserve better, no matter how heartbreaking it is to, leave. You’re strong Y/n, so strong. You always have been. Your morality and beliefs make you so strong. The way you carry yourself is admirable. Your drive and hardworking nature to work ten times harder than anyone makes others around you want to do the same. You think you’re weak but all everyone sees is someone strong. Your bravery and wits keep you ahead of the game like no other. The sacrifices you make for others are noted and appreciated but the ones you make for yourself are not selfish. You study countless hours of the day til night because you don’t think you're clever enough to remember the importance of the debriefings and come up with strategy plans for missions but your plans have never failed to save lives when others do. Kirishima and I always had an inside joke about Pinky and you. He called his girl Bia, the goddess of force and strength, and I called you Athena, the goddess of wisdom, war, and peace. I always admired your cleverness and strength but fell for your humanity. Your kindness made you more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen before. Y/n you’re worthy, more than worthy of finding love, more deserving than any of us to have it. Someday you’ll have it. You’ll find it and it’ll never leave you.” 

Small tears flowed down your soft cheeks and dropped onto your sweater. Your heart nearly exploded with the life of love that poured into it. Katsuki gently rubbed the top of your hands with his thumbs, with a small smile adorning his face. This Katsuki isn’t Katsuki. This Katsuki is nothing like your old Katsuki, he’s more, your dream. You quickly reeled him into you and wrapped him in a tight hug. He was stunned at first but promptly relished in the feeling of your warmth and returned your action with greater strength. For a few minutes, you both relished in the tranquility of the embrace before detaching yourselves from one another, no matter how much you both wanted to never let go. 

“I’ve missed you,” Katsuki mumbled into your hair as he hugged you tightly like a child squeezing their teddy bear after a nightmare.

You wish you could say the same, but it’s too early for you. Unlike Katsuki who’s been remembering your existence and yearning for you, you’d done the opposite. Instead, you’ve forgotten about your old life in Japan and begun a new chapter in America, but the nostalgic part of you does miss him, it just wouldn’t feel right to say the same when you don’t feel the same, yet. 

“I’m so glad you’re back,” He nuzzled his nose deeper into your scalp, embracing the warmth of your body against his. 

“I’m glad I’m back home too,” You smiled with closed lips. Your words sparked a light turning on in Katsuki’s brain that caused him to retract his body from the hug. A smirk grew on his face and your smile turned into a confused yet intrigued expression at his expression. 

“What devious idea are you conjuring?”

“Well you mentioned home but I got something I wanna show ya’,” Katsuki smirked as he nudged his head in a direction insinuating to follow him. 

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The wind in your hair along with the fresh smell of earthy trees and authentic healthy air brings not only nostalgia but liveliness that sets your mind free. The cold breeze flows past your fingers and hair as Katsuki exchanges quick glances at the road and up to you as you shout wildly like a young teen again. Half of your body is out of the window of Katsuki’s car as your hair flows aggressively with the rush of the wind. You can’t remember the exact last time you’ve done this but you do know it feels great. The only other time you can recall doing this was on a rare date with Katsuki those many years ago. Katsuki smiles and turns up the music from his car stereo before focusing his attention back on the dark familiar road. 

Katsuki opens the large gate of his estate by unlocking it with voice recognition and a passcode thats was setup before the gates. The giant gates have beautiful designs with sleek black coating. He drives his porche up his long driveway before finally coming upon the home. Your mouth instantly jaws open upon seeing his home. You slowly unbuckled your seatbelt and peeked your head out of his open window. This home was stately magnificent. The exterior was that of your dream home. Bakugou smiles at your reaction as he drives slowly so you can subsume the sight of his memorial for you. He drove his Porsche down the driveway that leads to his garage. You sat down in the passenger seat and you looked at him still with your awestruck expression. 

Bakugou parked and turned off his car before he turned to you with a confused look. 

“What?” He asked.

You shook your head before he stepped out of his car. You grab your bag and personal items and before you open the car door it opens for you. Bakugou reaches a hand out for you to grab while the other holds the door. You smile at him and take his hand as he helps you out and closes the door behind you. He thrusts his head in a direction indicating for you to follow. As you do, you look around and take in his large twelve-car garage with many sports cars and bikes with some room for a few more vehicles.

