#i just want to talk about him for the rest of my life

[softaestluv]

Guard Dogs

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Neighbor! Reader

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, & Pt. 5 (final part!)

This chapter will contain smut! 18+ content!

Tags: Smut, Cunnilingus, oral, vaginal fingering, creampie

Summary: You were a proper good girl. Just like in his fantasies when he was a little boy. Ghost only looked to protect you from the evils of the world just like Riley. Your two personal guard dogs.

But maybe this is where he belonged, on the other side of the glass, staring at you from afar. Even if Riley wanted more.

Ghost used to believe he favored winter more than summer, despised sweltering days when sweat trickled from his mask. Gathered wet pools in his collarbone, dried sticky on his skin. At least during winter he could blame the cold in his home on the weather rather than the loneliness.

But now he isn’t entirely sure, not when he knows your warmth, makes the cold almost tenfold without you.

He decides it may just be when it brings you to his doorstep, rainstorm rumbling behind your standing figure. He lets you in despite running away from your home less than a week ago. Doesn’t let his pretty bird stand in the storm for long.

“My power went out, it’s dark and cold over there,” You explain, swiping your tongue over bitten dry lips, “Is it okay if I stay here until morning? I didn’t know where else to go.”

His girl was scared was she? Came to him for rescue.

Almost snickers at the irony, came to his home, the same walls he only felt alone and frigid in. Yet you stand at his doorstep, seeking refuge like he could provide you with the same warmth and comfort your home does, that you do.

So, he sets a kettle of tea for the both of you. Joining him quietly in the kitchen, leaning against the opposite side of the counter he is. He keeps his eyes on the stove, doesn’t exactly plan to fill the awkward tension with anything more than the boiling water. Small talk wasn’t his strong-suit, and he definitely didn’t want an explanation from you.

Why would he need one? The two of you were nothing but neighbors, friends if that.

However, the silence seems to bother you; he knows it does when you speak up, “How are you?”

“Been fine,” He huffs, handing a steaming cup of tea to you.

And because he doesn’t want to know how you and your new boyfriend have been he doesn’t ask.

“That’s good, I’m glad,” Give him a tight smile in return.

The room becomes silent again, the sound of both of you drinking tea fill the kitchen. Even after the both of you are done drinking, no words are said, gazes avoided as the light tapping of your fingernails against the glass replaces the slurping, loud even between the pitter of the rain outside.

“Don’t you get it?” You finally ask, laughing remorsefully under your breath, continue once he tilts his head at you, “It’s you.”

He still doesn’t understand what you mean, brows furrowing together under his mask.

You sigh, “There’s no one else, I don’t have a boyfriend. I was talking about you, Simon.”

“What are you talking ‘bout?”

“You’re who I have waiting for me at home. You’re who I want to spend time with. Who I want to come home to. Well I don’t mean it like you’re sitting waiting around for me, it’s just,” You begin to ramble, trying to explain your emotions while your face warms, turns the pretty pink he has grown to love.

The rest of your words don’t matter to him, his balaclava is forgotten on the floor, insignificant. A stupid barrier between him and his bird. Breaks the distance between the two of you in two quick strides. Has you hoisted on his kitchen counter in a second, lips stamped to yours. Your words swallowed down between his lips, dissolved into a muffled yelp.

It’s intense, cups his palms around your jaw so tightly you can’t even think about pulling away from him, but you kiss back with the same intensity. Makes his head spin at the sheer way you reciprocate, doesn’t think he’s ever been kissed like this before. Like your life depends on it. As if you intended to take the breathe from his lungs, trying to portray your emotions through your lips.

The past months poured out of his chest and into your pretty mouth, but your own desires fill his chest, leave him impossibly warm and full. The pain of just looking, watching for so long without being able to touch or taste had him digging shallow indents into your skin, didn’t want to let go. Though you don’t seem to mind his strong hold, only cling to him in turn, curling your arms around his neck. Trying to pull him closer as if your proximity wasn’t nearly enough.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He rasps against your lips, hot air blowing over your cheeks.

“Thought I was making it pretty clear,” You chuckle lightly, “Figured you didn’t want me like that.”

“Are you kidding me?” Simon says, “You don’t get it.”

Presses his lips against yours again, even if he has more he wants to say. Doesn’t exactly know how to balance pouring his heart out to you and sealing your mouths as one. So, he tries to do both, breathing hushed words between kisses.

“Thought it was too good to be true. You don’t get it,” He repeats, because, really, he thinks you don’t understand.

Don’t understand that he thinks you’re too good for him. That it doesn’t make any sense that someone like you would want someone like him. Broken and damaged when you were anything but.

Accepted what you were willing to give him without pressing for more, even if he wanted to fuse himself with every dimple and blemish on your body. He almost doesn’t believe it. It’s not what he deserves, some educated man should be in his spot. A man that isn’t tainted in filth and blood.

A better man.

And yet, you kiss him like he is the only who deserves you. Look up at him like he hung the fucking stars. He would— if he could, string them bright and twinkly above your pretty head.

Doesn’t think you truly understood how much his fingertips ached everytime he forced them to clench onto something other than your soft body. How hard he had to dig his teeth into his knuckles when he climbed into bed after he shared dinner with you. Stomach still full, pretty voice still ringing in his ears, cock heavy in his palms.

“You’re all I wanted,” He confesses, “Wanted to come home to you every day.”

Don’t understand that he never wanted anything more.

“And what if I did have a boyfriend?” You ask, “Would you just let me go that easily?”

Can’t help the way he holds you a little tighter. Something possessive burns in his throat now that he knows the taste of your lips.

“Don’t wanna think ‘bout that. Doesn’t matter anymore. I have you now, don’t I?” He grunts against your neck, breath warm on your skin, “Riley and I were yours, always. Tried to show you that.”

Your next words— if you can call them that, are nothing more than breathless quakes. Make his cock throb painfully in his pants; you’ve been nothing, but sensible, sophisticated, but now you sound so frail, impatient.

“Show me then, Simon.”

The way your gaze sharpens is cue enough for him, doesn’t need to be told twice. Won’t miss another opportunity or wait another second to make you his. He wasn’t exactly eloquent, couldn’t express what he wanted with his words. Opts to use his roughened hands the only way he knows how.

Takes your plump thighs into his hold because as much as he’d like to bend you over his kitchen counter, lap at your pussy like all the endless pies you’ve made him, he’d much rather prove he could satisfy you in his bedroom. Fuck you wet and sticky into his mattress.

It’s a mess of limbs, stumbling down the hall as you plea his lips not to leave yours for more than a second. He almost stops at his couch, bumping clumsy into it on his venture, but he decides splitting you in two over the arm would be for another day.

The kiss turns lewd as he carries you, smacking lips messily, saliva sloppily smeared against tongues and roofs of mouths, teeth knocking together. Though it doesn’t deter you, only slot your lips against his more earnestly. Barely manages to drop you onto his bed before you’re pawing at him to join you.

Yanks your clothes off like they personally offended him, feet and arms getting stuck in the tangles of clothes. His own follow soon at your sweet request, both of you stripped to your underwear.

It’s almost impossible to keep his hands on just one part of your body. Probably spends entirely too long palming your round breasts, pinching your pert nipples, kneads the doughy meat of your sides and hips. Large hands everywhere and nowhere at once, like he needed to touch every inch of your body, wasn’t enough until he did. Hypnotized by the way your supple flesh spills between his fingers, how you arch into his touch with breathy whines.

It’s overwhelming being able to touch you however he pleases after holding back for so long. Makes his touch that much more firm, calloused and scarred fingers scratching your smooth skin. Can’t fucking decide what he wants to do first because he wants to do all of it.

But when he descends between your body, peeling your underwear off so you lay bare for him, and his eyes land on your pussy, soaked and pretty for him, he loses all reason.

He spreads your thighs wide, must be hovering close, feel his hot breath on your wet cunt because you whimper a quiet ‘oh Simon, please.’

And because he can’t deny his girl of anything, especially when you ask so sweetly, his tongue swipes between your folds, dragging slowly to your clit. Something carnal washes over him as he repeats the motions like he’s pussy-drunk, intoxicated by the pretty noises you let slip past your lips.

Surprises himself when he groans deep and beastly against your sensitive flesh. Hadn’t even realized he had been making noises between each wet lap and harsh suck. Too inebriated by your arousal, melting on his tongue smoother than any plate you’ve placed in front of him.

Spreads your glistening cunt open between his thumbs, burying your face into the pillows from the way he openly examines you. Breaking you down and peeling you apart under his intense stare. He doesn’t mind too much, not when he drags a finger between your folds, dipping the full length into you. Causes you to snap your head forward, give him such a pretty moan when he plunges a second finger in. Spongy walls popping around his thick digits, slowly works you stretched and opened. Until he could comfortably burrow to the knuckle with each stroke.

Deliberately kept it slow, drawing out each glide so only his fingertips remained. Took his time breaking through your wet entrance, enjoyed the desperate little mewls you released above him too much to give you anything more. Strong and deft hands bring his pure girl ecstasy, gentle despite the way he’s used them to hurt others.

Wasn’t pleased until your thighs began to tremble either side of his head, hoists them on his shoulders to settle them. Smushed his face against the fat of your thigh, decorated the skin in his lips and teeth.

“More, more mmph— Simon, please.”

Can’t hide the smile that breaks across his lips, pressed teeth to your thigh from the way you whimpered his name. Sounded so pretty coming from your lips, begged so sweetly for him. He rewards you, wraps the cushion of his lips around your swollen clit and smothers his tongue over the bead in calculated strokes.

Your hips buck away from his stimulation, loud cry muffled against the sheets when he suctions the bead. A firm arm bands around your waist, holds you down to take it, wouldn’t let you escape his grasp that easy. Doesn’t stop until you finish on his tongue and around his fingers, hiccuping on your breaths as you stiffen. Your palm wrapped tightly around his wrist on your hip, dig indents into his flesh as he works you steady through it. Slick gathering in his palm and between his knuckles.

He rests between your thighs a little longer, not quite trying to overstimulate you, but rather staining your taste in his throat. Both of you basking in your orgasm.

When he crawls on top of you, you blink lazily at him, half-lidded and dilated. Swipe your thumb across his chin to wipe your collected slick off. He doesn’t let you move far, chases after your thumb and sucks it clean, makes you inhale a sharp breath through your teeth. Kisses the pad gently when he’s done, trails soft pecks down your palm and arm, over your shoulder to your chin. Stops when he reaches your lips, taking your chin between his index finger and thumb.

“Wanted to know how you tasted for so long,” He murmurs, lips brushing against yours with each word.

Your fingers find the nape of his neck, scratching at the short blonde hair, “Thought about you every night after dinner. Kept hoping you would just eat me instead.”

Simon’s eyes flutter, exhaling through his nose like a bull, “Was so hard to keep my hands to myself, you know that, sweetheart? Especially when you look like this.”

Emphasizes his words by squishing the plush of your hips, “Couldn’t stand thinking you were in some other blokes bed.”

Hooks his hand under your knee, pushing it higher slightly, adjusting his own hips between your legs. You’re soft and pliant, just how he imagined his girl would be, let him bend you how he sees fit.

“But you weren’t, were you?” He hums, “Just perfect and proper for me like always, huh?”

Nudges the bulb of his cockhead along your swollen folds, catching on your welcoming entrance.

You nod your head weakly, “Yes, Simon, only you.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck as he pushes forward. Puffy walls splitting open for him, stretch for his girth, slick aiding in the glide. Feels you dig your fingers into his shoulders, hears your breaths stutter in your throat. Purrs gentle praises into your ear to ease the thick stretch.

His pretty bird was such a good girl, wasn’t she? You can take it, knows you can.

Bottoms out in your pussy, gives you a minute to adjust before you’re slurring pleas against his neck. ‘Oh, Simon, s-so big. Feel so good, oh fuc- please move? Please, Simon?’

So he does, can’t hold back when you sound like that. Give you anything you ask for.

Grinds his hips shallow and slow, makes a steady pace of it. Tangles your legs around his hips, locking them at his back, keeps the two of you pressed together. Broad chest smashed against your smaller one, impossible to move far from your aching cunt. His strokes are languid, gentle. Softer than he’s used to, but he doesn’t intend to fuck the sensation away with hurried and inept thrusts.

He wants to remember how every ridge in your pussy feels, memorize and store each shuddered breath and strained moan you give him. Needs you to feel cherished, the way your warmth has made him feel for months. Wants you to feel each inch of him, molding your walls into his shape until it’s all you ever knew.

You seem to agree, only squeeze your legs tighter around him as if to keep him tucked to your cervix. Though it’s not like he could even imagine pulling away from your searing flesh, plans to keep himself buried inside your pussy for as long as he can.

It’s intimate, almost too tender, but not nearly enough at the same time. As if the way you cling desperately to him, keep him pressed skin to skin doesn’t appease your ache. Like the way his entire shaft finds a home in your pretty cunt isn’t close enough. Decides to intertwine the both of your fingers together, pulls you from his neck so he can rest his forehead against yours.

But your eyes flutter shut, brows furrowing together with each determined stroke. Kiss swollen lips caressing his with each mewl, joins the obscene noises in the room. A mixture of squelches and whined ‘Simon!‘

“What’s t’matter baby?” He coos, wipes the sweat-slicked hair on your temples, “Tell me, huh?”

“Simon, nmmf—oh god. Right there, please right there. Please, don’t stop.” You beg.

He doesn’t.

Fucks you through it, balls sticky with your slick.

“Yeah?” He hums, “Right there, baby? Liked that?”

Your voice cracks over a high-pitched moan, can’t answer with a full sentence when his fat cock plunges deep, rakes against the spongy flesh that has your toes curling and back arching. Watches as you unravel on his length, walls clinging to him after each drag. Mouth slacked when three fingers find your clit. Swipe steady strokes in tandem with his thrusts.

You finished just like that, wrapped around his cock, walls clenching painfully tight, spamming and twitching with each pulse. White froth gathering at the base of his cock.

“That’s it, there we go,” He praises, “My pretty fucking girl.”

Doesn’t even care how he sounds or really, think about the words spilling from his lips.

“So good for me, yeah? She takes me so well,” He continues, talks you through your orgasm, words slurred, “Such a good girl. My sweet girl. Gonna make you all mine.”

You nod frantically babble for him to. Tell him you want nothing more than to be his. And he has every intention to, buries himself to your cervix and paints you as his.

It takes him a moment, bodies still conjoined between your legs even though he went soft long ago. Fingers still intertwined beside your pretty head, basking in your warmth and sweet kisses. Separating is difficult, but the moisture begins to dry tacky on your skin, sticky between your thighs. Becomes uncomfortable, so the two of you take a shower, wash each other clean.

Pride beats his ego when he has to keep an arm around you. Standing under the water, legs numb beneath you. And because you’re too sweet for him, you scratch his scalp while he holds you close. Mollifies under your touch, water drenched kisses shared between quiet giggles.

You return to the bed with him once again. Pulls your bare skin flush against his, tucks your head under his chin, arms banding your hips. Holds you tight through the night, possessive and protective. Doesn’t plan to ever let go. Not when his terribly cold bed melts warm in your presence. Sheets encased in your heat, stinging his fingertips and toes. It’s almost too hot, palms clammy against your pretty skin, but he doesn’t pull away.

Doesn’t care that sweat beads at his back when this is the closest his bed has felt like a bed and not a mattress with coiled springs and worn duvets. The most his house has felt like a home instead of four walls of brick and drywall.

Sleep doesn’t come easy, not when he wants to savor the moment for as long as he can, but your warmth lulls his eyes heavy and tired.

When the morning comes, he thinks it might be a sweet dream— a rare occurrence in his mind. But there you lay, fast asleep in his arms still. He can’t keep his hands to himself when he sees you. Meaty paws trace your figure, pushes the blanket low so he could get a pretty view of your smooth skin.

His touch rouses you, shifting in his arms to turn your backside to him. Mumble a groggy morning to him, muffled against his pillows.

You’re even more malleable than last night, lift your leg so sweetly for him when his hand descends between your thighs because he thinks he might be addicted to you. Whimper quietly into the sheets when he slides home, fucks you lazy and slow. Little more than sex, just wants to relish in your warmth.

Gets to experience one of the lazy Sundays he always watched you take from afar, except now he’s participating. Glass barrier nonexistent, not when you’re in his bed, whining his name against his lips.

Shatters it for him, makes his house a home.

The weekend ends too soon, isn’t ready to leave your cocoon quite yet, but you wake up beside him when Monday morning comes. Ask if him and Riley are going to join you on your run.

They do.

He was sure Riley wouldn’t want anything more.

Leaving each other for work proves difficult, almost stays so he could remain in your contented warmth. He doesn’t, bleeds the taste of your lips in his mouth instead.

And when he does return home, he returns to you and Riley. Greet him with a pretty smile just like you always do, place a plate of fresh food in front of him. Eat dinner together, like you two always used to, Riley snuggled on your couch, but now instead of walking across the street, he stays.

Thank you so much for all the likes/reblogs/comments! I’m so happy you guys enjoyed it as much as I have! 🍒💌❤️

Cross posted on my Ao3 here, as well as all my other fics!

Tag list: @ttznlettt @rainschnael @rockinraccoons @crypticenbug @c1garette-nightmares @keepghostly @l3thal-l0lita @terrifiedanimegirl @migueloharacumslut @tine1603 @whoisteona

[muqingslover]

Hii!! Love your writing!!

I wanted to ask if you have any hc about the lads men as fathers? For example, my hc was that Xavier is a boy dad that makes sure his kid will not end up listening to those "alpha podcasts" because he sets the example of a gentle yet "i slayed over 70,000 wanderers", kind yet assertive man. HOWEVER, since the level 175 affinity interaction came out, I'm 100% hes a girl dad raising his daughter to be a strong and independent woman (like the MC he loves dearly). What do you think?

[ my first ask! yahooo! thank you, pookie! I'll give you my thoughts in general (a big mix of everything) but if anyone wants one of the boys in more detail then feel free to ask because I have more to share! ]

Xavier

Alright maybe this is a hot take but I don't think he wants children, like at all.

Xavier does NOT like sharing. He's literally jealous of himself for goodness sake and he really, reaaaally, does not want to share you, especially not with clingy children that would take almost if not all of your attention and also his sleep.