Bakugou opens a door to enter his home with a passkey and opens it and holds it as you enter. You’re immediately hit with the interior aesthetic you always dreamed of for your home. Your dream home. This is your dream home. A home you’ve always dreamed of and wished to have. A dream you’ve made up in your mind through countless hours of scrolling on social media platforms and envisioning yourself living in for the rest of your days with your loving family. Bakugou built it. Katsuki made it for you. He made your dream come true. Before you could take more of the home in the sound of pitter-patter and jingling caught your attention.

Your heart swelled with the sight of a sable-colored German shepherd. The cute big adorable puppy (adult) came barreling at you, mentally preparing to possibly die of cuteness overload or blunt force trauma to the back of the head from being tackled, you are more than willing to accept your fate. Bakugou whistled in a particular way, short and firm, which made the big bundle of cuteness lay, causing him to slide the rest of the distance right in front of you on the smooth wooden flooring as he panted staring up at you. You turn to look at a smirking Katsuki. Before you can ask him a question he interrupts you.

“ ‘s name is Dexter. You can mess with ‘m.” You immediately smiled and fell to your knees as you began aggressively petting your new friend due to the immense cuteness aggression overload you were plagued with. Katsuki stood there, smiling as he watched you and Dexter play together. You continue to pet and play with Dexter before he lays panting, taking a small break. You smiled at the dog as you took the chance to catch your breath. 

“Energetic lil’ shit ain’ he?” 

You turn to look at Bakugou as you let out an airy laugh and stand up from kneeling. 

“Yeah, he is, how old is he?” 

“Gonna turn five in November.”

“A November baby, are you?” You turned to look at Dexter as you bent to pet him one last time you asked him, not expecting an answer of course.

“How long have you had him?”

“Mm. About three years maybe.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” “What made the Katsuki Bakugou want to get a dog?”

“ ‘Was on a mission. They had him there sniffing for a civilian put in a hostage sitch. He went in and the place blew up. Shitty hair and I went to look for the woman and instead, I found the mut stuck under some rubble. I rushed him to the medics. Tch. Damn extras tried to refuse to aid him, but no one could turn down a direct order from the Great Lord Explosion Murder God Dynamight.” Bakugou snickered which made you roll your eyes in amusement. Bakugou then continued to tell the story. 

“They checked him and took him to an emergency vet.” 

“So did you track him down or? How’d you find him again?”

“I went with ‘em,” He said as he bent down to pat the dog’s head. 

“You went in the ambulance?” “Mhm,” He nodded as he straightened his posture and led you to his living room couch.

“Made sure he wasn’t too injured. The vets said he had a broken rib and tail with sum big cuts but ‘s nothin’ this guy couldn’t handle.” Bakugou explained as he smiled at his companion. 

“What made you want to keep him?”

Bakugou’s eyebrows furrowed as he began to ponder the question. It didn’t take him that long to come up with an answer. 

“I admired his bravery and determination. This dog was hungry, he took pride in his job as a police dog. He wasn’t afraid to continue working after he recovered. I heard two months after the incident he had gotten stabbed by a drug dealer he was sniffing out. Tch, damn mut couldn’t wait to get back out to work again is what the officers told me when I asked why he was working again so soon. I decided to visit him in the veterinarian clinic and when he saw me, I expected him not to care or recognize me, but he did the opposite. His tail was wagging as he lay on a pet bed resting. His eyes told me all they needed to. That same day I had my agency workers figure out how to get me legal ownership of the Mut. That same night he was released from being hospitalized and I took him home with me. He’s been by my side ever since. A young mut of a beast, and he was mine.” Katsuki said with a smirk as he bent down to roughly pet the animals head, to which Dexter made a grumbling noise loving the attention. 

“That’s, actually quite admirable of you.” Katsuki’s eyes drifted from Dexter to you. His eyes scanned your facial features and drank in your genuine closed-lipped smile. 

“ ‘s whatever, no big deal.”

“But I’m sure it was to him,” you added as you looked over at Dexter who was chasing the ball he accidentally made roll away from himself. Katsuki’s eyebrows gave away his new perspective on his relationship with his dog. He had never thought how deep his action had been until now. 

“I think you saved him, and he, you.” Katsukis eyes darted to his pup in front of him, tail wagging and a slobbered ball in his mighty jaws with puppy-loved eyes. 