In-game he's also shown to not be super fond of children in general which I find hilarious.

He's lived a long life, sacrificed everything and everyone for you, and spent the rest of his years searching for you. He believes he has the right to be a bit selfish and keep you to himself. Let's be honest, he's earned it.

Zayne

He does want children, but he is the type to plan for it. And I mean *plan*.

Out of everyone, he understands the best what it means for both your body and mental health the changes pregnancy would bring (including the chance of postpartum depression and other complications) so there would be a looooong discussion before anything happened.

When putting together the nursery it's like he's preparing for the apocalypse and not a baby "We might need this" (you won't be needing it), "This was made with [chemical], it could be toxic for you or the baby." "Zayne, it's just a plastic spoon."

Absolutely not as cool as he leads you to believe. You have this man stressed™ but he is so, soooo patient.

He'd be very serious about follow-up appointments and he'll make time for the both of you no matter what.

GIRL DAD ! GIRL DAD ! GIRL DAD !

100% victim of waking up covered in silly drawings and bows in his hair but he says before him than his poor white walls.

You have your hands full monitoring these two that love to sneak around and stuff their cheeks full like hamsters with sweets.

Sylus

Now this man wants a whole LITTER if you'll let him.

Hear me out: TRIPLETS. Oooor, twins with a younger sibling right after. Maybe one more if you are really brave.

This was not planned at all, but when you tell him he's so happy he'd be in actual tears while hugging you.

Luke and Kieran are over the moon about it too. They'd be so cute with the children because they get to be big bros now and they take their role very seriously.

Sylus would pull out his phone or coat and it would be covered in cute stickers. He takes no action in getting rid of it though because he loves it.

Those children are S P O I L E D. You have to take the role of saying no otherwise he'd take over the world just because his baby asked to be queen of the world on a random Thursday.

Rafayel

I think he's on the same boat as Xavier but for different reasons.

I have some...perhaps...controversial takes on this little guy in general so I'll leave it open for your interpretation hehe

love him though<3

Caleb

I know I know everyone says he'd be the best girl dad but PLEASE pleaaaase give this man a little boy.

If you think women's baby fever are bad just wait until you see Caleb's

He would draw on your belly bump where he thinks the baby is and talk to him even while you're asleep

This guy is taking lessons about pregnancy, how to support you during birth and he is 100% in one of those moms group chat.

"Caleb we do not need another onesie—" "But look! Look how cute it is! Oh, and the little hat? C'mon angel, please?" (Ban him from shopping by himself because he comes back with WAY too many things you do not need)

He loves and I mean LOVES matching clothes. From silly costumes, to pajamas and outside outfits.

So. Many. Pictures. He takes pictures all the time to keep them as memories because if something were to happen where you or he lost their memories again then they'd forever be preserved :(

[ I have so much more to say about this but maybe I'll just make a separate post for each of them ]

[haerenven]

        ₊　˙　 　⢷          ˚   ͙✦.         whiplash .

Pairings. M.D.Luffy- R.Zoro- P.D.Ace - T.Law - shanks

summary. Short hair girly.

— (a/n): request!, I really love this idea cause I was pixie hair girly in some point of my life (‘. • ᵕ •. `)

Monkey D Luffy

• Luffy is fascinated from the start. “Whoa!” he exclaims the first time he sees you. “Your hair’s so short! That’s awesome!”

• He immediately reaches out to pat your head like you’re the softest, most interesting thing in the world. and when you bat his hands away, he just laughs. “But it looks so fun to touch!”

• He adores how unique it makes you. To him, it’s not just hair—it’s you, and that makes it special.

• There’s something endearing about how blunt he is about it. “I like it. It makes your face look happy!” It’s such a simple, childlike way of thinking, but it makes you smile anyway.

• He loves to play with your hair absentmindedly—sometimes when he’s talking to you, sometimes when he’s just lazing around, his fingers twirling a stray strand. It’s never calculated, never flirtatious—just pure, unfiltered affection.

• If you ever feel self-conscious about it, or If you ever say you miss having long hair, Luffy will tilt his head, confused. “But this is how you are, right?” he says, as if that should be the most obvious thing in the world. “And I like you like this.”

Roronoa Zoro

• Zoro doesn’t notice your hair at first. Not because he’s oblivious, but because things like hair length isn’t register as high on his list of priorities. But one day, he really looks at you—sees how the shorter strands frame your face, how the style suits your sharp gaze, your effortless confidence—and something about it tugs at him in a way he can’t explain.

• He never says it out loud, but he likes how practical it is. You’re not constantly pushing it out of your face, and it never gets in the way. Efficient, No fuss, no unnecessary distractions. Just like you. Just like him.

• When you’re standing side by side, he’ll catch himself staring, though he always looks away before you can call him out on it.

• If someone ever makes a comment—something thoughtless, something meant to imply that short hair is less feminine—Zoro will shut it down instantly, his voice flat, his glare sharp. “Shut the fuck up or I’ll spread your head out of your body” And just like that, the conversation ends.

• He’s not the kind for casual touches, but sometimes—when he’s half-asleep, when the world is quiet—his hand will find the back of your head, fingers grazing your hair in a rare moment of softness. He won’t say anything about it. He won’t need to.

• He won’t outright admit it, but he likes how easy it is to tilt your chin up and kiss you—no stray strands getting in the way, your lips on his—and that’s it.

Portgas D Ace

• “Damn,” is the first thing Ace says when he meets you. It’s low, almost breathless, like you’ve just knocked the air straight out of his lungs. “I think I’m in love.”

• He’s always been drawn to things that burn bright—things wild and unpredictable, things that feel like freedom. And there’s something about you, about the way you carry yourself, about the way your hair catches the firelight, that makes him want to chase after you.

• He loves the way your short hair makes every expression bolder, sharper. When you laugh, it makes you look even more mischievous. When you glare, it makes you look untouchable. And Ace? He loves a challenge.

• Constantly finds an excuse to touch your hair—Running his fingers through it, ruffling it like you’re a kid, tugging playfully at a strand, resting his chin on your head like you’re his personal pillow. “Soft,” he murmurs, as if it’s some great discovery.

• Calls you every nickname under the sun: “sparky,” “shortcake,” “firecracker.” The more you roll your eyes, the more determined he is to find new ones.

• “Y’know,” he says one night, voice softer than usual, “I like that I can see your face like this. No hiding. Just you.” And there’s something in his eyes, something warm and unguarded, that makes you realize he means it.

Trafalgar d water Law

• Law is quiet the first time he sees you. Not unimpressed, not indifferent—just observing, those sharp eyes of his taking in every detail. “Hnn,” he says at last, nodding slightly. “It suits you.”

• He’s not one for unnecessary compliments, but the fact that he acknowledges it at all means something.

• But later, when he thinks you’re not looking, you’ll catch his gaze lingering, something almost amused in his expression. He likes the way your hair frames your face, how it highlights the sharp intelligence in your eyes.

• You’ll catch him staring sometimes, though he’s always quick to look away. If you ever call him out on it, he’ll scoff. “You’re imagining things.” But the slight pink on his ears tells a different story.

• He appreciates the practicality of it. No strands falling into your face during fights, no unnecessary fuss. It’s efficient. And Law values efficiency.

• If you ever express doubt���if you ever wonder aloud whether you should grow it out—he’ll glance at you, expression unreadable, before saying simply, “Don’t change it.” And that’s all he’ll say.

• But later, when you’re resting beside him, when the world is quiet and his guard is down, you’ll feel his fingers ghosting over the back of your neck, tracing absent patterns along your hairline. He won’t say anything about it. He doesn’t have to.

• But if you ever run your hands through your hair in frustration, tiredness, or thought? He’ll watch, transfixed, before clearing his throat and looking away.

Red-haired Shanks

• The first time Shanks sees you, his eyes linger—not just on your hair but on the way it makes you stand out. There’s something wild about it, untamed like the sea, and it suits you.

• Shanks notices everything about you in that lazy, deceptively perceptive way of his. The cut of your hair, the way the sea breeze plays with it, how the sun catches in the strands. His gaze lingers—not just in admiration, but in curiosity, like you’re some beautiful puzzle he’s eager to figure out.

• He has a habit of reaching for you, fingers always finding their way to the nape of your neck, ruffling your hair like he’s testing how much he can get away with. When you glare at him, he just chuckles, utterly unrepentant. “What? It’s soft,” he says, as if that explains everything.

• He loves running his fingers through your short locks, ruffling them playfully before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Cute,” he hums, grinning when you swat his hand away.

• He teases you about it constantly. “Y’know, you remind me of a mischievous little fairy.” But there’s an unmistakable fondness in his voice.

• The crew loves you almost as much as he does. Lucky Roux teases that you must have been a rogue wind spirit in another life, while Yasopp claims your hair makes you look sharper, like a blade that’s just been honed.

• Shanks finds himself watching you when you’re not looking, the way your hair shifts with every tilt of your head, the way it moves when you laugh. He doesn’t just admire you—he memorizes you, drinks you in like the finest sake, and finds himself craving more.

• “You’re trouble, you know that?” he murmurs one evening, arms draped lazily around you, fingers playing with your hair as if he’s always meant to have you this close. “And I like trouble.”

• When you’re out at sea, he watches the wind tousle your hair and thinks you look like you belong nowhere else but here—with him, with the ocean.

[ponderingmoonlight]

jjk men cheering you up

Pairings: gojo x fem!reader; geto x fem!reader; choso x fem!reader; sukuna x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,3k

Warnings: this is my first fic in months so I hope you enjoy. Will post more from now on🫶

Gojo Satoru

Gojo knows something is off the moment he sees you. Your usual spark is dimmer, and even though you try to play it off, with that stern expression and eyes hidden behind sunglasses, he isn’t buying it.

So, naturally, he decides to fix it the best way he knows how - by being an absolute menace.

“Helloooo, earth to my favorite person!”

He dramatically waves a hand in front of your face, leaning in way too close for your liking. Honestly, this is the last thing you need today after getting shat on by literally everyone crossing your path. Why does everything have to go wrong. And more specifically, why are you always involved?

His sunglasses are perched on his head, letting those ridiculous blue eyes stare right through your soul.

You sigh.

“Gojo-”

“Bzzzt! Wrong answer. It’s Satoru, your beloved, devastatingly handsome best friend-slash-mentor-slash-personal-jester-slash-lover? I don’t know about that last part, we didn’t get specific on that.”

He pokes your cheek, grinning.

“Now tell me what’s wrong, or I’m gonna start listing my best qualities. Out loud. In public.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the small smile forming. How does he do this? It’s like all the frustration leaves you bit by bit the second this jerk starts talking. What were you even mad about in the first place? He gasps.

“Was that a smile?! Oh, I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

Before you can protest, he grabs your wrist and teleports you to a café downtown. The next thing you know, he’s ordering every single dessert on the menu, grinning like a proud child while you stare at him like an idiot.

“Nothing a little sugar can’t fix,” he comments, plopping down across from you.

“And if it doesn’t work, don’t worry - I’ll just have to be even more annoying until you laugh for real. Or we can take this to my bed-”

“Can you just stop?”, you interrupt him immediately, cheeks turning bright pink.

You shake your head, but as he starts dramatically fake-crying about his "invisible pain," you find yourself laughing anyway.

What a jerk. And yet, what a blessing.

Geto Suguru

Geto doesn’t say anything when he notices your exhaustion. Sure the elders took out their anger and frustration on you again and sent you through the country hunting day and night for curses. You don’t deserve to go through this. Not you, one of the kindest people he knows. He simply sits beside you, offering his presence instead of demanding explanations while all you’re able to do is staring in the distance.

All that horror, that restless night…When is this going to end? When will you have a life again?

After a while, he quietly lifts up his voice.

“Want to talk about it?”

You shake your head, and he doesn’t push. Suguru never does. Instead, he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear while gently allowing his arm to rest over your exhausted shoulders. It’s like he’s your savior, your ambrosia after every stressful mission.  

“Alright,” he says.

“Then how about a walk? Fresh air might help.”

You agree, and soon you’re strolling through a quiet park, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow. Geto is calm, steady - he doesn’t try to force conversation, just lets the silence sit comfortably between you both while his hand gently holds onto yours.

When you sigh, he finally speaks.

“You don’t have to carry everything alone, you know.”

His voice is soft, understanding, his touch so reassuring that you feel like bursting out in tears any moment.

“I’ll listen whenever you’re ready.”

The sincerity in his eyes almost undoes you, but you manage a nod. Geto doesn’t need you to thank him. He simply reaches out, squeezing your shoulder gently before letting go.

“Wait”, you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

“What is it, (y/n)?”

“Can you…can you maybe just…hold me?”, you mutter.

Suddenly you feel out of place. What are you even doing here next to that guy all your friends crush over? Did you really just ask him to hug you?

“I mean I-“

“I’d honestly love to”, he replies before you’re able to explain yourself.

The next second, you find yourself devoured between his arms, lost in his immaterial touch, his arms light as a feather and yet so demanding against your skin that you feel whole again.

For the first time in months, you find yourself relaxing. Not in a bath, not in a sauna, but in the arms of a man you learned to love more than any obstacle could ever hurt you.

Choso

Choso notices the way you drag your feet, the way your shoulders slump. His instincts scream at him to fix it, but he isn’t sure how. To be honest, he still isn’t good at reading human emotions. Yuji told him a few things here and there, but what if you feel uncomfortable by him talking to you? What if you get mad, scream at him? His chest tightens the way he hates it most.

But he has to do something. There’s no way he’ll allow you to potentially feel bad.

So he does the only thing he knows - he stays close.

You’re curled up on the couch when he silently walks over, placing a blanket over your shoulders. When you glance up at him, he merely nods, sitting down beside you. He doesn’t say anything, but his presence is solid, grounding.

To be honest, you’re on the brink of crying. It feels like the whole world is against you with everyone screaming, lying and ditching on you. When will this finally stop? Will you ever be happy again? This life just feels like a nightmare you can’t wake up from, I grave you cannot escape.

After a moment, he shifts.

“You should rest,” he murmurs.

“I’ll stay here.”

There’s something so simple, so unwavering about his words that the tightness in your chest loosens just a little. You lean against him without thinking, and when he doesn’t move away, you let yourself relax.

He smells surprisingly good for the old man he is, his body soft and yet hard against your touch. Without thinking twice, you lower you head to his chest and start screaming, crying, bawling your eyes out.

“You don’t have to hide from me”, he simply comments, his hand caressing your hair and making sure it doesn’t stick to your soaked face.

“I’ll always be here. And I’ll kill everyone who makes you feel this way.”

You can’t help but chuckle while wiping your nose in the most unladylike manner.

“You being here is more than enough.”

Sukuna

Sukuna scoffs when he sees you sulking, immediately springing up from his throne.

“Tch. What’s with that pathetic face?”

You glare at him. Honestly, he’s the last thing you need right now. Not when your life is falling apart already, not when you have 99 problems to deal with – him not included.

“Thanks, asshole. That really helps.”

He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms.

“What, you expect me to coddle you? Please.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. No, you can’t take this right now. This isn’t the time for Sukuna’s shit talk.

“Then leave me alone.”

But he doesn’t. Oh, he never does.

Instead, he clicks his tongue and suddenly pulls you into his lap, making you yelp. His clawed hand rests lazily against your head, almost like… like he’s patting you?

“You’re annoying when you mope,” he grumbles, but his fingers brush against your scalp in slow, careful strokes.

“So stop it already.”

You blink, stunned.

“Are you…are you comforting me?”

Sukuna clicks his tongue.

“Shut up before I change my mind.”

You can’t help it. You laugh despite feeling like shit, and his scowl deepens. But he doesn’t shove you away, doesn’t stop his absentminded gestures of comfort.

Maybe he won’t say it outright, but you get the message.

Even the King of Curses doesn’t like seeing you sad.

Tags:

@arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld

@hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen

@magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut 

@mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0

@ynackerman9499 @keepghostly  @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife 

@coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain 

@risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny

@ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr

@sugu-love @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world

@oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo @kentocalls @cheesemachine44

@ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299

@okay-it-is-ivy @paridoliaaa @cupcaketeddybehr

[rosenclaws]

Over and Over Again || DOFP!Logan x Reader

Summary: Logan wakes up in 2023 in a brand new timeline. In this world you're still alive and you're married, but he doesn't remember a thing.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending

wc: 3.5k

a/n: damn bro these song fics keep getting longer and longer lmao. Anyways here is my third instalment of a fic based on “Would You Fall In Love With Me Again” from Epic the Musical. I hope you like this one too! If you wanna read the other two you can find them here and here

Yesterday everything made sense. Yesterday you woke up next to your husband Logan, made coffee, graded a few essays, trained with Logan in the danger room, and then went to dinner. You kissed him good night and turned out the light to go to bed. Today? Your whole fucking life is being flipped upside down.

You knew something was wrong the moment you saw Logan standing barefoot in Charles' office. He had this look on his face. A mix between confusion and grief. A longing in his eyes that just didn't make sense when you had kissed him good morning only a few hours ago.

"You're alive?" Logan says breathlessly, his eyes widening as the words leave his mouth.

Realizing his mistake immediately. But he couldn't help himself. Not when the last memory he had of you was holding you as you died.

"Charles, what's going on?" You asked in a panicked voice. Logan, this Logan, your? Logan, reached out for you but you stepped back. You don't know why but you just did it. Though it's hard to see the hurt in Logan's eyes when you do.

"My dear," Charles says softly, his eyes darting from you to Logan.

"I think you should sit down for this."

You aren't the only one to be called into Charles office. Standing around you was Ororo, Jean, Scott, and Hank. Before you stood Logan with his arms crossed as Charles weaves a wild and frankly impossible story.

This Logan is not the man you knew.

He's from an alternate timeline where the X-Men were being hunted and eradicated, the world being over run by these things called the Sentinels. How everyone in this room was dead in Logan's world. The last chance they had was sending his consciousness back in time to stop the chain of events and according to Charles he had done it. He had saved the world and everyone in this damn mansion. But at the cost of his own memories, his own life in a way.

"Jean, please stay. I want you to help in attempting to get his memories back. The rest of you thank you and please do not tell anyone else about this." Everyone starts to move but you.

You stay seated in your seat, unsure of what to do. Do you go up to him? He's still your husband after all, but is he? You feel his eyes staring into your head as you finally make your move and get up. Walking right up to him.

"Hi, Logan." You say softly.

"Hi." You bite your lip nervously as you try and think of something to say. There's this awkward tension between the two of you. Something you haven't felt since you first met. Though you guess this is technically a first meeting. It's really confusing.

"Logan, shall we begin?" Charles cuts through your thoughts. You don't want to leave, in fact you have a million questions that will pour out once you figure out how to talk to him. But it's going to have to wait.

"I uh...I'll find you after." He mumbles, his hand moves to cup your face but he stops before he can actually touch you.

"Yeah, I'll see you after." You smile awkwardly and gently grab his hand, giving it a small squeeze before leaving. Logan wants so badly to hold on, to tighten his grip and never let you leave his side. But he can't. So he just lets you go.

You waited. Hours passed and you heard nothing from Logan or Jean or Charles. Every hour you'd pass by the office, hearing muffled voices coming from the other side of the door. It was tearing you apart just waiting for them to be done. But that's all you can do.

By the time the sun goes down you give up on waiting for Logan. Slinking to a small corner of the mansion. What if something horrible happened? What if they can't get his memories fixed and he'll never remember what your life was like together. How you met, how you fell in love, how he proposed, your first dance. Did he truly forget it all? You rest your head in your hands as you listen to the grandfather clock tick and tick.

Or...does he remember it all. Does he remember it and regret it? You're dead in his timeline. So what if you two were never meant to be together, what if he remembers both timelines and...he doesn't want you anymore.

You trudge back to your room, wanting to just sleep. Maybe when you wake up tomorrow this will all be some insane dream. Unfortunately you forgot that you share a room with Logan. As you open the door you see him sitting on the bed. A cigar in his hands as he stares out the window. Though he quickly turns around when he hears you.

"Hi, again." He says, snuffing out the cigar.

"Hi." Fuck can you say any other word but hi to his man?

"How did it go with the professor?" You ask, wringing your hands together behind your back. Logan shrugs and the look on his face doesn't give you much hope.

"Not great." You just nod, unsure of what to say next.

"I um, Chuck set up another room for me so...I'm gonna sleep there tonight." Logan winces as he sees your face fall. He doesn't want to be apart from you but it's what's best. He needs to sort out his...well everything. Besides, he's practically a stranger to you now.

"Oh." You squeak out.

"If that's what you want." It's not.

Still Logan just nods his head and stands up, grabbing a few things and silently slipping past you.

"Room 246. I'm in room 246." He tells you, staring at you one last time before leaving you alone in your bedroom.

You sleep like utter shit. You're so used to having Logan by your side that being alone just fucking sucks. You miss him so much. You contemplated going to his room but you didn't think he wanted you there. Logan has another session with Charles in the morning. You only see a glimpse of him before he disappears into the office. You wonder if he feels just as miserable as you do.

The next week is filled with the same tension and unbearable awkwardness. It's like he's a ghost. Only there when you turn around, out of the corner of your eye. You hated it. God it was awful, you longed to be next to him. For him to hold you again, kiss you. You don't even know why he's avoiding you. Logan had always been difficult when it comes to opening up but Logan, your Logan was getting better at it.

It's well into the night and you're still sitting in an empty classroom. You don't really sleep in your bed anymore. It reminds you too much of him. There's a couch near your desk anyways. With Logan in memory recovery you have been covering his classes. You sit in silence as you grade the latest test when you hear heavy boots approaching you.

"It's late," You look up to see Logan leaning against the doorframe.

"I know, but I need to get this done." You gesture to the stack of tests next to you.

"You need to sleep, I've noticed you haven't been doing that much." Your heart skips a beat, has he really been keeping tabs on you like that.

"I'll be okay Logan, really." You say gently. But your answer isn't good enough for him. You watch as he walks over to your desk and grabs half of the tests and a red pen.

"Logan It's fine really," You argue but he doesn't listen.

"What if-" You stop yourself before you finish the question.

"What if my history is different? Don't worry sweetheart I went back to the 70's not the civil war." The nickname rolls of his tongue with ease, he doesn't even realize he said it until he sees you get shy.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Logan apologizes, silently kicking himself. He never should have come here. He just. He just really misses you.

"Don't apologize, It's just been a while since you called me that." You try to hide the soft smile by propping a paper up to block your face. Time passes, the only sounds being the scribbling of pens.

"Damn, Was I that bad of a teacher?" He asks as he crosses out a whole paper in red pen. You giggle and Logan looks up, a smile on his face as he hears that sweet sound.

"You're not a bad teacher, you're the favorite actually. Though sometimes you play favorites with your students." You tease, remembering how easy Jubilee could get out of being late just by bringing Logan coffee in the morning.

"Favorite? I doubt that." He snorts, Logan isn't exactly the fresh faced happy go lucky teacher that you bring an apple to. In fact he never considered himself much of a teacher of anything.

"It's true, you're tough on them but they just love you." "That doesn't sound like me." Logan jokes, though he quickly regrets his word choice when he sees your eyes cloud with sadness.

"I..." He sighs, great he fucked this up already.

"It's okay, sorry I just, I'm still getting used to all this." You offer him a small smile but he can see right through it. You're still his wife after all and he knows you.

"How are you? This must be a lot for you." You ask, turning the conversation away from you.

You've been so focused in your own grief that you hadn't given what he must be feeling much thought. You start to feel guilty, I mean this can't be easy for him either. Logan sets the red pen down. Sighing as he runs his hands through his hair.

"I'll be alright sweetheart," He doesn't want you to worry about him.

"Please, talk to me." You reach your hand out.

Your left hand. The one with the wedding band still sitting on your finger. Logan's breath hitches as he recognizes that ring. It's a little worn from the years of wear but he knows it. He bought that ring for you a long time ago.

"I feel like a ghost. I remember my old timeline and Jean and Charles have been able to unlock bits and pieces of this one but it doesn't feel real." He admits.

"Do you regret it? Changing the timeline?" You ask and Logan shakes his head.

"No." Not at all. In fact even with all this confusion he would do it again in a heartbeat. Anything if it means you're alive. You start to ask another question but a yawn cuts through your words.

"Alright, it's bedtime now." Logan says with little room for argument. He gets up and heads to the door but you don't follow. He turns around to see you laying out a blanket on the couch.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" You jump at the harshness of his voice.

"I've been sleeping on the couch the last couple nights." You say casually.

Though to Logan it's like a knife to the heart. Not on his watch. You roll your eyes seeing the look on his face, that protective grumpy look.

"It's comfortable and my room is too far, I'm just going to take a short nap. You grumble. You always were stubborn and Logan knows there's no changing your mind.

"Fine." He shuts off the lights and walks over, sitting on the edge of the couch putting a pillow on his lap.

"Logan..."

"Come on, just a nap right?" You're too tired and if you're honest too selfish to pass this up.

To be this close to Logan again is a dream. You settle down with your head in his lap groaning as your head sinks to rest on his big thighs. Logan drapes a blanket over you, his hands coming to rub your back in a gentle soothing motion. It doesn't take long before you're out like a light. Drifting to sleep faster than you have all week.

When you wake up you're not in your classroom anymore. In fact you're in a bed with the covers tucked in and the sunlight streaming through the window.

"Just a nap right?" You mimic in a high pitched voice as you get out of bed. It becomes very clear the moment you spot the clothes in the corner of the room that this isn't your bedroom.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out who's it is. You take one of the pillows and hug it to your chest. The smell of Logan's cologne wraps around you. Fuck you missed waking up next to him. You gently set the pillow down and swipe one of the shirts sitting on the floor before darting back to your room.

"Good morning sweetheart, sleep well?" Logan asks as you walk into the kitchen.

"Yeah, I haven't slept that well in a couple days." You sigh as he hands you a cup of coffee.

You take a sip and to your surprise it's perfect, just how you like it. Before you can say another word Logan is already gone. The hope in your chest deflating just a little bit. But last night was the closest you've been since he came back. It's a step in the right direction.

It's another week of dancing around each other. You talk more, laugh more. He still sleeps in a separate room but you find yourself spending more time together. It's little things that you notice first. That he still hates pop music and he drinks black coffee. His favorite brand of beer is still Molson. In small ways it's like you have him back. But then you see that he picks the salt and vinegar chips over plain and it all comes crashing down again. How stupid is that? Heartbroken of his favorite chip flavor? But to you it's just a reminder that he is different. But does that even matter?

You find yourself drifting to sleep in your bed this time, holding onto Logan's shirt as a way to soothe you to sleep. But you're quickly pulled from dreamland by a loud knock on your door. It's frantic and quite startling. You throw the covers off and stumble to the door, throwing it open to see who's bothering you so late.

"Logan?" You ask half asleep, rubbing your eyes as you see him standing in front of you. You notice the fearful look in his eyes and it seems to snap you awake. You step aside and let him in.

"I didn't mean to wake you. I just needed to see you." He's tense and his eyes keep darting around the room, like he's waiting for an attack. Seeing you is slowly helping his brain but every time he closes his eyes his nightmare replays in his head. He looks down at his hand and swears he sees blood.

"Logan, come here." You take his hands, covering his palms with yours and guiding him to the bed.

"I don't want to bother you sweetheart," He mumbles, his resolve breaking pretty quickly as he lays his head next to yours.

"Tell me about it, your nightmare." He furrows his brows in confusion, how did you know?

"I know that look." You cup his face and smile. It feels so right to be next to him right now. Logan sighs, his hand covering yours as he just soaks in being next to you. That nightmare felt so real, probably because it was.

"It was the day I lost you. In my timeline."

"The sentinels?" You ask but he shakes his head.

"No you...you died before they were even created. Probably for the best. It was a mission. A simple one that went to shit so quickly." It was all Logan's fault. He woke up every day knowing that if he had been faster, been better. You would still be alive.

"They took advantage of my super senses, they overwhelmed me with noise and smells. I tried to fight through it I really did, but I was too weak." Logan feels you wipe his cheek, a tear he didn't even realize was falling.

"By the time it was over, you were fatally wounded. I held you in my arms. I begged you not to go. Not to leave me but it was too late." Your eyes cloud with tears as Logan tells his story.

The absolute grief in his voice, god how horrible. You don't know what you'd do if Logan died, how you'd even continue on. Yet this man kept fighting, kept saving peoples lives. Even when he wanted to give up and walk away.

That's the Logan you know. He'll always be the hero he never thinks he is. So what if there's a few differences. At his core Logan will always be the man you fell in love with.

"I'm so sorry," You whisper, you crawl onto his chest and hug him tightly.

Your face buried in his neck. He holds you tight. Breathing in the smell of your shampoo. He holds you for a long time before loosening his grip on you. The urge to stay like this forever is strong but there's a nagging in the back of his head. He's over stayed his welcome.

"I should get back to my room." He gently lays you back on the bed and moves to get up.

"What?" You ask in disbelief, scrambling to grab onto his arm.

"Please don't go Logan. Please the last two weeks have been horrible without you. I miss you, I miss my husband." You beg, tears falling down your cheeks.

"Sweetheart I'm not the man you married." He wipes away your tears.

"I miss you too. So fucking much. But it's best I keep my distance."

"Logan please! What do you mean you're not the man I married?!" You grab his shirt and pull him close to you. Logan grabs your wrists firmly but gently.

“You were my guiding light, the only thing that kept me going in the right direction. When I lost you, It felt like I lost myself." He tries to pry your hands off of him but you stand firm.

"I stayed with the team, I fought and killed and maybe they called me a hero. But it was never the same. I lost my way."

"But you saved the world, you're still my hero." Logan just chuckles sadly.

"I didn't give a fuck about the world." He confesses. He did care. Sort of. He knew that he was the X-Men's only hope when he got sent back. But his real motivation, his true motivation was you.

"Sweetheart, I may have saved the world but I did it for you. It’s always you.” He did it for the chance that he could save you, that somehow going back to 1973 would undo everything, that you'd be alive. He would sacrifice everything if it meant you got to live another day.

So when he woke up and saw that it had worked, he had never felt such relief. But the way you looked at him, you were scared. So uncertain. He couldn't just pick you up in his arms and kiss you like he had dreamed of. You were married in this world but he understood that he had essentially replaced the Logan that you knew.

So he kept his distance. The more he learned from Charles the more the other Logan sounded better. This Logan never had to stab Jean or watch his friends die one by one. How could he ever compare? He'd rather you be alive, even if it breaks his heart.

"I love you Logan, I love you so much." The words flood out of your mouth, unstoppable as you finally get the chance to see the truth about Logan.

"You're mine. Always. We belong together. Our love transcends timelines, universes, and all that bullshit."

"Don't you love me?"

"Of course I fucking love you don't you ever doubt that." He snaps.

He pushes you away because he loves you, he doesn't think he's worthy because he loves you so fucking much. He'd kiss the ground you fucking walk on if you asked.

"Then listen to me Logan." You grab his face and smash your lips on his, kissing him desperately.

Logan groans as he wraps his arms around your waist. You fall onto the bed, Logan propping himself up with his elbows. You tug on his hair, messing it up as you comb your fingers through it. You pull apart breathlessly, almost brought to tears from just getting to kiss your husband again.

"You're it for me Logan, forever." You mumble as he rests his forehead against yours.

"I love you too sweetheart, I missed you so much." He cradles your face in his hand, legs interlocked as the sheets become a tangled mess.

"How long has it been since you saw me?" You ask, Logans eyes filling with tears as he listens to your heart beat against his chest.

"Over 50 years." As the moon shines through the window the only thing on both of your minds is how lucky you truly are to have found a love like this.

To be destined to be together in every timeline, every world. It's you and Logan.

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 17 - just like the rest

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

"you aren't going to be able to ignore him forever y/n" sarah said to you softly.

"i can't face it. him"

sarah sighed, sitting down beside you on the bed. “i get it. i do. but you can’t hide from this forever.”

you swallowed hard, “i can’t face him, sarah.” your voice was barely above a whisper, "my last boyfriend cheated on me. that's why i came here. he hurt me so badly. he made me feel like it was my fault. that i wasn't good enough so he had to cheat on me. that's why this is so hard. i can't let this happen to me again."

sarah’s face fell, her heart breaking a little at your confession. she had known you were hurt before rafe, that you had things you didn’t like to talk about. but she hadn’t known this.

she reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly. “y/n… i’m so sorry.”

you blinked back tears, your chest tightening. “i thought rafe was different.” your voice cracked, “i let myself believe he wouldn’t hurt me. i didn't allow myself to be with anyone again after my ex. rafe is the first person since."

kie, who had been standing quietly by the door, finally spoke, her voice laced with anger. “this isn’t your fault, y/n. it wasn’t your fault then, and it’s not your fault now.”

“then why does it keep happening to me?” you looked between them, desperate for an answer, for something that would make this all hurt less. “what is so wrong with me that the people i love always leave?”

sarah and kie shared a look of sadness as kie sat down on the other side of you. "nothing is wrong with you y/n." kie started, wiping your tears. "it's them."

“i just don’t know how to move on from this.”

sarah pulled you into a hug, holding you like she could physically keep you together. “one step at a time, okay? and no matter what, we’re not letting you go through this alone."

"thank you guys."

"we love you." kie spoke, "and when you are ready to talk to rafe, we'll be here."

you didn't know what to believe. what to do. your mind was in shambles trying too figure out if you could trust rafe or not. part of you really believed he would never do this to you. he loved you. but the photo? and cara's messages?

rafe kept trying to call you, message you, anything to just reach out and get you to talk to him. you knew the only way to find an answer was to see him, but you couldn't even try facing him right now.

the photo was burned in your brain, seeing it every time you closed your eyes.

you weren’t sure what was more painful, rafe betraying you, or the fact that you still wanted to hear his voice, touch him, feel him near you.

but no matter how much you wanted him to be the exception, be the person that wouldn't hurt you,

he had already proven he was just like the rest.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: of course i had to make jj sassy🙄🙄

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm@pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes@judesgfirl@4urvalidation @chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover@yesshewrites1 @amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld@blushmimi  @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley@sabrina-carpenter-stan-account@vcnillafairy@bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @kittenjujusblog @bambii1i @thesunflowersociety @wtfdudesblog @voidangxls @jjmaybankmylovee @munsoncultedits @emmiesummers

[skyguytoast]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐚𝐲𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧’𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞...

warning: some of the headcanons are +18 and explicit

a/n: hii, i really should finish my college essay, but this idea popped into my head and i couldn't help but write... it got a little poetic in some parts, but i hope you enjoy it ;)

• At first, Hayden fought his feelings for you tooth and nail. He was a man of strong morals, someone who always prided himself on doing the right thing. Falling for someone significantly younger than him? That wasn't part of the plan. But then you appeared—carefree, confident, and completely unlike anyone he’d ever met before. You turned his world upside down, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stay away.

• There was no way Hayden was going to make the first move. He convinced himself over and over that what he felt was nothing more than admiration, curiosity at best. But you? You saw right through him. When you asked him out, he tried to laugh it off, say something about just being friends, but he couldn’t resist you. The first few times, it really was just friendly meetups—until one day, it wasn’t.

• When Hayden finally asked you to be his girlfriend, he did it in the most ridiculously romantic way. He had spent weeks planting your favorite flowers in a small garden, waking up early to tend to them himself, getting dirt under his nails, just to make sure they bloomed perfectly. When the moment came, he took your hand and walked you through the rows of blossoms, his voice quiet but sure as he finally admitted, "I don’t want to pretend anymore. I love you."

• He was always building things for you. A bookshelf when he noticed your books piling up, a handmade chair just because he wanted you to have something crafted with his hands. He’d spent hours sanding and staining the wood, never once complaining because he knew how much it would mean to you. Seeing your face light up when you saw what he made? That was his favorite part.

• Late at night, when the world quieted down, Hayden loved nothing more than wrapping his arms around you from behind. Standing out on the balcony, watching the stars, he’d rest his chin on your head and murmur, "You know you’ve completely ruined me, right?" And yet, he wouldn’t change a thing.

• Forget fancy Hollywood outings—Hayden preferred the simple moments. Trips to the farmers’ market where he’d pick out fresh fruit for you, afternoons spent browsing old bookstores, lazy beach days where he’d carry you over the hot sand so you wouldn’t burn your feet. Life was slower, sweeter, and infinitely better with you by his side.