“Hmm. Maybe.” Katsuki let out as he patted the dog's head and reached to take the ball from Dexter's mouth to throw it. You watched the two silently as Katsuki played fetch with Dexter and how Dexter jumped over some of Katsuki’s furniture to hunt the toy down. 

When Katsuki decided he and Dexter had enough playing time he commanded Dexter to go to his dog bed to sleep. The time being well over 1:00 AM, Dexter and himself were way over their bedtimes. Katsuki then went over to his living room’s fireplace and lit a fire. He then made his way back to sit on the couch on the opposite end of where you sat. Silence illuminated over the both of you as you sat awkwardly as he did the same.

Katuski’s eyes darted from the fire in the fireplace and to you as you did the same. So many thoughts ran through your head as you tried to make sense of one to possibly bring up in conversation to make the silence less awkward and more tolerable.  Katsuki thinks the same as he finally comes up with something to say. He opens his mouth to say something as you do at the same time. You both turned to look at each other and laugh lightly. 

“I umm. I’m glad you're back home, or whatever.” Katsuki mumbles as he turns his head to hide the flustered blush on his cheeks but you can see it on the tips of his ears. Just the same as when you were in your early twenties. 

“I’m glad I’m back as well, thank you.” Katsuki, still refusing to meet your gaze, nods his head acknowledging your appreciation.

You smile to yourself as you turn your attention to Dexter lying in his pet bed, eyes open as they dart between you and his owner, and let out a loud huff.

Katsuki turns his head slightly at the noise and makes eye contact with his dog. His eyes narrow at him in curiosity, and Dexter replies with a slow eye drag to your figure, sitting on the opposite end of Katsuki. Katsuki’s eyes follow Dexter as he tries to make sense of what he’s hinting at. Dexter rolls his eyes as he sighs and relaxes his body deeper into his bed. Katsuki looks at you through his peripheral as he clears his throat, catching your attention. His eyes stare intensely into the fire as he thinks about what to say until you speak.

“Did you ever find out about me blocking you on everything?” You asked timidly.

Katsuki felt a small pang of hurt in his heart at the memory, but he nodded to confirm. You nod as you take his response before you continue.

“I didn’t mean that with Ill will or anything. I just, I needed to stop seeing your profile under my views… I needed to stop seeing you everywhere.” Katsuki takes in a deep breath before he responds.

“I get it. I would’ve done the same.” And it was true, had it been anyone but you. It was true when he blocked the woman he forced himself to see and decided it was wrong for him to. And it was a lie when his thumbs hovered over the delete button of your contact. He couldn’t even delete your number and messages, there was no way in hell he could block you. 

“Did you have to block me on the PS5 tho?” Katsuki grumbled jokingly, to which you burst out laughing. Katsuki laughed with you as Dexter’s tail began to wag lightly.

“I’m glad you moved on quickly with your life though,” Katsuki’s demeanor changed to a more serious one as his brows scrunched together. 

“Bakgou-”

“It’s okay, I was happy for you truly.”

“That’s not what it was.” Katsuki turned his head to face you when responded. Confusion laced etched on his face as he tried to read you.

“I ran away. It wasn’t moving on, I was running away. I was stupid for the way I broke things between us. I regretted it. I felt like I overreacted. I felt guilty and I just hated myself for the way things ended up. I couldn’t see you, I couldn’t face you. So I ran. I ran away from my problems, my home. I never really moved on fast. It was the opposite.” You admitted as you hid your face behind your palms, hoping to hide your stress and shame.

 Katsuki took in everything you said. He felt a sense of an emotion he couldn’t put into words. But your words helped his insecurities of your past relationship feel more at ease, if only slightly. He could never forgive his behavior for he was also at fault of your breakup and he knew that. He would never avoid his accountability of why things ended the way it had. 

“I-...” Katsuki choked on his words because he was still too tongue-tied to figure out what to say, then he found his words, something he’d told you in his dreams or far imagination.

“I never got over us ya know.” His words piqued your interest as you opened your fingers to give your right eye an opening to peer through at Bakugou. 

“I never stopped thinking about you, as much as I tried. And believe me, I tried.” Bakugou said as his gaze lowered to the ground. You sat silently for a moment, trying to take it in. 