• Bringing you into his world meant bringing you into his daughter’s world too. Blair adored you from the start, and before long, the three of you became inseparable. Family outings to the park, movie nights with popcorn fights, and trips to Disney where Blair would completely ignore Darth Vader because meeting Princess Aurora was way more important.

• At your insistence, Hayden finally made an Instagram. It was supposed to be just for checking out Star Wars fan pages and keeping up with you, but somehow, it turned into something else. His entire feed was filled with you—candid shots he took when you weren’t looking, blurry pictures of your smile, videos of you laughing until you cried. It was less of an Instagram account and more of a personal love letter.

• Hayden was endlessly patient when it came to the public scrutiny. He knew people had opinions—about the age gap, about him dating someone so much younger—but he didn’t care. Every time a snide comment surfaced online, he’d just look at you, smile, and say, "Let them talk. I know what we have."

• And when the world got too loud, he always had a way of making you feel safe. Whether it was holding your hand under the table during interviews, pulling you into a slow dance in the kitchen just to see you smile, or whispering against your skin at night, "I love you, and I’m not going anywhere." Because at the end of the day, you were his peace, and he was yours.

+𝟏𝟖 (𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒)

• Hayden transformed each intimate encounter into a loving tribute, a sacred ritual dedicated solely to you. It was never merely about physical pleasure, but an act of deep devotion and adoration. As he explored your body with tender, reverent hands, he marveled at your beauty, murmuring awestruck words of love and gratitude. Each discovery, from the curve of your hip to the way your skin flushed beneath his touch, filled him with wonder and humility. Hayden knew he was the luckiest man alive to call you his.

• You had the power to make Hayden feel invincible, like a king surveying his kingdom as you took him into the warm, silken depths of your mouth. Your lips and tongue worshipped him with an enthusiasm and affection that set his very soul ablaze. You made his cock jump and throb with renewed vigor, painting him harder than anything. Hayden was no longer a resilient youth, but his desire for you was timeless and unyielding, a force of nature. With every swirl of your tongue and bob of your head, you made him feel like the only man in existence, the center of your universe.

• As your shared climax approached, Hayden's forehead pressed against yours, your breaths mingling, your hearts pounding as one. In the charged silence between gasps and sighs, a thousand unspoken words passed between you - a telepathic dance of love, lust, and ecstasy. Pleasure built upon pleasure, cresting in a tidal wave that crashed over you, binding you in its foaming embrace. In those blissful, electrifying moments, you were not two separate beings, but a single, wonderful sensation.

• Hayden's head lolled back, eyes squeezing shut as your lips enveloped his sensitive flesh, your warm mouth a heavenly cocoon. The feeling of your tongue, your breath, your worshipful suckling - it set his blood alight, making his heart carwheel wildly in his chest. A symphony of masculine cries, low and guttural, filled the air as Hayden surrendered himself to your oral attentions. His fingers tangled almost desperately in your hair, anchoring himself to this earth as you pushed him towards the heavens. Moans and whimpers tumbled from his lips, a fervent, instinctive plea for you to keep going, to never stop, his body trembling with the intensity of his pleasure. The sound of your name fell from his lips like a prayer, a benediction, a desperate entreaty. In that moment, you were his religion, his reason for worship, his everything.

• Though the years had begun to etch their subtle lines upon Hayden's handsome face and his body no longer sprang back to rigid attention as readily as in his youth, his desire for you remained undiminished, a relentless force that laid siege to your senses. He may not match your youthful vigor in speed, but he more than made up for it in skill and ardent devotion. Hayden's tongue, a masterful instrument honed by years, could bring you to the brink of rapture with a single, languid caress. He took his time, savoring every flush, every fold, his lips painting a roadmap of pleasure upon your silken flesh. He feasted on your pussy as if it were the nectar of the gods, his blue eyes flickering up to drink in the sight of your abandon, your back arched, your fingers fisted in his blonde hair. He reveled in the taste, the scent, the very essence of your arousal, losing himself in the act of loving you, of worshipping you with every skillful sweep of his tongue. Slow and steady, he stoked the flames of your desire, his own lust burning hotter with each throaty moan he drew from your lips. Age had not cooled Hayden's passion, but only refined his technique, honing him into a connoisseur of your every fleeting taste and texture. He was a maestro at the podium, orchestrating your pleasure with the singular obsession of a man who knew he was playing for an audience of one - you. And as he pleasured you, he made it his personal mission to grow hard again, to rise to the occasion until he filled you once more, his body a testament to his bottomless, enduring love.

[wonkizz]

shift- yjw

jungwon x fem reader genre: smut MDNI! wc: 4.1k warn: virgin! reader, pwop (or p w/very little plot) unprotected sex, blowjob, pussy eating, fingering, cumming inside, dirty talk (badly done), mention of other idols/members, if there are more lmk

note: i’m still not good at smut writing so excuse this 😗🥲

You didn’t want to go on this trip, but being a part of the school's hockey team forced you to.

You were the team's photographer, meaning you were at every game, no matter what.

This game happened to be away, in a completely different state!

It wasn’t exactly the job that was the problem; it was the team. You didn’t like them. You found them arrogant, superficial, and just…not nice. Yes, they were good. You weren’t denying that, but would it kill them to be a little more humble?

The worst was the captain, Yang Jungwon.

He made your blood boil constantly.

It started with comments about your major and how it “wouldn’t get you anywhere in life.”

You brushed them off at first, but they became almost constant.

You started to fight back, calling him an egotistical bonehead who relies on his physicality.

He just smirked in your face and skated off.

The truth is, you don’t know much about him or any of them. But they don’t know anything about you either, and you’d like to keep it that way.

It’s 5:35 am, and the bus your college provides leaves at 6. You, being prepared, are already there.

You have your duffle bag packed with enough clothes for the 3 days you’ll be gone, along with your hair and skincare.

You’re accompanied by Mr. Sin, the coach, who’s always been very kind to you.

It’s 6:45 when the boys finally arrive, all piled in Jay’s car.

How they managed that, along with their bags, you don’t know.

You’ve connected your headphones and put music on, hoping no one will bother you, but you never get what you ask for.

An arm slings around you as your headphones are pulled off your ears.

“Hello, pretty girl. I missed you, haven’t seen you all week,” Jungwon says, moving his arm from around your shoulders to your waist.

You meet his eyes, giving him the most disapproving look that you can muster.

“Best week I’ve had in awhile,” you respond, taking his hand from your waist and dropping it.

Jungwon hisses, holding his hand to his chest like you’ve wounded him, “That hurts baby, it really does. I was hoping we’d take this trip as a chance to finally settle our differences.”

“As long as you act the way you do, Jungwon, our differences will never be settled.”

You get on the bus, finding a seat in the front, knowing they’ll all sit in the back.

They do, and you sigh in relief, putting your headphones back on, playing your music loud enough to drown them out.

The drive is 6 hours according to coach Sin, so you prepare yourself to get some more sleep.

As music fills your ears and the bus begins to move 15 minutes later, your eyes close.

When you wake up, the sky is blue instead of black and your head is resting on something hard.

Your eyes travel beside you to see Jungwon sitting next to you.

Shooting up in embarrassment, you ask him, “What are you doing?”

“What? Is it a crime to sit next to you now?” He retaliates, holding up his arms in a surrendering gesture.

You don’t respond, trying to scoot away from him although there’s no room in the seat.

“You looked cute, resting on my shoulder,” he says, and you scowl at the mention of your vulnerability.

Jungwon doesn’t move for the rest of the drive, and you don’t bother telling him off, knowing it won’t deter him.

He scrolls through his phone while you do the same.

The school you’re facing made arrangements for you to stay in a hotel only 5 minutes away, so when you arrive in the state, you head straight there.

Coach Sin gathers you all in the lobby after talking to the receptionist at the front desk.

“Here’s how things are gonna go. Jungwon will be with Sunghoon, Jay will be with me, Heeseung will be with Jake, Sunoo will be with Riki and of course Ms. Y/N will have a room for herself.”

The boys break out into complaints, arguing that they all deserve a solo room instead.

You can’t help but smirk watching them argue, knowing it’s pointless.

Coach Sin raises his hand, silencing them immediately, “Get up to your rooms, now!”

They oblige, trudging and mumbling like kids while you follow behind.

You’re all on the same floor, rooms next to one another.

The boys quickly decide they’re going to watch movies in Heeseung and Jake’s room, piling in there after throwing their bags in their respective rooms.

You feel somewhat jealous. You don’t have any friends on this trip to keep you company.

Your best friend, Chaewon, is back on campus and when you’re not with the team working, you’re with her, usually complaining about the team.

She always tells you they’re not worth your time or complaints, and maybe she’s right.

You sit on the large bed in the middle of the room, zoning out as birds chirp outside the large floor to ceiling window.

Your phone buzzes, snapping you out of a trance and you see it’s Chaewon.

Chae 🐯: Did you arrive? How’s the room?!

You: It’s nice and big!! I wish you were here though, I’m lonely 😞

Chae 🐯: You’ll be back soon, don't worry! Has Jungwon bothered you too much?

You: Not much, but when I fell asleep on the bus, I woke up to him next to me with my head on his shoulder 🤮

Chae 🐯: Maybe you two need to fuck your differences out 😊

You: As if I’d give it up to him!

Chae 🐯: Just a suggestion! Don't shoot me!

You and Chaewon continue to text back and forth until there’s a knock on your door.

Coach Sin stands there, “We’re heading to lunch, are you hungry?”

You nod, “Starving, actually. Do you mind if I sit next to you?”

He gives you a soft smile, “I know you don’t get along with the boys, I don’t blame you. They can be a handful, but they’re really not bad once you get to know them. I wish you kids could spend some time together to really get to know one another, but yes you can sit next to me.”

You grab your purse, with phone and keycard in hand and walk beside coach Sin.

The boys are already waiting by the elevator.

You think about his words, how maybe he’s not wrong.

You’ve never taken the time to get to know the boys, and although they’ve never gotten to know you either, maybe things would change if you just gave it a chance.

But where do you start? How do you make conversation?

The dining hall isn’t completely full, but lunch is still in full swing.

What you didn’t know is the tables are circular, not rectangular, so you’re going to be in between two people regardless.

Those two people are coach Sin and Jungwon.

You want to curse, but then you think again. This could be a fresh start for you and the hockey team.

You have to start somewhere.

A waitress comes to take your order for appetizers and drinks and you order a caesar salad along with dr.pepper.

As you scan the menu, everything sounds delicious. They have a variety of options, you’re not sure what to choose.

Everyone else is making small talk, you decide to break the ice too.

“What are you ordering,” you ask Jungwon.

He looks at you bewildered, “Are you talking to me?”

“Yeah? I asked what you’re ordering?” You respond.

His eyebrow quirks, like he still can’t believe you’re initiating a conversation with him. It’s almost annoying.

“Probably just gonna order the ribeye with the side of vegetables and mashed potatoes,” he shrugs.

Typical, you think to yourself, then again it’s just food.

“Why? What are you gonna order?” He asks.

“I don’t know, everything sounds good. I’m conflicted…choose for me!”

Both his eyebrows are raised now, his eyes slightly wide. “You want me to choose for you?”

You nod, “Yeah, I’m interested in what you’ll pick.”

“Okay,” Jungwon shrugs, before looking back at the menu.

His eyes scan it again for a minute before he chooses, pointing at it. “The shrimp scampi.”

“Sounds good,” you say.

When the waitress comes back, you all order your food and it comes within 15 minutes.

The scampi does look delicious and although you don’t eat pasta that often, you’re not mad at Jungwon’s choice.

Everyone digs in and you take your time to eat, savoring every bite.

The shrimp and pasta are cooked perfectly, the sauce is creamy and you’re satisfied by the time you’re finished.

You were one of the last to finish, and as you wipe your mouth, Jungwon asks you, “Was it good?”

“It was! Thank you for choosing it for me,” you say excitedly, giving him a genuine smile.

He just nods awkwardly, not meeting your eyes.

The boys have practice, so there’s nothing more for you to do other than head back to your room.

You spend the next few hours texting Chaewon and watching Netflix movies.

You have dinner at 7:00 and your entire night routine is finished by 9:00.

You’re laying in the comfy bed, the covers over your frame when there’s a knock on your door.

You groan, not wanting to get up but it’s persistent.

Jungwon stands there, his hair damp, evident he’s just gotten out of the shower himself.

“Hi,” you say, not expecting him to be the one at your door.

“Hey, I wanted to come by and talk, I guess?” He sounds unsure of himself, almost as if he doesn’t know why he’s here either.

“You guess?”

“I’m just confused,” he admits, “I wasn’t expecting you to talk to me at lunch and now it feels like something’s shifted.”

You open the door wider, moving aside to allow him in.

“Look, Coach said something to me earlier that made me think a lot about our quote, unquote, relationship and I think we started off on the wrong foot.”

Jungwon makes himself comfortable on the edge of the bed. “You’re right. I didn’t make a great first impression and I’m sorry for that. Insulting you definitely shouldn’t have been my first choice of words.”

You take a chance and sit next to him, and he doesn’t move away.

“I accept your apology. I apologize for insulting you too.”

Jungwon smiles, waving his hand, “I deserved it. Besides, it’s almost kinda fun when it’s a pretty girl insulting me.”

“Here you go with the compliments, why do you do that?” You can’t help but smile, thinking this is all a part of a game.

Jungwon leans back on his hands, his blonde hair falling in his face, “Because, I’m flirting with you.”

You freeze in your spot, Jungwon noticing immediately because he laughs, “Don’t tell me you haven’t realized?”

“I thought we were just messing around? I thought you were just messing around!”

Jungwon sighs, “I don’t mess around when it comes to someone I like.”

You can feel your heart starting to beat faster as the realization hits, he’s being dead serious.

“How can you like me? We don’t even know each other that well?”

“Maybe not,” Jungwon says, “but I want nothing more than to get to know you. For real this time.”

Jungwon is closer now, the space between you two almost non-existent.

You don’t say anything as his hand finds your jaw, cupping it lightly, nor as he leans in.

As his lips meet yours, you’re not sure what to do.

He must feel your stiffness, so as he pulls away you look down at your fingers, “I’m sorry. I’ve never really done anything like this.”

“You’ve never kissed anyone?”

“I did! When I was like 12.”

Jungwon chuckles, moving a piece of your hair out of your face.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got you.”

He gently lifts your face back up with his fingers, making you look into his soft eyes.

“Just go with the flow, yeah?”

You nod, and he kisses you again.

You’ve done your own amount of research about these topics, so you know the basics.

You keep your head turned, Jungwon’s bottom lip sandwiched between yours.

You start with small pecks, separating and then going back in.

Eventually, you become more comfortable, one of your hands coming to rest on Jungwong’s chest.

The kisses start to pick up, your lips moving more quickly as Jungwon introduces his tongue.

It’s hot and heavy soon enough and Jungwon is pulling you on his lap to rest right on his crotch.

As you pull away, Jungwon looks into your eyes, looking for any signs of regret or resistance.

“Do you want this?” He asks.

You nod, “I want this. I want you, Jungwon.”

Jungwon’s hands that were resting on the bed immediately find their way to your cheeks, before traveling down your body. He makes note of every curve, before finally resting them on your hips.

He tugs on the hem of your sleep shirt, “Can I take this off?”

You nod, raising your arms for him as he takes it off slowly, almost delicately.

Your breasts are on display, and he immediately takes them into his large hands, cupping them and gently playing them.

His thumbs rub over your nipples that immediately harden at the touch.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, leaning down to take your left nipple into his mouth. You instinctively grip his hair in your hand, jerking at the pleasure.

He sucks and nips at your nipple while pinching and playing with the other, before giving the same attention to the right.

He ends up leaving love bites all over your breasts and neck, red and purple bruises that you know will last for a couple of days.

As he pulls away to kiss your lips once more, you say to him, “I wanna try something.”

You slide off his lap, onto the floor, the carpet rubbing against your knees brutally.

Your hands begin to rub soft circles on Jungwon’s covered thighs, indicating you want him to take his sweats off.

Jungwon quickly unties them, standing up to pull them down along with his boxers.

His dick is already rock hard, slapping against his stomach for a moment before stilling.

You’ve never seen a dick in person, but you think he’s perfect.

Just the right amount of length and thickness.

Maybe you are somewhat of a freak, if the amount of saliva pooling in your mouth has anything to say about it.

“I’ve never done this before, so I might need some guidance,” you say.

He smiles, “That’s okay pretty, no judgement here. Just start by spitting on it and pumping it with your hand.”

You gently take his dick in your hand, something you’ve never felt before, and deposit a large glob of spit onto the head.

Using your hand to spread it, you begin to pump his dick, Jungwon sighing in pleasure.

You didn’t lie, you’ve never done this before. But, you have done a lot of research.

You are somewhat of a freak, maybe even a major freak as Chaewon likes to call you.

A deep dive into your brain would show a lot of thoughts, many of them being straight up nasty.

Perhaps, you’re a freak show.

You take what you’ve learned online and put it into action.

Without warning, you use your tongue to lick from the base to tip of Jungwon’s dick, making him jerk in surprise.

“Fuck,” he curses, hand coming to grip your hair as you take the tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it.

You begin to slowly take him into your mouth, breathing through your nose simultaneously.

“I thought you said you’ve never done this before? Jungwon questions you, though his tone is teasing with no real malice.

You pull off gently, “I haven’t, but I’ve done a lot of research.”

“Ah, I see. So you’re really a freak, just in secret?”

You smirk, “Maybe so.”

Lowering your mouth back onto his dick, you begin to bob your head, taking him deeper into your mouth as you go.

Your hand follows your mouth as you go, twisting along while Jungwon moans from above you.

“Fuck, just like that. God knows what kind of things you’ve looked up. You’re a natural, pretty.” His praise makes you go faster, wanting nothing more than to make him cum.

You pull off, “I want you to fuck my mouth, Jungwon.”

He looks down at you, “Are you sure? I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You reassure him, “I want it, please,” adding an extra bit of whine in your voice seems to do the trick.

Jungwon grips the back of your head, “Open,” he commands, smiling and shaking his head as you obey immediately.

He slides his dick inside, not stopping until your nose is reaching his pelvis, watching as you gag slightly.

He quickly creates a rhythm, fucking your mouth steadily while you do your best to breathe through your nose, your hands situated on his thighs.

The amount of spit on his dick and spilling out of your mouth would normally be disgusting, but in a situation like this, you can’t help but find it enticing.

“Look at me,” he commands you again.

Your pretty eyes find his own and you find your shorts becoming soaked in your arousal.

“Who would have thought my pretty girl liked to be used? For her first time too?”

You moan around his dick as he picks up the speed of his thrusts, hitting the back of your throat every time and making you gag.

“You look so sexy like this,” Jungwon says.

He pulls out of your mouth, pumping himself quickly, “I’m gonna cum, open your mouth.”

You do as he says, sticking your tongue out as he slaps the tip on it, and seconds later he’s cumming, decorating your tongue with the white, hot liquid.

You swallow it eagerly, not minding the taste.

Jungwon strokes your hair, smiling down at you, “Good girl.”

He helps you stand, before quickly turning you around and pushing you back onto the bed.

Crawling on top of you, his hands descend your body starting from your neck to your hips, stopping at your shorts.

He carefully pulls them off, watching almost in awe as they stick to your pussy.

Bending your legs at the knee, he pushes your legs up until the top of your thighs have met your chest.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he says, running his index finger along your slit, making you jerk.

You can’t help but whine, “It’s all for you, Wonnie.”

“I need to taste you.”

He throws your shorts off somewhere in the room before leaning down and licking a long stripe up your pussy.

You moan loudly, cursing, “Fuck!” Your hands grab onto his hair, pulling tightly.

“Tastes so good,” he says, diving back in.

He licks all over your folds, collecting your arousal on his tongue before swallowing.

Jungwon takes your clit between his lips and sucks, circling his tongue around it, groaning as your grip on his hair tightens.

He fucks you on his tongue, taking in all the arousal that pours out of you like a fountain.

This has to be one of the greatest things you’ve ever felt.

Pleasuring yourself has never felt as good as this.

Jungwon licks and sucks every inch of your pussy, and you feel your orgasm approaching.

“Jungwon, I’m gonna cum!”

Suddenly, he pulls away, and you feel your orgasm start to slip away.

You whine, bucking your hips in frustration as Jungwon chuckles.

“Patience, pretty, you’ll get what you want.”

Jungwon lowers his face towards your pussy once more, but he shocks you as he spits directly onto your hole, causing you to squeal.

He takes his middle finger and spreads the spit all over it before slowly pushing it inside you.

You’ve never had anything inside before, not even your own fingers, so the stretch is slightly uncomfortable but not painful.

“Breathe, baby,” Jungwon encourages you, his other hand holding the back of your thighs in place.

He slowly starts to thrust his finger in and out, building up a solid pace.

Soon, you’re used to it and the pleasure starts to build up again.

He pauses, adding his ring finger, the stretch greater this time.

You take a minute to breathe again as he slows down once more to build you up again.

Once you’re used to both fingers, Jungwon doesn’t relent.

His fingers fuck your pussy, getting more and more rapid in pace as he goes.

He changes the position of his fingers and he knows he’s found that spot when you jerk in place.

“Oh my god, Jungwon!” You moan so loudly, he’s almost worried the others might hear.

“Feels good, huh baby?” He grins mischievously as you nod repeatedly.

He continues to hit that spot over and over while your hips roll into the bed.

The pleasure is almost overwhelming, you don’t know if you want to run away from it or get closer.

“Want you to cum around my fingers, okay?” Jungwon urges you as your legs begin to shake from the pleasure.

Your moans fill the room along with the squelching of your wet pussy.

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” you nearly scream as your release comes gushing out of you.

You quickly grab the pillow that’s behind you, shoving your face into it as you scream curses.

Jungwon continues to finger you through it, amazed at how much you’re squirting.

Your hole has released even more arousal, coating his fingers.

He finally pulls away, shoving his fingers into his mouth to clean them, eyes rolling back at how much he loves your taste.

Your breathing is heavy, and just as you think it’s over, Jungwon pushes your legs forward once more.

You remove the pillow, now wet with your tears, “Jungwon?”

“Can you give me one more, baby? I wanna fuck you so badly.”

You gulp, eyes finding his dick. Will that even fit?

Eventually you nod, your hands finding his own.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

Your voice is weak, fragile almost, “Please fuck me, Jungwon. I wanna feel it.”

His head rolls back as he takes a deep breath before lining himself up.

He pushes in slowly, groaning at the heat and tightness around his dick.

It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a weird feeling.

Once he bottoms out, he gives you time to adjust, rubbing his hands up and down the back of your thighs, comforting you.

“You can move,” you say after a few minutes.

“Are you sure?” He asks, taking your hand in his, holding it tightly.

You nod, smiling shyly.

He pulls out until just the tip remains before pushing back in, building up a rhythm that has you shaking within seconds.

His thrusts get deeper and faster as he holds you down, making you take every inch.

“Fuck, Jungwon! It’s so big!” You cry out as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles on it as his dick hits that spot.

Jungwon speaks, his tone possessive, “Love this fucking pussy, she’s mine isn’t she? She belongs to me?”

You nod rapidly, “All yours!”

He smirks, “Then this dick is yours. Fuck, it was yours the moment I saw you, baby. Pussy’s so good for me, I’m gonna cum again.”

Jungwon picks up the pace, pounding your pussy as tears fall from your eyes, the pleasure overwhelming at this point.

“Want you to cum inside,” you say, hand cupping Jungwon’s face, who’s eyes close momentarily at your words.

“I will baby, gonna stuff you full, I promise,” he responds.

As your second orgasm comes crashing down, you feel Jungwon cum as well, doing just as he said he would, filling you up deliciously.

As he begins to slow down, rolling his hips through both of your highs, eventually coming to a stop, Jungwon all but collapses on top of you.

Giggling, you wrap your arms around him while he nuzzles into your neck.

“That was amazing,” you say, kissing his cheek.

“Thank you, for trusting me,” he responds, words slightly muffled by your skin.

“What does this mean for our relationship?” You can’t help but ask, not knowing what to do from here.

“Hopefully it means things have completely changed and you’ll let me take you on a proper date when we get back home?” Jungwon asks, propping himself up on his hands to look down at you.

“I’d like that.”

WONKIZZ 2025

[bebexdxll]

 ┊͙ ೄྀ࿐𝑴𝒀 𝑫𝑰𝑹𝑻𝒀 𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑳𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑻 ˊˎ-

Warnings/tags : NSFW, female reader, OnlyFans model reader, secret relationship, unprotected sex, size difference, fingering, messy & rough sex, creampie, overstimulation, praise kink, possessiveness, mild degradation, mild coercion (light “you wouldn’t say no to me, would ya?”), dirty talk, secret-keeping, implied multiple rounds, Atsumu being the absolute worst in the best way

The camera loved you. Or maybe it was the way you carried yourself—effortlessly confident, teasing, always giving just enough but never too much. You knew exactly how to keep your audience hooked, how to make them come back for more.

And they did.

Your OnlyFans had taken off quicker than you expected. At first, it was just something fun—faceless, mysterious, nothing too revealing. But then the numbers started climbing, and with them, so did your earnings. Your anonymity only added to the appeal. No one knew who you were, what you looked like outside of your carefully framed shots. That was the game. That was what kept them wanting more.

But there was one in particular who stood out.

Tsumu95: You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart. Tsumu95: How do I get that kinda special treatment?

You smirked at your phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He had been your most loyal subscriber for months, always tipping, always first in line for your private content. He never asked to see more than what you were willing to show. Never crossed any lines. And for that, you rewarded him.

Just him.

One night, when the teasing had gone on long enough, you let him see. Just a glimpse—your face, your eyes, your lips curled into a playful smirk.

The message he sent after that was short but unforgettable.

Tsumu95: Fuck.

It wasn’t the usual playful banter. It wasn’t a request for more. Just raw, stunned silence.

Since then, you had always felt his presence lingering a little heavier than the rest. Not that you minded.

But you never thought that presence would follow you into real life.

—

You had been to a handful of games before, but this one felt different. Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, the electrifying energy of the crowd, or the way Atsumu Miya commanded the court with every precise set. Either way, as you approached him after the game, jersey in hand, you were just another fan in a sea of admirers—at least, that’s what you thought.

“Could ya sign this?” you asked, holding out the jersey with a polite smile.

Atsumu looked up, sharp eyes locking onto yours, and for a second, something flickered across his face. His hand twitched before reaching for the marker.

“Oh my god…” he murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible over the noise of the stadium.

You blinked. “Huh?”

He quickly masked whatever had just flashed through his mind, a lopsided grin forming as he grabbed the jersey. “Nothin’, sweetheart. Just didn’t expect ya to be a fan.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. There was something about the way he was looking at you—like he knew something you didn’t. But you brushed it off as him just being friendly. Atsumu Miya was a flirt, after all.

“Of course, I’m a fan,” you replied with a small laugh. “You’re one of the best setters in the league.”

He let out a hum, scribbling his signature across the fabric before handing it back to you. “Glad to hear it.”

As you walked away, you could still feel his gaze lingering on you, but you didn’t think much of it.

Not until later that night when your phone buzzed with a message.

Tsumu95: We need to talk.

Your breath hitched.

No way.

You stared at your phone, heart pounding in your chest.

There was no way.

Your fingers hovered over the screen as a dozen thoughts raced through your head. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe it was just some weird joke. But as you read the message again, your stomach twisted.

Tsumu95: We need to talk.

You hesitated before typing back.

You: About what?

Three dots appeared. Stopped. Appeared again.

Tsumu95: You already know.

Your breath caught.

Fuck.

It wasn’t just a weird joke. He knew. Somehow, someway, he knew exactly who you were.

And you weren’t sure if that terrified you or thrilled you.

Your fingers were unsteady as you typed your next message.

You: Who are you?

This time, the response came immediately.

Tsumu95: You already know that too, sweetheart.

Your pulse jumped.

There was no denying it now. The realization settled into your bones like electricity. Atsumu Miya—star setter, fan favorite, golden boy of the MSBY Black Jackals—was your most loyal customer.

And he wanted to meet.

Tsumu95: Let me take ya out. Just once.

You bit your lip. This was insane. Completely insane.

But against all logic, you found yourself typing back.

You: Where?

Tsumu95: Somewhere private. You’ll know when I send the details.

You stared at the message for a moment, chewing on your lip. This was it.

After a few minutes, another notification popped up. Your hands were already shaking as you opened it.

Tsumu95: Meet me at the spot in an hour. Don’t keep me waiting.

The address was somewhere private—somewhere secluded. It was too late to back out now. You knew you’d show up, even if your stomach twisted at the thought of what this could mean.

An hour later, you stood at the entrance of an upscale hotel, your mind racing. You had dressed carefully: casual enough to not be obvious but enough to show you cared. Your heart beat loudly in your chest as you checked the time.

And then, as if on cue, your phone buzzed again.

Tsumu95: Room 305. Come up.

You followed the instructions, your legs heavy with anticipation. Every step you took toward that elevator felt like a countdown.

The moment you step into the hotel room, the air shifts—thick, electric, dangerous. Atsumu doesn’t say a word at first, just leans against the doorway, eyes dragging over you like he’s committing every inch of you to memory. His smirk is slow, lazy, like he already knows how this night is going to end.

His gaze flicks from your lips to your throat, down the curves of your body, and when his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, your breath catches. Fuck. You can feel the heat pooling in your stomach, thighs pressing together instinctively.

“You nervous, sweetheart?” His voice is deep, teasing, but there’s an edge to it—something dark, something hungry.

You scoff, but it comes out weaker than you intended. “No.”

Atsumu steps closer, slow, deliberate. The scent of his cologne—warm, musky, intoxicating—invades your senses. “Yeah?” He tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “Then why’re ya breathin’ so heavy?”

Your mouth opens, but before you can answer, his fingers skim along your jaw, tilting your chin up. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, testing, teasing. “Y’gonna let me kiss ya, baby?” His voice is just above a whisper now, raspy and full of heat.

You barely have time to nod before his lips crash against yours, and it’s messy. Wet, feverish—his tongue pushing past your lips like he’s starving for the taste of you. The sound of your mouths meeting, the slick slide of tongues and the soft, breathy moans spilling between you—it’s obscene, filthy, perfect.

“Fuck,” Atsumu groans against your lips, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. You feel it then—hard, heavy against your stomach—and it makes your head spin. A whimper escapes you before you can stop it.

“Yeah?” He chuckles, breath hot against your skin as he trails kisses down your jaw, sucking lightly at the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “Feel what ya do to me, baby? Been thinkin’ about this for so fuckin’ long.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, and he groans, hips pressing forward just enough to make you feel him. Your knees nearly buckle. “Tsumu,” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders.

His hands slide lower, gripping your ass, pressing you harder against him. “Say it again,” he mutters against your neck, voice thick with want.

You’re not sure if it’s a plea or a demand, but you give in anyway, breath hitching as you whisper, “Tsumu—”

He groans into your mouth when your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging harshly.

“F-Fuck,” he mutters against your lips, dragging his tongue along the seam of your mouth before biting down on your bottom lip, hard. “You gonna let me ruin ya, baby?”

You don’t answer—not with words. Just nod frantically, breathless, already dizzy.

Atsumu grins, wicked and mean.

“Good girl.”

Then he’s lifting you, tossing you onto the bed like you weigh nothing.

He yanks off his hoodie, the fabric hitting the floor with a dull thud, before crawling over you, caging you in with his arms.

“You’re gonna let me fuck ya stupid, yeah?” he murmurs, dragging his nose along the curve of your jaw. “Let me hear those pretty lil’ sounds I know you make when yer desperate for cock?”

You whimper, already arching up to him, nails scratching down his back.

His hand slaps against your thigh. “Answer me.”

“Yes, fuck, yes—”

You don’t even get to finish. Because in the next second, he’s yanking your shorts down, groaning at the sight of the slick between your thighs.

“Shit—look at ya,” he breathes, dragging a finger through your folds, watching the way it glistens in the dim hotel light. “Drippin’ for me already, huh? Fuckin’ filthy.”

His fingers push inside, curling just right, his thumb circling your clit with practiced ease.

You wail, hips bucking up into his hand, already wrecked.

Atsumu just chuckles, dark and breathless.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he mutters, pressing his forehead to yours. “Make a mess f’me.”

And fuck, do you.

The sound of your slick filling the room—wet, obscene, echoing against the walls—has Atsumu groaning, rutting his hips into the mattress.

“Shit, baby,” he hisses, watching the way you clamp around his fingers. “Yer so fuckin’ tight—gonna make my cock fuckin’ disappear in that pretty lil’ cunt, huh?”

You nod frantically, already teetering on the edge, your whole body trembling.

But right before you can tip over—he pulls away.

A frustrated whimper falls from your lips. “Tsumu—”

He grins, licking your arousal off his fingers, groaning at the taste.

Then, he shoves his sweats down, his cock slapping against his stomach—thick, flushed, already leaking precum.

Your mouth goes dry.

Atsumu catches your stare, chuckling. “Like what ya see, sweetheart?”

You nod, licking your lips.

“Good,” he growls, fisting himself, dragging the thick head through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. His voice drops lower, almost taunting. “Then watch as I fuck ya open.”

And fuck—when he thrusts into you, sinking to the hilt in one brutal stroke?

You scream.

“T-Tsumu—oh my God—” your voice breaks, the stretch overwhelming, toes curling as your back arches off the bed. Your fingers scramble for purchase, nails clawing at the sheets, at his shoulders, anything to ground you.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, watching your face twist in pleasure, drinking in the way your body trembles beneath him. His jaw clenches as he stays buried deep, letting you feel all of him. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

Your walls flutter around him, sucking him in, and the sound he lets out is downright filthy. His hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider, his cock twitching as he watches the way you struggle to take him.

“F-Fuck,” you whimper, sweat glistening on your skin as you clutch the sheets. Your legs wrap around his waist, locking him in place, desperate, needy. “Move, please—”

Atsumu lets out a dark chuckle, voice thick with lust. “Greedy little thing, aren’t ya?” He draws his hips back slowly, dragging every inch of his cock along your walls, making sure you feel it—before slamming back in, knocking the air from your lungs.

The stretch is insane—painful and perfect, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Atsumu groans, head dropping, his whole body shaking.

“Fuckin’ hell—” he grits out, his grip on your hips bruising. “Yer takin’ me so good, baby—fuck, so fuckin’ tight.”

Then, he moves.

Deep, slow thrusts at first, pulling along your cunt in a way that has you seeing stars. Then, when he hears the way your moans get higher, more desperate—he picks up the pace.

He pounds into you, fucking you into the mattress, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing with your choked-out sobs.

The whole room reeks of sex. Your slick coats his cock, dripping down onto the sheets, the mess beneath you obscene.

Atsumu groans when he feels it, pulls out just enough to watch his cock slide back in—shiny, dripping with your arousal.

“Holy fuck, look at ya,” he rasps, a hand pressing down on your lower belly, feeling the way he’s right there, buried so deep he’s practically in your guts. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ well—made for me, huh?”

Your only response is a broken sob, tears streaking down your cheeks.

Atsumu loves it.

“Aw, sweetheart,” he coos, leaning down to lick the tears from your face, still fucking into you mercilessly. “Did I fuck ya dumb already?”

All you can do is moan.

He groans, picking up the pace. “Fuck—gonna cum inside ya, baby—fill ya up nice ‘n full, yeah?”

You nod frantically, legs locking around his waist, pulling him deeper.

That’s all it takes.

Atsumu roars as he cums, hips stuttering, burying himself to the hilt, painting your walls white.

You follow seconds later, convulsing around him, dragging him down with you.

The room is still thick with the scent of sex, the sheets beneath you damp, the air hot and sticky. Your body feels like it’s floating, completely spent, every muscle trembling from the way he just wrecked you.

Atsumu is still inside you, his cock softening but keeping every last drop of his release buried deep in your cunt. He shifts slightly, the movement making you whimper, oversensitive and sore.

A deep chuckle rumbles against your skin.

“Shit, look at ya,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, voice thick with satisfaction. “All fucked-out, baby. Bet ya couldn’t even stand up if ya tried.”

You don’t even have the strength to glare at him. You just hum, nuzzling against the pillow, body boneless, used.