“I could never get you outta my fuckin head. Even after years of being blocked, I still kept up with articles and news about you. You were like a fuckin’ thorn in my side. A needle in a fucking haystack that I couldn’t get out. It frustrated me to no end. I hated it. I hated you.” You let out a small gasp at his confession.

Slight shock and pain flood your emotions and suddenly it feels too awkward sitting in this home with him again.

“But it wasn’t that I hated you, it was that I hated myself. I hated myself for how I let things happen. I hated myself for being too chicken shit to chase you. I hated myself for not being mature enough to admit my wrongs and just man up and communicate. And with all that hate, in the center, the only love I could find to be content with myself was the fact I had loved you.” You're eyebrows creased and your expression morphed showing your concern at his words.

During the relationship, Katsuki never really said those words but he always showed and proved his feelings for you. The one time he said it was that night. So to hear them again a decade later is still shocking. But what good is it to hear it now, it’s been a decade. You were engaged to another, this doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. So then why-

“And I honestly, that love had never left.” Your heart stopped before it began beating rapidly. 

Katsuki’s eyes drifted to meet yours, a light blush on his face as he scanned yours for a sign. Your mind was scrambling for a coherent response but it was scrambled. To unsure of what to say and what this means and why unables you to respond or even think. 

“You don’t gotta say anything. I know this shit is sudden and outta the blue. For fucks sake it's the first time seein’ me after ten goddamn years. The fuck was I thinkin’.” Katsuki mumbles the last bit under his breath, low enough so your ears can’t catch it but they do.

They catch everything he says. They always had because his words meant the most to you at one point in your life. And you guess in a way, they still do. 

Bakugou gets up from his couch, ready to return to his den of depression for the night until you get up behind him and tug at the bottom hem of his shirt. Katuski paused his walk as he felt the tug on his shirt. His head turns to meet your cascaded eyes with a barely noticeable blush. His lips parted slightly as his heartbeat speeds up. Dexter’s attention peeks as his head slightly rises from having rested it on his front legs that are crossed over the other. His eyes watched intensely at the two humans in front of him. 

“Katsuki.” You let out as you prepared yourself to do something probably stupid but a risk you should take. 

“The real reason my engagement fell through was because I told my ex-fiance I could never love him as I loved my previous partner…then the next morning he came home from a woman's house reeking of sickly sweet peach with freshly reddish-purple hickeys. It was fair, but scarily I didn’t even care. We talked and agreed to end things before our wedding date. I then decided it’d be a good opportunity to come back home. To rehabilitate myself and continue moving forward with my life but, I just couldn’t marry him when I constantly compared him to you. When I constantly yearned for you in his stead. It wasn’t fair of me to do that to him.” Your gaze stayed on your shoes with a lowered head as you avoided those red ruby eyes you adored so much.

Your mind was filled with a storm of jumbled thoughts and words as you emotionally panicked from your confession. Then two strong arms wrapped around you. Katsuki enveloped you in a tight hug as one of his hands cradled the back of your head and pushed it toward his chest. Your head was right below his heart but you could still faintly hear it beating rapidly. Your eyes widened as it took you a second to process what was happening. Dexter watched intensely as his tail began to wag slightly. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made our lives go this way. I’m sorry I drove you away. I’m sorry your love life was shit because of me. I’m sorry.”

Katsuki apologized, his voice breaking from trying hard to keep his emotions from bursting like a dam. His forehead slowly lowered and lowered till it hit your shoulder. His big frame hunched down almost to your height, but he’s still slightly taller from this position. Slowly, your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he dug his head into your neck. His arms slowly and carefully reached around your waist, his strong arms gently nudging you closer to his body. Your scent invades his nostrils and it's like heaven. It’s changed, but only slightly, the same as you. It's addicting.

Your scent. It’s driving him insane. Like a blood-hungry shark. Your perfume and natural scent mixed into his nostrils crazing his mind. He inhales deeply just to exhale quickly so he can inhale it again. You continue to hug the man as you catch onto his deep inhaling and exhaling onto your neck. Is he smelling you? The man’s nose digs into the side of your neck as he inhales again. He is. His exhale tickles your skin makes you shiver and lets out a giggle. The hairs on the back of your neck rise on alert at the tickling sensation.