Atsumu grins, but then—his grip on your hip tightens. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make your eyes flutter open, just in time to see the way his dark gaze pins you down.

“…We keep this between us, yeah?”

Your breath catches.

The shift in his tone is subtle—still teasing, still warm, but there’s an underlying seriousness that wasn’t there before. Something a little darker. A little more dangerous.

His fingers trace lazy circles against your hip, his seed still dripping out of you, a mess he’s in no rush to clean up.

“Wouldn’t want anyone knowin’ that the sweet, innocent girl beggin’ for my autograph is actually my favorite little slut online, now, would we?”

Your stomach flips, heat curling in your core all over again.

You swallow. “…N-No.”

Atsumu smirks. “That’s my good girl.”

His fingers tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Don’t go gettin’ any ideas about runnin’ off on me now,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, thick with possession. “Ya know I’ll find ya again.”

A shiver races down your spine.

Because you believe him.

Atsumu watches your reaction, and his smirk widens, satisfied.

Then—he leans down, lips brushing against your ear, voice husky and dripping with sin.

“Now, be a good girl and let me fuck ya full again.”

[car-o-line]

HIII!!! I LOVE YOU'RE POPPY PLAYTIME WORK SO MUCH!!! Could you do a jack kevin and matthew where the reader was jacks younger sibling and came back to the factor years later in there teens and a little reunite with each other (I NEED THEM TO BE BROUGHT OUT OF THE FACTORY AND READER SAYING TO DOEY BEACUSE THEY ARE 3 KIDS "So does that mean I have 3 brothers now?" Or somtehing like that sorry for this being long lol)

THE POPPY PLAYTIME STREAK CONTINUES🙏🙏🙏 this is literally adorable, if y/n and Jack are happy then I’m happy as well.

The Doey consciences with Jacks younger sibling who reunites with him<3

Info:

I think Jack is around 8 or something, so for the sake of that let’s just say that he was born in 1985 and made into Doey in 1993.

You were 4 years younger than Jack so you were 4 when he “passed” away.

Now you’re 13 and the reason you’re at Playcare is because you turned into an orphan there when erm, Kevin(I think) killed both your and Jacks parents.

You weren’t brought down to the labs like the other orphans, instead you snuck away from the Prototypes sight and paired up with Poppy to save the other orphans.

Sorry if this makes no sense, y/n lore is weird.

Also this is me editing, half of Jacks stuff is based about a whole ton of things so sorry about that😭

Jack Ayers:

He adored you when he had a normal life.

He would always be excited to play games or toys with you even if the toys you chose weren’t to his liking.

You were actually at the Playtime visit when Jack fell into the vat of dough, but the memory was so vague you could barely remember it.

All you knew is that your older brother, who wasn’t even that old, had gotten into an accident at the Playtime facility.

Then your parents got a call, a call to come visit the factory and see their “son” again. It would lead to their demise.

“Yes. It’s mommy and daddy and y/n! you remember, don’t you?”

“Leave. Me. Alone.”

“Hey. Hey, you’ll be okay. I promise. Mommy’s only here to talk.”

“No, no I don’t WANT to talk. Get out!”

“Susan, I think we should leave…”

“Jackie, I’m staying right here. I’m not leaving you. Not ever again, do you hear me?”

“The gentle voices lie. I know what they do, they lie..and they poke..and they hurt!”

“Mommy won’t lie to you, mommy won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you-”

“Hey… hey open this door! Oh god, Susan! PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR LET Y/N AND I OUT! PLEASE-”

Unfortunately, both your mother and father died during that incident, that’s how you could recall everything. Their death was recorded on the VHS tape.

You were saved by a scientist who grabbed you out the last minute before Doey could do any harm to you.

After that you were brought down to the orphanage.

Fast forward into when you run into Pianosaurus and he tried to attack you.

And we all know what happened to him :(

But it’s okay because he wanted to kill you(I’m gaslighting myself rn)

Anyway! Matthew who was in charge at the time was shocked to see a child who was barely even a teenager.

So, he lead you to Safe Haven right away, he didn’t need a kid to be doing tasks for him and Poppy.

You went with him without resistance because even if you didn’t admit it, you were tired as hell.

You rested up in Safe Haven, unlike the player the toys were actually welcoming towards you. Some even recognized you as their past friend.

But there was a specific boy who recognized you more than anyone.

“I know them..I love them.”

“Huh..? Jack, you just met Y/n.”

“Y/n..y/n Ayers. Y/n Ayers right?!”

My boy was saying that out of excitement.

He let his emotions take him over and immediately went to go find you.

He was a bit overwhelming to say the least, Matthew had to calm him down.

Eventually he did calm down and Matthew and Kevin left him in control so he could speak with you as his brother.

He sat down on the ground while you laid in one of the Safe Haven beds. He grabbed your hand in his and played with your finger tips, curious.

You both talked for a bit, he apologized profusely for everything you’ve been through.

He told you about Matthew and Kevin, to which you asked if that meant that you have 3 brothers now. He pouted for a moment before nodding slightly, if it also went by his logic they were also his brothers. So it’d make sense that they’re your brothers as well.

Matthew Hallard:

Okay first off.

He’s pissed at Poppy for letting a CHILD do her dirty work for her, so he’ll definitely have a discussion with her about that later.

He’s more focused on not letting you out of Safe Haven for now, trying to make sure you’re as comfortable as you can be in a place like this.

Then he overheard something odd from Jack, talking to Kevin.

“We they were tinier, I’d let them ride my back like a horse..they really liked it.”

“Hm.”

“When who was younger Jack?”

“Me and Y/n! They’re my family!”

He immediately whipped his head towards him, calling a “I’m sorry?” at that.

It makes him remember when those people came by, saying Jack was their son. And a little child in their father’s arms, that was you. They killed your parents.

Either you didn’t mention it or completely forgot since it was long ago, either way he felt horrible. Even if it wasn’t directly his fault, he was part of the reason you were here. In this hell.

He made extra sure to treat you as gently and as kindly as he could, and make Kevin behave himself around you. He thought that it could bring flashbacks that you don’t want to remember.

Once you figured out about Jack being part of Doey, and talked with him a bit, Matthew asked you a few questions himself.

Nothing deep, just what your favorite animal was, or your favorite toy at Playtime was. Just a few icebreakers.

When you asked him if him and Kevin were basically your brothers now since they’re apart of Jack he gave you a wink and his signature smile.

(he thought you were too cute he could die)

“Of course!! Everyone here is family, especially us four.”

Kevin Barnes:

Like Matthew, Kevin was a bit pressed about Poppy having such a young person to fill out her list of commands, but he wasn’t too upset that he had to scream at her about it, he just thought she was stupid. Because, thinking logically, they were all kids. So what’s one more going to change?

He was wrong🫶

He was..more tolerant around you. Matthew tells him that you’ve been through enough already and that you needed to stay in Safe Haven and get rest, and he actually agreed with that himself.

Butttttttttttttt, he’s more thoughtful about he, Matthew and Jack, more than a teenager he just met.

That was until Jack said something about you.

“Kevin! Let me tell you something!”

“No-”

“I know Y/n!”

“Me too.”

“No, like before everything! They’re my family!”

“What.”

So that’s how Kevin started to pity you<3

He took the liberty of asking Matthew about you, information that he got from Jack..and that odd VHS tape.

Just because he finds you tolerable, that doesn’t mean he likes you(he loves you like you a sibling and he hates it)

So when you asked him if that since Jack is your brother, and that he’s stuck with him and Matthew that makes you and him siblings to.

His eyes watered a bit but shhhh(he needs a hug)

He still said you were a dumbo.

#Kevin’sLoveLanguage

I hate my life my writing was way too confusing to be this long😭

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Draco Malfoy’s Most Treasured Pictures

(The Ones He Carries Everywhere—Even If He Denies It)

Draco Malfoy was not sentimental.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

But if you looked inside his wallet, desk drawer, and the secret pocket of his robes.You’d find a small collection of carefully preserved photographs—moments of his life that he could never part with.

Even if he pretended otherwise.

1. The Wedding Photo – The Moment He Knew He Was Doomed

•Draco & You were standing under enchanted golden lights, your hand resting over his heart.

•Your wedding dress flowing like a dream, your hair framing your glowing face.

•Draco looking at you like you had personally hung the stars in the sky.

•The picture moves—your soft laugh, the way you cradle his cheek, the way he leans in as if he still can’t believe you're his.

•Lucius Malfoy may have had reservations about a Muggleborn bride, but even he had to admit—Draco had never looked happier.

✅ Draco’s Thoughts: “I am never showing this to anyone.”

✅ Where He Keeps It: Hidden inside his desk drawer at home, but he looks at it whenever he’s stressed.

2. The First Picture of Scorpius – The Beginning of His Suffering

•You were in a bed a the manor looking exhausted (thanks to you being unable to go to the hospital due to a storm) but you still looked radiant, while holding a tiny, wrinkly, newborn Scorpius.

•Scorpius, wrapped in a green-and-gold blanket, barely big enough to fill your arms.

•Draco standing beside them, looking like he had just realized he was a father and was internally panicking.

•In the moving picture, you smile up at Draco, as you place a tiny kiss on baby Scorpius’s forehead, and Draco visibly melts.

✅ Draco’s Thoughts: “This is the exact moment I stopped being scary.”

✅ Where He Keeps It: Inside his wallet, where he thinks no one will find it.

3. The One That Makes Him Want to Fight People – Scorpius’s First Hufflerin Badge

•Scorpius, around two years old, standing proudly in the middle of the Manor library, wearing a Hufflepuff scarf way too big for him.

•He’s holding up a shiny green-and-gold ‘Hufflerin’ badge with a HUGE grin.

•His messy blonde hair is sticking up in all directions.

•In the moving picture, Scorpius waves the badge in the air, giggles, then proudly sticks it on Draco’s robes.

•Draco, horrified, tries to remove it, but Scorpius pouts, and he immediately gives up.

✅ Draco’s Thoughts: “This child is going to ruin my reputation.”

✅ Where He Keeps It: Inside his office at work, where no one can question him about it.

4. Cassie & Regulus’s First Nap – His Twins That Terrify Him

•Cassie and Regulus, only a few months old, curled up against each other in a bassinet.

•Cassie already looking elegant and composed, Regulus sprawled out like a tiny tornado.

•In the moving picture, Cassie shifts slightly, Regulus lets out a dramatic sigh, and they instinctively reach for each other.

•Draco swears they communicate in their sleep.

✅ Draco’s Thoughts: “They’re already plotting something. I can feel it.”

✅ Where He Keeps It: Inside a book in the library, where he “happens” to look at it often.

5. The One That Means the Most – You with the Unborn Twins

•You, very pregnant again, standing in the Manor’s garden, sunlight catching the hues in your hair.

•Your hands gently cradling your belly, the softest smile on your face.

•Scorpius standing beside you, one hand resting on your stomach, excitedly talking to the babies.

•Cassie watching them with mild amusement.

•Regulus poking your belly and saying, “Move again!”

•In the moving picture, you laugh, looking towards the camera, and Draco swears you had never looked more beautiful.

✅ Draco’s Thoughts: “…I am so utterly doomed.”

✅ Where He Keeps It: Inside the pocket of his robes, always.

Draco Malfoy – The Man Who Pretends Not to Be Soft, But Absolutely Is

Draco will never admit to carrying these pictures around.

If you ask him?

He’ll roll his eyes and say, “I don’t have time for that sentimental nonsense.”

But if you catch him staring at one when he thinks no one is looking?

If you see the way his fingers trace over your face, over his children’s tiny smiles?

If you see how carefully he protects these small, frozen moments of happiness?

Then you’ll know the truth.

Draco Malfoy is a man deeply, hopelessly, unconditionally in love with his family.

Even if he pretends to be suffering the entire time.

[let-me-iiiiiiiin]

I feel like he'd be like "what?? Bingge is looking for me? Bingge is tracking me down?" But his brain cells turn back on and he'd instead think, "oh, it's not bingge obviously— Luo Binghe isn't real. That must mean that airplane is tracking me down? Is he telling me that he can easily doxx me? There are way easier methods to do that than write an entire saga of an arc about my favourite protagonist hunting me down!!"

I don't think he would take action against "airplane" tbh— if he does, proud immortal demon way will be discontinued, and that'd mean no binghe, for the rest of his life. But he can avoid him! (Such as, you know, moving away, getting some internet safety tools, avoiding the routes that are detailed in the chapters...)

Weird thing is, that doesn't stop "airplane". The chapters mention that he's changed locations, but the new location doesn't take much to discover at all, not for bingge. Shen Yuan starts feeling scared at this point, but he tells himself he isn't. Airplane is just some messy, absentminded, just-for-lolz kinda guy who couldn't even write a single decent novel. If he actually appears before him, Shen Yuan wouldn't be scared, he'd simply beat that guy up until he begged for mercy!! So really, do your best, great master airplane! See what you get for all this bullshit, you freak author!!

Until the last chapter, which he reads while on the bus on his way back home. In the chapter, Bingge has finally settled down into his new life and waited long enough to have some history in the world, and now he's making his move. Around this hour (which is exactly now, Shen Yuan notes) he heads to Shen Yuan's apartment, climbing the stairs, picking his lock, and familiarizing himself with the place. Shen Yuan feels goosebumps rise on his skin— the descriptions are exactly right. Everything written there is completely accurate to real life. Which meant that... Airplane must have broken in?

When he's in the building, he hears footsteps from the staircase leading up, and runs to use the elevator to avoid whoever is coming down. He goes up, comes to the door, finds nothing out of place, and suddenly wonders if he's actually wrong, but another look at the chapter on his phone convinces him otherwise. There was really no way this Shen Yuan written by Airplane could be an imagined character at all.

So he goes in, and finds a plate of food on the table, still steaming, and a note beside it. He picks it up and reads.

'Apologies for my intrusion, I had intended to greet you. Next time, I hope Yuan-ge and I can have a talk over dinner. For now, please enjoy this meager offering.'

Shen Yuan debates over eating or not eating it, and finally, tired of all the stress, takes a bite, and suddenly thinks, "you know, maybe Luo Binghe is actually real, because there is no way a normal person could cook this well"

After that point Shen Yuan starts becoming a little delusional (according to himself, and also objectively, a little bit) but slowly as clues add up, he starts to actually believe that Luo binghe is the one communicating with him. At some point he even starts wondering if airplane was actually Luo Binghe all along (ladies and gentlemen he's losing it). Like, yeah, he's right, but tonewise his inner monologues should have a kinda mentally ill vibe you know?? He's so down bad for binghe ough

Bingge communicates through the notes for a while— mostly cause Shen Yuan, even though he starts believing that it's binghe himself, keeps avoiding meeting him face to face for fear that there's still a chance that he could be wrong, and he just wants to pretend that this is all real— but at some point he figures out that Shen Yuan is avoiding him way too well for somebody who isn't informed about his patterns, and figures out what's happening. He gets pidw to stop posting momentarily and while Shen Yuan is going through the motions, bereft of the pidw update, bingge finally catches him 💖💖💖 and Shen Yuan is forced to face the protagonist and his massive obsession

Imagine being Shen Yuan, faithful hate reader of Proud Immortal Demon Way, the 30 million world "hit classic" trashfire, ever imitated, hot blood ed stallion novel.... That finished like a wet fart!!!

After a week reeling, you pick yourself up, get on with your life (reading every PiDW fanfic you can get your grubby hands on, and leaving back handed comments like "this was shitty from start to finish, but still managed to be better than anything airplane ever wrote") until one day, Airplane publishes some extras?

And it's WEIRD AS HELL! Alternate universes?? Bing-ge fighting, what, bingmei??? Who is this weak willed protagonist?!?!?! And what's with bing-ge doing.... THAT, with... With SHEN QINGQIU!!!! He's a hot blooded STRAIGHT lover of women!!! Stop describing Shen Qingqiu's eyes like that bing-ge he's not good for you?

But, it doesn't stop at one extra?? Every day a new chapter comes out, following Luo Binghe as he tries to find that "kind" version of his Shizun... Why is this universe hopping romance thriller so fascinating??? The comments are full of hate, airplane's rep is in the trash, nearly EVERYONE is hate reading now...

Eventually Bing-ge begins the believe that SQQ has been possessed in some way, and comes up with a clever way to discover the true name of that Shen Qingqiu!

Anyway, that's your name, Shen Yuan, right there on the screen??? What the fuck.

What the fuck "great master" airplane!!! Bro!!

It was just some salty comments okay no need to take things so seriously 💀💀💀💀

This weird doxx doesn't seem to go anywhere? So you just keep reading! Okay airplane, point taken, no more nasty comments! Peerless Cucumber will keep things quiet from now on!! Luo Binghe begins a search for "Shen Yuan", finding... Finding his way to the real world, with Xin Mo? Okay...

Every day another chapter comes out, and every day it gets weirder? That's - that's your city?? That Binghe is familiarising himself with? You read about him usurping violent gangs, unrest and danger leaking out into the daylight world, murders and mayhem, and every siren you hear outside seems more and more -

- your parents call? Apparently there is something dangerous happening in your city? Don't be ridiculous...

Every word... Your street... Your apartment block? Binghe! You live on the twelfth floor just take the elevator, not the stairs!!

Maybe you should, um, go out for tea?

Just as the elevator doors are closing, you hear the door to the stair well creaking open, footsteps that are neither slow nor fast, quiet not loud, reaching the landing of your floor... Through the thinnest crack you see...

[writingwithciara]

across the hall; part 5 -quinn hughes-

summary: y/n moves in across the hall from quinn and in an emergency, she leaves her five-year old daughter in his care

word count: 2.2k

pairing: quinn hughes x reader, toxic ex-boyfriend x reader

notes:

it was just after 2am when y/n finally got off of work. she had worked for over 12 hours and she was exhausted. all she wanted to do was go home, take a hot bath and put abby to bed.

but then she remembered that quinn had texted her during her break and informed her that abby wanted to stay at his place for the night. so when she got home, she would be alone.

she loved her daughter but there was not a whole lot of time she got to herself since becoming a mother. this was just one of the many reasons why she was thankful to have quinn in her life.

when she pulled into her parking spot, she spotted a familiar car a few spaces away from hers. and suddenly, she was hesitant to enter the building.

she did promise andy she would talk to him later, but in her mind, later meant the next day or maybe days from then. but he was persistent. so she headed up to her apartment.

just as she predicted, andy was sitting outside her apartment. when he saw her, he stood up and dusted off his pants.

"i was starting to get worried about you." he looked at her, seeing if there was any damage to her body. when he concluded there was not, he let out a sigh of relief. "quinn told me you would be home around midnight. so i've been waiting."

"yeah i figured." she sighed. "look, andy, i've had a really long and stressful day and i know i promised that we could talk later, but i just don't have the energy for that right now."

"that's what i thought was going to happen. but you don't have to do any talking. just listen, please?"

"3 minutes. that's all i can handle."

"can we go inside?"

"no. because if we do, i'll be too exhausted to make you leave and we both know that will not turn out well."

"i've changed, y/n. i really have." he took a hesitant step closer. "i know you may not believe me but i've been going to therapy and i've been making a ton of progress in making myself better. into a man who actually deserves someone as great as you or abby in my life." he looked at her. "i know it'll take some time but all i want is for you to give me one chance to prove it. please?"

"i'm tired, andy. can we talk more about this tomorrow?"

"can i take you out for lunch?"

"if that's what it takes to get you leave right now, then fine." she unlocked her door. "i'll meet you at the cafe that's 10 minutes from here."

"okay. thank you." he went to walk away. "can you bring abby?"

"i will not allow abby any time with you until you have proven to me that you're a changed man."

"okay fair enough. see you tomorrow." he walked away and y/n fought against her will to go inside. the logical part of her brain wanted her to go across the hall and see quinn but the tired part wanted her to just get some rest. she would see quinn tomorrow.

by the time she climbed into bed and got comfortable, the only thing on her mind was the man across the hall.

the next morning, y/n woke up earlier than she wanted. even with the 8 hours of sleep, she was still exhausted. but she had promised to meet andy for lunch so she had to get ready. she did it slowly but the end result was fine enough.

she went across the hall and knocked on quinn's door. he was rubbing his eyes when he answered but when he saw y/n, he smiled.

"good morning."

"good morning." she smiled back. "would you mind watching abby for another hour or two?"

"why? what's going on?"

"i stupidly told andy i'd meet him for lunch today to hear him out."

"oh." was all quinn said.

"yeah." y/n looked at him. "will you watch her?"

"of course." he smiled. "go hear him out. we'll be here when you get back."

"oh you're the best." she leaned up to kiss his cheek and headed towards the elevator.

that was twice in less than 24 hours that y/n had kissed his cheek and left him frozen in place. things continued to get confusing.

he shut the door and went to the kitchen to make abby some lunch. it was a good thing he was an excellent chef who was good with kids or else he wouldn't be doing this.

he chuckled when that thought crossed his mind because even if he wasn't either of those things, he would still keep an eye on abby because y/n asked him to. at this point, he would do anything she asked him to do.

-----

y/n looked at the coffee and sandwich in front of her as she mindlessly listened to andy explain how he wanted to be better for her and abby. she wanted to believe him but there was so many factors from her past that contradicted what he was saying. stuff that caused her to lose her trust in almost everyone.

"do you hate me?"

"why would you ask that?"

"you've been zoning in and out of this conversation for the last 10 minutes. either something is on your mind or you hate me."

"can't it be both?" she cracked a smile.

"i understand why you hate me, but please, don't deprive our daughter of a life without her father."

"it's not really entirely up to me, andy. i'll talk to abby and get back to you."

"if it helps, i brought presents for her for every holiday and birthday i messed up on. and i have stuff for you too."

"keep it. i don't want any of it."

"but what if abby does?"

"that's up to her." y/n sighed. "i'm taking her to the park later. if you happen to stop by, i can't stop you from seeing her, i suppose."

"so what does this mean then?"

"you're on probation, andy."

"fair enough." he stood up and paid for everything. "thank you for this chance."

"yeah yeah. it's your only one so if you screw this up, you won't be getting another one."

"understood. i'll see you later."

y/n sighed and waited another 10 minutes before heading back to the apartment. she walked into quinn's apartment without knocking and froze when she heard abby's giggling coming from the hallway. seconds later, quinn was running out with abby in his arms, guiding her around like an airplane. when he spotted y/n, he slowed down.

"we have arrived at our destination." he smiled and set her down on the floor. "go get your stuff, abby."

y/n watched her daughter run down the hall before turning to quinn. "i may have made a mistake, quinn."

"i'm guessing the talk didn't go well."

"no. it went better than expected, honestly." y/n looked at him. "i told him i was taking abby to the park later and that if he jut so happened to be there too, i couldn't stop him from seeing his daughter."

"oh."

"tell me if i made a mistake."

"i don't think you did. it's important for a girl to know her father. and it's up to you to set those boundaries." he smiled. "also, i've noticed that you've never made a mistake in the time i've known you. you always think every decision through before making one."

"thanks, quinn. i truly appreciate you and everything you do."

"i appreciate you too." quinn pulled her into a gentle hug. one that she melted into without a thought.

"can quinn come to the park with us today, mom?"

"i would love to, but i got plans with some of the guys from the team. maybe next time, sweetheart." quinn bent down to give abby a hug.

"okay, quinny." abby smiled and headed across the hall. y/n turned to quinn with a grin.

"quinny?" she giggled.

"she started calling me that last night." quinn smirked. "think she likes me."

"dude, she loves you. you're great with her and i appreciate it."

"anything for you." quinn touched her shoulder gently and left her in the hallway. y/n blinked for a few seconds before going to her apartment and grabbing abby.

an hour later, the girls sat down for a picnic when y/n saw andy approaching them. she gave him a signal to stop for a second before she turned to abby.

"hey. um, your dad wants to visit you. would you be interest in that?"

"i guess. he's gonna come around even if i say no, isn't he?"

"yeah i guess so." y/n waved her hand towards him, telling him to move slowly.

"hey. mind if i join you?" he looked at abby. she nodded and looked back at her food, not wanting to engage with him.

andy took a seat next to y/n and set his bag down. "remember the gifts i mentioned?"

"mhm." y/n looked at her phone, wanting nothing more than to text quinn.

"well i brought a couple of them with me and was hoping you girls would accept them."

"presents?" abby set her food back on the plate and turned to face andy as he pulled out 3 gifts. he placed them on the table and abby began opening them.

"i told you i wasn't going to accept any gifts from you, andy." y/n eyed him for a second and went back to her phone.

"i know. but i was hoping you would accept this one." he placed a small jewelry box in front of her, finally catching her attention.

"you really think this is going to make me forgive you, andy? it's going to take a lot more than a necklace." she opened the box and she felt her eyes begin to water. inside the box was a locket with abby's name & birthday, while inside the locket was a picture of the sonogram & a picture of abby when she was 2. y/n's favorite picture. "i'll accept this one gift. but that doesn't mean you're forgiven."

"that's okay. it's a start, right?" he smiled his trademark smile and picked a piece of cheese off y/n's plate.

he ended up being so good with abby and everything he was doing was proving he really was a changed man. y/n hated that she was starting to fall back into his orbit so easily.

later that night, y/n actually let andy into her apartment for dinner. he even joined her in tucking abby in for bed. it felt like they were a family as andy put his arm around y/n when they walked out of the room. she walked him to the door and before he left, he turned to her.

"i just want to thank you again for allowing me to have this day with you guys. i know i've been a terrible person in the past but i hope today was proof that i'm really trying to change. and not just for abby. i'm trying to be a man that deserves someone as wonderful as you."

"you're still on probation, but if i'm being honest, your behavior today has shown a lot of promise."

"i'm glad you feel that way." he slid his hand down her arm and gently grabbed her hand. "i missed you, y/n."

"goodnight, andy." against her better judgement, y/n leaned up and placed a kiss on andy's cheek before he left. just as she was about to shut the door, quinn came out of his apartment.

"hey. how was your day?"

"it was surprisingly good. i think andy may actually be a changed man."

"well, be careful with who you give your heart to. i'd hate to see you get hurt, y/n."

"i appreciate you looking out for me, quinn. but i promise not to get too invested in this, just in case."

"you know i'm only saying this because i care about you, right?"

"i know. and i appreciate it." y/n touched quinn's arm the way andy had touched hers earlier. "thank you."

"you're welcome." he smiled and looked at where her hand was placed. "are you and abby free tomorrow? i have the day off before we have to go on the road for a week and i wanted to spend the day with my favorite girls before i go."

"i'm sure abby would love that, but i won't be able to make it. i work in the morning and i don't know when i'll be home."

"oh." quinn looked at her. "i totally understand. your job is important."

"i'll let you spend the day with abby tomorrow and the first day you get back from the trip, we can spend the day together. i'll make sure to book it off. i promise."

"okay. i would really like that."

"i'll drop abby off before i go to work, alright?"

"sounds good. i'll see you in the morning."

"good night, quinn." y/n kissed his cheek and headed back to her apartment.

quinn was never going to get used to the way she could freeze him with just one simple action.

----------

tags: @alwaysclassyeagle @justagingerliving @marroonwitch

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[9:03 am]

(cw: f!reader)

The phone on your desk was ringing loudly throughout your office. It was extremely strange considering you had just entered your office and your secretary hadn't informed you of any calls. The only person who had the direct number to your phone was your husband, CEO!Johnny, who had just dropped you off at work.

You set your things on your desk and answered the phone, "did I accidentally take your coffee or something?"

"No, I was just thinking," he starts off, you can hear the blinker clicking in the car, "you know how we were talking about the beach this morning?"

"You mean when you saw me swipe past a picture of my cousin at the beach?" You ask with an arched brow as you lower yourself into your desk chair.

"Yes, honey, exactly. Well, I made a quick call to your assistant, then I called my assistant, and now we're going on a week long vacation to Bali at the start of next week!" He exclaims.

"Johnny, I have meetings next week," you sigh, scrolling through your calendar on your phone which is now empty next week.

"Had meetings, my love. I know you're also looking at your schedule so right about now you should see some new events being added to this week. Your assistant is making you a nail appointment, a hair appointment, shopping, and lunch with your beloved husband— all on my card of course," Johnny explains and you can hear the smile in his voice.

"You don't have to do all this, you know?" you ask with your own smile.

"What kind of husband would I be if I didn't spoil the love of my life?"

"I have my own money," you insist.

"But you should spend your money on you, honey! Your money is yours and my money is our money. Look, I'm pulling up to the office, I'll talk to you later, alright?"

Sure enough, on his lunch he calls you for your daily lunch chat. He tells you about some data he's been analyzing for most of the morning and you tell him about your meeting.

Your assistant knocks on the door and your brows furrow, pulling your phone away from your ear to call out, "come in!"

In comes your assistant, her hands full with a floral arrangement bigger than the top half of her body. There are bright green, vibrant pinks, and vivid yellow hues of flowers and foliage that now rest on your desk in a ceramic vase.

"Oh my god! Johnny, you did not," you mumble into your phone speaker.

"It's to keep you inspired and encouraged until we're in Bali. There should also be another gift arriving soon..." he trails off, almost as if he's waiting and straining his ear to hear your assistant knock again.

Strangely, your assistant knocks just a few seconds later holding a bright orange box. She sends you a wink and you immediately spring for the box when the door shuts behind her.

Johnny is on speaker now, listening to you tear into the gift he sent you. He can hear you gasp in shock, "Johnny Suh, you did not!"

"A Birkin for my baby, you're welcome!" He laughs contently, wishing so badly that he could see your reaction. He knows though that if you both FaceTimed, he'd never want to hang up. Hell, he didn't want to hang up regular phone calls with you.

"Thank you, honey," you breathe out, removing the dust bag to reveal smooth black leather, shiny silver hardware and an earthy, woodsy scent from the expensive leather.

"Is this for our vacation?" You ask, holding the bag out at arms length to admire how good it looks in your hand.

"No, it's a just because gift," Johnny states simply. You can imagine his nonchalant shrug.

"You spoil me," you coo into the phone.

"Well, I love you so..."

"I love you too so... I had my assistant make us reservations at your favorite restaurant tonight as a thank you for the vacation," you rush out excitedly.

"My love, they're booked out for two months. How did you manage that?" Johnny asks incredulously.

You cringe, taking a second of silence before responding, "she name dropped your name and said you were planning on proposing."

"I'd propose to you a million times for any reason at all."

"Do not go buy another ring, Mr. Suh," you state coldly.

"Yes, my love. I'll see you after work, have a wonderful day," Johnny sighs dreamily.

"I'm being serious," you insist.

"Damn it, my love, I already sent my assistant to Cartier!"

[laufeysvalentine]

full moon, remus lupin

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ remus x afab!reader -- in which remus misses the birth of your child because of the full moon. post hogwarts, kind of suggestive at the beginning. hurt/comfort, fluff, a tiny bit of angst?

word count ༄ 4k

nora’s notes ༄ sorry this took more than three weeks i swear my timing gets worse every time i write a new fic… anyways! i had to sit down with this one and really question my life choices. i don’t know anything about giving birth so pls bear w me

“y’know i love you so, so much, right? i couldn’t love anybody more.” remus, your boyfriend, your lovely, wonderful, perfect boyfriend, is lying with his head pressed against your stomach. his lips are on your waist, pressing those lazy open-mouthed kisses onto your bare body. his murmurs vibrate through your whole body, making a shiver run across the top of your skin. within a second remus is sat up, hand on your arm. “are you cold, dove?” 

you smile at him, a yawn stretching out your mouth. “no, rem, i’m fine. as well as someone seven months pregnant can be, anyway.” 

he hovers for a second but after a stern glance from you, accepts your response and lies back down, pulling the bedspread over you. “i don’t want you to catch a cold.” 

“i won’t, i swear.” he’d been a lot worse when you first told him you were pregnant; you could still remember how he cried and cried. you’re still not sure if they were happy tears or not. having a family, being this domestic was a reality he never ever saw for himself, not since he was bitten. he was terrified–but at the same time, overwhelmed with a love he never thought was possible. a child. with you, the love of his life. everyday, he thinks he could never love your small family anymore. everyday, he gets proven wrong. 

he was so overprotective at first, especially around the first few full moons. he would hardly let you out of his sight, never allowed you to strain yourself in any way that could hurt the baby. you got fed up, as anyone with a shred of desire for independence would, and the two of you had a long talk about boundaries. which he is trying his best to understand and respect. 

“let me get you a shirt at least,” he fusses, and you let him. 

you sit up and he helps you pull yourself into one of his favorite t-shirts and boxers. his hand floats to your belly as if pulled, rubbing light circles on the fabric. 

“do you feel them?” he whispers as he drops onto his side. his eyes are shining with a boyish earnestness as he gazes with all his love at you. “any kicks?” 

you can’t help but smile, reaching a hand out to smooth down his hair, which is all mussed up from how you tugged and tugged on it. “darling, you would feel them too if i did. our baby’s sleeping, and I’m going to too.” 

remus pouts, and you just have to reach down and kiss his soft pink lips. 

“g’night baby.” your fingers come to a rest, tangled in his hair, and his palm keeps resting on your belly, a bare leg slung over your own. the two of you are so incredibly intertwined. 

how did you end up with the most perfect man ever? 

—

“howdy, y’all,” a call comes up from your driveway. 

“morning, sirius,” you respond from the kitchen, sleep waterlogging your voice. 

there’s the sound of a lock clicking, the knob turning, and then a terrible imitation of a texan accent: “and how might you be on this fine morn? i brought the hash and eggs from the farm down on old country road.” 

“i don’t think they speak like that in the u.s., siri,” you say with a laugh, leaning over the counter to accept his hug. 

“um,” he leans back, as if terribly offended, incredulity lining his expression. “i believe they do.” 

you roll your eyes. “mhm.” 

“right, how’s little lupin? and yourself?” he settles onto a chair and passes you the breakfast foods you had requested him to bring. 

“good and good. i feel like i’ve swallowed a watermelon and the watermelon likes to kick, that’s certain. only a few weeks left though, thank merlin. how’ve you been?” you’ve just taken the containers from sirius’ hands when remus comes in. his hair is wet and tousled from his shower, and he smells like aftershave and an old book when he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pressing a short kiss to your neck and cheek. 

“let me do that, dovey. you sit down with pads, hm?” he takes the eggs from you, not taking no for an answer. 

“thank you, rem. my feet are murdering me.” you give him a proper kiss before spinning towards the table. 

“no hello for me then, moony?” sirius pouts. when remus only shakes his head, the 

(self-proclaimed) dashing ravenette flops back into his chair. “i’m losing all of my friends to this whole marriage thing.” 

“tough luck,” he shoots back, cracking open the eggs. “are james and lily on their way, then?” 

“how would i know, i’m not their messenger.” sirius scoffs while propping his legs on the table. “but yes, they’re coming. they’re going to be a bit late cause harry’s acting up or something. just like his uncle padfoot. oh, if only he knew how much trouble his father and his good old godfather caused back in the day. man…” 

“please stop talking about yourself in the third person, sirius.” you pat his leg. “and get your feet off my nice table. it’s new.” 

“amen to that,” a voice yells from the hallway. it follows james and baby harry, who’s resting his head on his father’s shoulder. lily, in all of her deity-like beauty, even at nine on a saturday morning with a whiny toddler, enters the kitchen. “these boys like to ruin everything new, don’t they?” 

you nod, pushing sirius’ legs from the table and standing to give her a half-hug. 

“no, you sit down,” she fusses, lightly pushing you back into the seat and giving you a kiss on the head. “and how are you, beautiful? you look gorgeous as ever. pregnancy glow.” 

“if you’d please stop flirting with my girlfriend, lils,” remus says from the kitchen. 

“seconded.” james raises an eyebrow as he passes harry to sirius, who immediately begins fussing over his godson. 

“don’t worry, lily. they’ll never be able to interfere with our love,” you declare with a dramatic flair only acquired by spending too much time with sirius black. “i’m lovely, you?” 

“amazing now that i’ve seen you.” she winks and you blow a kiss back. “you’re much nicer than i was at almost forty weeks. i was crabbier than sirius when he doesn’t get his way.” 

“hey, i don’t–” sirius swats at lily, who sweeps just out of reach, into the waiting arms of james. 