Katsuki catches the giggle and it just switches something in his brain. His nose dives deeper into your neck as he sniffs you like a dog. You burst into giggles at the tickling sensation and the sounds drive straight into his heart. He raises his head slightly to nudge yours before resting his forehead on yours, his eyes staring straight into yours, he could almost see the reflection of his own eyes in them. Beautiful.

Your eyes stare into those tinkling rubies that shine from the reflection of the fire embers.

Ethereal.

Katsuki takes deep breaths to control himself. He wants to kiss you. He so badly does, but he holds back for your sake. He just got you back, he doesn’t want to scare you away, not again. 

“I have so many questions to ask you,” You whispered, your eyes glimmering with the fire. 

“Ask them all,” Katsuki responds as his hold on you tightens. 

“I want to hear and answer all of them. I want to hear your voice for all the hours, minutes, seconds my ears lost the honor to hear it.” 

“Who are you? You’ve gone soft Katsuki Bakugou,” You joked.

“You were always a bad influence,” Bakugou retorted but with no humor or ill will behind it.

He said it softly, gently, almost lovingly. His face was softer than you’ve ever seen it. He’s melting. His heart is melting the more he gets to be this close to you. The more he gets to gaze into those beautiful orbs of yours. 

“Bakugou,” You called his name, and you could see his eyes glaze with something. They keep seeming to get lost the longer he gazes at you. 

“Katsuki,” He whispered as his eyes droop almost like puppy dog eyes. 

“What?” You asked, not because you didn’t hear but because you were confused. 

“Kastuski, please, call me Katsuki again,” Bakugou whispered as he brought his face closer to yours, your lips almost touching.

“Oh- okay.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you gulped the lump of nerves down your throat. 

“Call me it. Say it please.” Katsuki breathed out as his lips got even closer to yours. His eyes scan your eyes and your lips. 

“K-Katsuki,” You stuttered.

“Fuckin’ heaven,” Katsuki breathed out before his hands flew to your face and closed the small gap between your lips with a firm kiss.

It was warm. Sparks and flames erupted like mini explosions in your belly. You could feel Katsuki’s emotions through the kiss. He poured all his desperation and passion into it. He was desperate. Desperate to feel the warmth and love he once felt a decade ago when he still had the liberty of kissing you. Desperate to feel those heavenly soft and plump first blush lips of yours. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Katsuki murmured against your lips before diving back to kissing you hard.

His kisses were messy and desperate but the kind that feels like he needs every fiber of your being to be interlocked with his. He was hungry to taste you after all these deprivating years without you. 

“So pretty it hurts,” Katsuki mumbled against your lips as his kisses drifted from your lips to your temple, to your cheek to your nose, to your eye, to anywhere he could reach.

His soft yet slightly chapped lips kiss you gently like a feather against your porcelain skin. Katsuki’s kisses began to move down from your face to your neck. The sensation causes sparks of electricity to flow throughout your body causing chills to run down your bones. Katsuki spends a bit of time kissing up and down your neck before groaning a bit aggressively when he stops. 

“Fuck, I can’t get enough of you,” His expression is littered with lust as one hand cups your face gently yet with enough force to force your eyes on him. Your lips parted as you gazed at him in awe. 

“You have no idea how badly I’ve needed you since you left. Every god damn miserable ass fuckin’ day I thought about you. Missed you. Cried for you. Craved you,” Katsuki says as he moves his head down slightly to kiss your neck’s sweet spot before returning to his full height but lowering his head slightly to meet your sweet gaze again. 

“Fuck I need you,” Katuski hissed as the tent in his pants began to grow. The crotched area of his pants began to feel irritably tight. 

“Katsuki,” You breathed out speechlessly. Unable to speak let alone process any words with his newfound confession to you. 

“Fuck don’t do that,” Katsuki moaned lightly as he pressed his forehead against yours, focusing all his willpower to control himself from pouncing on you and ravaging you. 

“Katsuki, I missed you…”

Katsuki’s ears perked as he tried so hard to control his breathing along with his urges. His fingers that rested on your hips tightened on you the more he tried to control. 

“I need you,” You whispered in his ear.

Katsuki’s eyes had blown wide at your words. His final cord of honor and control snapped. Katsuki closed the gap between you both once again but this time he began to lead your body out of the living room. He stopped to kiss you after one last deep kiss before he grabbed your hand and rushed you through his home and to his bedroom with a loving and lustful glee in his eyes and a loving smile adorning his face.

Dexter’s position changed as he bolted up in alert as he watched his owner and his female companion exchange scents and scent each other before fleeing with a strong, heavy, in-heat scent. His golden eyes tracked your movements before you both disappeared from his sight to which he snorts and yawns. Dexter lets out a small huff before licking his chops and seems to smile slightly as he angles his chops and muzzle to do so before he stretches one last time for the night and falls asleep….

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The loud blaring of Katsuki's alarm causes him to jolt awake. He groans annoyedly, stretching his arm out to turn the darn thing off. Patting around his nightstand to find it and once he did he kept tapping the button to turn it off. The universe seemed to test him today because the fucking thing didn’t stop the alarm which only irked him more.

Finally lifting his head from his pillow just enough for one of his eyes to see it, he lifts his palm and presses his finger down and hard against the stupid phone, and finally, the cursed alarm turns off. Katsuki shifts back into his original position in his bed before another limb stretches across his torso followed by a feminine groaning. 

“What’s it for?” You groaned as you nuzzled your face into the side of his chest.

Katsuki’s expression grew into a surprised one for a second before he smiled and leaned down to lay a small peck on your forehead before retreating to his position. 

“Don’t ya worry yer pretty lil’ head ‘bout it, kay,” He replied as he wrapped an arm around you and rested his hand on your lower bare waist.

You snuggled closer to him to which he drew you closer. He almost forgot this was real, that this wasn’t a sick dream he was cursed with having since the day you left. You were here, he made love to you last night and he does have you in his arms and in his no longer cold bed. 

“Hey Katsuki,” You called.

“Mhm?”

“What- hmm. What’s gonna happen now? What’s next?” You blushed as you were embarrassed to directly ask what this meant for the both of you.

Katsuki’s eyes widened slightly before they narrowed with his loving smile as a hand came to lift your chin to look at him. He leaned down to kiss your sweet lips before he answered your question. 

“Whatever you want. I’ll go with whatever you want. Don’t wanna push anything. But what I do know is that I want to be with you agai. I want to relive this moment everyday,  but I will respect any decision you make.” 

You turned slightly, averting your gaze as you thought for a moment. What do you want? Now that you’re back home, what is it you want to get out of being here? Do you want to go back to the Americas? Do you want to go back with him? Or do you stay and stay with him? Who’re you kidding it’s way too early to be thinking this hard. You know that no matter what the situation, you were not gonna pass up this opportunity to be with your first love again. 

“I want to be with you, again. I want to try again if that’s alright with you?”

Katsuki smiled brightly as he brought your face up to meet him in a loving kiss. 

 "Of fuckin' course I wanna try again. I'd do anythin' to make this work this time. l'd be whatever and be whatever ya need me to be to make this work. I ain't planning on lettin' this end ever again ya hear." Katsuki expressed his excitement as he squeezed your body tightly in an embrace.

"Well maybe there's something to be done before we officialize anything." You teased as you rubbed his chiseled back.

"Anythin' angel. You'd be dumb to think you had a choice to leave me again anyway." Katsuki joked as he kissed your nose.

“Wow, so what was the point of asking me if you weren’t gonna let me choose huh?”

“It’s polite to let you think you had a choice.”

“What does Katsuki Bakugou know about politeness?” You teased.

“A lot, but only for my girl,” He responded as he nuzzled his head against yours.

“Ah, how polite of you,”

“ 'Course I am,” He replied as he kissed your forehead before nuzzling his face against yours. If it wasn’t blatantly obvious, if he wasn’t human you’d think Katsuki was a damn cat. 

"Never gonna let ya' go again," Katsuki murmured as he continued to cuddle and smother you with his love and affection.

You were about to reply before Bakugou’s door opened and revealed a cute intruder. Dexter barked as he ran towards Katsuki’s bed and leaped smoothly on top. Dexter immediately began to roll and rub himself against Katsuki’s soft sheets before Katsuki began pushing at Dexter. Dexter growled as he flipped over and started snapping his jaws playfully at Katsuki’s hands. You let out a small chuckle as you watched the two roughhouse.

This is a morning sight you can get used to… 

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

If you loved this story and haven’t already, feel free to check out my master list to read some others!! Tysm for reading and please come again🥰🫶🏼💕

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