“no, sometimes i just want to rattle remus by the shoulders until his wonderful, huge brains come out and scream at him for doing this to me. i just want to push this damn baby out,” you admit. you flash a smile at the blond in the kitchen, making breakfast for all of you. you got so lucky with this man. 

he grins at you, unabashed and loving. “you’re welcome to do that anytime, darling.” 

“okay, i don’t know what kind of kinky shit you two are into, but you can keep it behind doors, please,” sirius coughs, covering harry’s ears. “not in front of the child.” 

“you’ve done and said worse in front of him,” you scoff. “harry’s scarred for life anyways.” 

“i have not,” he huffs. “i don’t appreciate the baseless slander.” 

you just smile in response, accepting the cup of tea your boyfriend hands you with a kiss–he’s made it exactly how you like, as he always does. you’re so happy to be here, with your friends, your family. 

“you’re all ready for the baby, then? what’s your plan?” james asks, chin on his wife’s hair. 

“yes, rem’s been reading and reading about it for months. he has my birth plan down more than i do,” you chuckle. “we’ve had the bag ready since i was in my second trimester.” 

“i’m excited,” he admits, sliding a plate of breakfast to your guests. “i know i shouldn’t say anything cause i’m not the one giving birth and pushing a baby out of me, but i’m really excited. i’m glad i’ll get to be there. to meet our baby for the first time.” 

the look that he gives you fills your belly, like he’s lit a candle in your heart and you’re feeling the warm wax melt all inside of you. clearly your child likes it too, because you can feel them hurling ruthless kick after ruthless kick against your poor body. 

“oh, you’ve got to get out of here,” you groan, resting your head on the back of your chair. “i think my uterus is bruised.” 

“i’m excited to meet you too, lovie.” remus presses a kiss to your belly, then to your lips. your whole body ignites with pure love for him. you’re going to have a proper family soon. 

sirius gags in the background, but you really can’t bring yourself to care. 

—

remus has been growing more and more on edge for the past few days, ahead of the full moon. you can tell its presence has been slowly nibbling away at his well-being, if his mussed hair, four days without showering is any indication. he’s sitting on the couch, looking at absolutely nothing at all, fingers twining and breaking apart every five seconds. 

“you’re stretching yourself thin, rem.” you come up behind him, trying to parse out whether he’s okay with you touching him or not. he’s tense but not overstimulated, so you reach out your palms to massage his shoulders and back. 

“i just–” his voice catches, and you think your heart may be bruised by the way his eyes look up at you, slick with worry and a fear that delivers yet another punch to you. “i don’t want to leave you alone tonight.” 

you smile, leaning down the best you can and melting your lips to his. “the baby’s waited for forty weeks, they’ll be okay with another night.” 

he pulls the inside of his cheek in between his teeth, chewing and chewing. “i’ll never forgive myself if i miss this.” 

“you won’t,” you say firmly. “now, i’m pregnant, and you know you can’t stress a pregnant woman out. so take care of yourself tonight. please, rem. don’t think about me, yeah?” 

“i can’t ever not think about you, dove.” he pulls you down for another kiss, and you practically fall over the couch into his lap, lips all over each other. “you become more and more beautiful everyday.” 

“every time i see the two of you, i just want to shout for you to get a room,” a voice snarks from the doorway. you pull away from remus with a tactful reluctance, like the two of you slathered yourselves in glue and half-dried, and now pulling away from each other is impossible. a weird example, sure, but you just can’t bring yourself to let him go. 

james pops his head in after sirius, offering the two of you a nod. “ready to go, moony? sorry we were running late.” 

with a sigh heavy enough to move mountains, your boyfriend stands. next to you, he looks so solemn, tall. handsome. his hand finds its way to your shoulder, rubs. he drops a kiss to your head, then your forehead, your lips. 

“i love you so much,” he whispers, first to you then your belly. “i’ll be home as soon as possible. i’ll be there, dove. i promise. i wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

you smile up at him. “i know you wouldn’t, rem. now shoo, prongs is right. it’s getting late.” 

he presses his lips to yours once more before letting sirius drag him out the door by the wrist. you blow him a kiss as he leaves, a sort of heaviness settling over the apartment in his absence. a smile twists its way onto your face as you make your way up to the bed for an early night. it’s best for you to not stress as best you can. you still have a week until your due date. he’ll make it. you’ll be fine. 

–

well, you’d jinxed it. you wake up in a puddle, wetness still leaking from between your thighs. oh shit. after a few minutes of obligatory panic, you call upon lily by muggle phone, who answers with sleep crowding her voice. 

“mm?” she mumbles, and you feel bad ringing her at–what was it–twelve thirty seven on a saturday night, but you don’t have anyone else to call. “who’s there?” 

“i’ve either pissed myself or my water’s broke,” you say wetly into the receiver. “never thought i would say this in my adult life, but i’m praying it’s the first one.” 

“oh merlin. y/n? that’s you? i’ll be right there, just have to drop harry with our neighbor.” not even a minute later and it sounds like she’s downed a cup of coffee, instantly more alert. 

“thank you, lils. i love you,” you say before she agrees and hangs up. fuck. what are you going to do? to your bump, you murmur, “please stay in there. just for a few more hours. like, twelve. until remus gets here. please.” 

the next few minutes crawl by slow, too slow. you sit on the edge of your bed, a contraction tearing you open, too heavy and exhausted to move or stand or speak. not to mention the fear that clamps into you. 

how could you do this without remus? the one night you’re alone, and… no. you can’t. 

lily’s bursting through the door only seconds after your first tear lets itself loose, and you want to hate yourself for it. “y/n. how much pain are you in?’ 

you don’t say anything, just hold onto her image for a second–she looks like an angel with the moonlight tousling her bright hair, falling onto the back of her shoulders. when she approaches you, she does so with kindness, caution. 

“are you okay?” she asks with a maternal tenderness you forgot she had. “when was your last contraction.” 

as you swallow, you realize the lump in your throat has grown. “mm, i’m not sure.” 

“okay, love.” she rests a hand on your hair, smooths it out. “we should start timing them. they’ll only let us into the hospital when they’re closer together.” 

and so she sits with you as worry begins to fester in the pit that is your stomach. you pray for your baby to just stay inside of you, just for a few more hours, just until remus can get there. fuck. what horrible timing. they’re certainly shaping up to take after their uncle sirius. 

“fuck, lily,” you cry out almost three hours later. you hate the helplessness that’s encased itself around you. you can do nothing but wait as your contractions grow in strength and volume, nothing but wait and hope for remus to come home earlier, nothing but lie on your bed and wait. 

“i’m sorry,” she whispers. she gets it, you’re sure. the two of you haven’t talked much. she fixed up your bed, gave you some water and food and made sure you were as comfortable as you could be. 

but her words signal a drop, letting the tears that have been building loose. you clutch onto her sleeve, sob after sob pounding out of you. 

“i can’t do it without h-him,” you hiccup, barely intelligible. “i can’t, i can’t.” 

“i know, i know,” she murmurs, kissing you on the head. but she doesn’t reassure you. she’s not sure she can. for a first time labor, he should have been able to make it. under any other circumstance. any other night, he would have. 

but she’s been measuring your contractions. you’ve been progressing much faster than what would be expecting. your baby wants out, and it wants out now. 

usually, that would be great. usually. she’s been thinking that word too much. nothing about this–remus being a werewolf, tonight being the full moon–is usual. she just has to hope that’s okay. she hates seeing you cry, or be in this much pain. 

what would remus do in this situation? he would be calm, maybe stroke your head, make sure you’re as comfortable as possible. she did all that. it’s just not enough. not compared to having your boyfriend there, with you. 

and she’s so, so sorry she can’t. 

the daylight has begun to slither through the white of your curtains, kissing your face with morning. your eyes are puffed pink from all the crying you’d done, and your hand has danced its way over to remus’ side of the bed, looking for him even in sleep. you’d been in and out of a restless nap as lily watched over you, woken every time a contraction hit. it mostly consisted of you closing your eyes every twenty or thirty minutes, just preparing for the labor ahead. 

eventually, they become too painful and frequent to ignore, and you’re forced to rise from your bed, stumbling to the hospital. the whole thing feels like a fever dream–maybe it is. a quiet hope seizes you. maybe you’ll wake up, your boyfriend beside you, and the two of you will be there together as your baby meets the world. 

and then you hear lily tell your name to the receptionist, and your bubble pops. he’s not here. you’re alone in the hospital, about to give birth without your child’s dad to help you. an exhale draws itself out of you, weak and shaking. 

you spend the next hour in a prayer, a red-hot fever that overtakes you. you spend your moments alternating between gritting your teeth through contractions and trying to force your baby back inside of you. please, just an hour longer, please. everything begins blurring together, penetrated by bursts of pain, haziness swarms your being. 

when you close your eyes, he emerges. he’s sitting right beside you, hand in your hand, palm on palm. he tucks your hair behind your ear, kisses your forehead, looks at you with that easy smile. he makes everything better. remus, oh remus. 

and then someone’s calling your name, nudging your shoulder. it’s lily. a furrow has wormed its way between her brows. she’s worried about you. why? 

“the doctor’s calling for you. she wants to know if you’re ready to push.” she puts her hand in yours, but it’s not right. her hand is clammy, cold where remus would be warm. you’re sure he would’ve been sweating, maybe crying too. are you crying? 

you put a finger under your eyes, pulling back when you feel a wetness. oh, you are. fuck. 

nothing is right, right now. 

“i can’t,” you whisper to her, sheep eyes wide and slick with tears. “i can’t do it without him.” 

“y/n, i know this fucking sucks. but he won’t be able to be here for another four hours, and your baby wants to come out now. you can do this.” she rubs her thumb on the back of your hand. her fingers are rough, hard on your skin. 

you want to hold on. you’re trying your best. remus is unreachable right now. he’s a wolf. he can’t come. and your body–your body’s telling you to push. 

“fuck.” you mutter, a wail threatening to drag itself through your throat. the tears are heavy now, your hospital gown is practically soaked. “fuck.” 

“ready?” the doctor comes in, gloves snapped on. 

you can barely bring yourself to nod, but you do so anyway, and push. remus is there with you. it’s a fever dream. your pain is through the roof. he’s there, your angel. what’s happening right now? remus holds your hand, whispers something in your ear. a fingernail rakes across your palm. you’re gripping a hand with all your might. it’s lily. her face blurs. remus. push. he kisses your hand. he’s whispering something. the doctor yells something. what’s happening. 

the doctor hands you your baby, and you sob. you sob because you had to do it all alone, because you had to fall in love with a man who was a werewolf, because your baby had to be born today, because it’s here with you, and he’s not. 

but when you look down at your child, the perfect mixture of you and remus, the sobs turn from terrified to hopeful. remus will come. your child is perfect. and you pass out. 

—

when you awaken, the first thing you notice is a feeling. your hand is wet. soaked. there’s some sort of sniffling on your right side. 

your eyes flutter open. 

and your heart stops. 

there he is. 

remus.

he looks like an absolute wreck. one of his scars on his face has reopened, and it’s pink with drained blood. his hair is matted, messy, all over the place, gone from a dirty blond to an almost brown. his lips are puffy, same with his eyes. he’s crying, eyes and nose rimmed red. 

he is beautiful. 

“remus,” you whisper. your voice is scratchy. you’re not sure what time it is. nothing makes sense and everything makes sense, all at the same time. he opens his eyes, and there you are. 

remus fell in love with you back at hogwarts. he knew you were the one when you got along with all of his friends, even sirius, who usually turned people–at least, the people remus was usually attracted to–off immediately. he knew you were the one when he told you about his lycanthropy and you didn’t run. no, you kissed him, placed a hand to his back, massaged him and made a joke about it. he knew you were the one the day he laid his eyes on you studying in the corner of the library. 

you had always been it for him. and knowing that he couldn’t be there for you, on one of the most important days in your relationship, fucking destroyed him. 

your name slips from his mouth, involuntary. a sob on its heels. 

“i’m sorry, i’m so, so sorry,” he cries, his head on your blanket. his knees are aching, they’re on the ground, but he feels like he deserves it. “i fucking hate myself, dove. i can’t–” 

when your hand reaches out to his hair, carding your fingers through it, a tear slips through your eyes as well. seeing him so heartbroken, for something that he didn’t do–oh, merlin. 

“remus.” 

his name pulls him up from his stance. you pat the bed, in the little space you have left. 

“please. i need to be with you right now,” you admit, sobs in sync with each other. and there you lay, the two of you, holding each other. 

“i can’t apologize enough, i can’t imagine you being here, by yourself. you’re so strong, but i wish i could’ve… if only i weren’t–” he pauses, a hiccup echoing through his throat. 

“stop. you can’t help it. i chose to be with you, remus, do you understand me? i chose this life. i chose it because i love you. so much.” you cup his face with your palms, thumbs roaming over his cheeks. he is so smooth, so warm. everything you needed. “i knew this could happen. and yes, it sucked being here by myself. but you know what matters? you’re here now. and we could never forget that.”

you melt into a weeping mess, the two of you, always as one. 

“have you met her yet?” you ask, after your tears have mellowed. he has a death grip on you. now that he has you, he won’t ever let you go. 

he nods. “she’s sleeping. lily, prongs, and padsfoot are in the other room. they want to see you.” 

you shake your head, tighten your hold on remus’ body. “not yet.” 

with perfect timing, your baby begins to fuss from across the room. he springs up and practically sprints to the bassinet. and holy shit. 

watching him stand over your daughter, tears tracking down to his chin, with the most tender smile slipping onto his face, staring at her with so much love, more than you ever could have imagined existed, oh, god. you knew that he would be the best father there ever was. 

and that, no matter the time that passed or the trials the three of you faced, your love for them would only ever grow.

masterlist

tags: not tagging anyone out of shame because i hate this hahahahah okay love u bye!! ❤️

[readinmidnight]

hello angst, my old friend

honestly, this fic hurt so bad but also so good….like if I had a better way to describe it, I would. I literally cried so hard at the crash scene, especially this part:

His breath stutters, but he still holds onto you. “Y/N.” Your eyes blur with tears as you grip his hand, pressing his palm tighter against your cheek. “Look at me, yeah?” His lips tremble, but he’s still here, still fighting to keep you calm. “Just keep looking at me. Please.” His forehead rests against yours. “It doesn’t hurt when you’re looking at me. We’re gonna get help soon. You're gonna get help soon, okay?”

It’s clear how much Soobin loves Y/N through all of the flashbacks we get throughout the story but this moment? Even on the verge of death, all he wants to do is comfort Y/N and get a good look at her one last time. “It doesn’t hurt when you’re looking at me” — That line really hit me hard. Maybe it didn’t hurt Soobin but it hurt me to look at all this unfold.

Also, I need to talk about the ending?? Because?!

“You’re a fan of Inuyasha?”

“It’s my favourite,” you reply, tearing your eyes away from the painting.

He nods, a quiet hum escaping him. “Mine too.” Then, after a pause, “Kikyo or Kagome?”

You blink at him. He stares at you, and something in your chest stirs.

Not deja vu—no, it’s not that fleeting, ghostly sense of repetition. This is different. Deeper. It feels like a memory you never knew you had, something tucked away in the quiet corners of your mind. Like a song, you don’t remember learning but somehow know all the words to. Like a book misplaced on a shelf, rediscovered years later—its pages worn, its story intact, as if it had been waiting for you to return.

It feels like something preserved, sealed in the vault of you.

Something... archived.

Them meeting and connecting like they did in their past life. How although Y/N had to remove Soobin completely from her memory, how it felt forgetting him seemed like erasing him from her life, he was never ever really gone. Their love for each other had to be archived, tucked away because it wasn’t time — it wasn’t their fate, wasn’t the right life for them to end up together. Archived, not removed. Not deleted. But now, now we can dust the book we’ve been forced to shelve and open it once more. Their story begins again.

also this is me chasing after @dawngyu and eating up every fic (hello if u read this, can u just add me to your permanent taglist, pls and ty)

THE ARCHIVE

pairing: choi soobin x reader

"Here. Please read each clause carefully dear."

The papers were handed in your hands, making your heart pound, each beat a hammer striking painfully inside your ribs. Your fingers tremble against the pen, gripping it so tightly your knuckles ache, but the pressure doesn’t help you—nothing ever will. Your eyes trace the final lines, the words smudging under the sting in your eyes.

You have given extensive thought behind your decision and give "Brighter Days Inc." the exclusive permission to remove this person completely from your memory:

☐ Yes ☐ No

warnings: reader discretion is advised. neuro-science fiction au, set in the year 2125, romance, angst, psychological drama, character!death, depression!, anxiety!, stages of grief, flashbacks, self-destructive!reader, self!harm, accidents, everything written is a work of fiction. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please step back. let me know if I missed anything.

wc: 13k — playlist.

notes: inspired by parts of ariana’s we can’t be friends music video aka eternal sunshine of the spotless mind... concept is there, but the plot itself will take a different path. oh, and buckle up.

a big thank you to @killa-1009 for beta reading this. ilysm.

How shattered must your heart be, to long for oblivion over a name once uttered like a prayer?

"Sweetheart."

Warm hands find your waist, circling you with a gentle pull, long fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns across your bare skin. A soft squeeze follows, then, warm—featherlight kisses trail from your neck to your ear, each one taking time to settle on your skin. Your name slips from his lips, barely more than a breath, before he tucks himself closer, body melting into yours.

"Wake up, sleepyhead."

You laugh softly when you feel him press another kiss behind your ear. He always wakes you up like this—unhurried, endlessly affectionate. And no matter how much you loathe early mornings, he somehow makes them worth waking up for.

Turning over, you’re met with his familiar smirk, eyes already tracing every inch of your face like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. His hands find your cheeks, cradling them gently—like he always does. As if he hasn’t held you a thousand times before. As if you haven’t been his to hold since high school.

"It's a crime to be this pretty when you just woke up, don't you think?" he teases, his nose bumping against yours before he gives your lips a quick peck.

"It's too early for your silly jokes, Soobin," you mumble, voice still heavy with sleep as you reach for him, burying your face against his shoulder blades. His warmth is familiar, comforting. Your eyes slip shut again, and he hums softly, his hand tracing slow, soothing patterns on your back.

"I'm not joking," he murmurs.

"Okay," you whisper back, not quite awake but not quite asleep either.

A beat of silence. Then—

"Are you sleeping again?"

"No."

"You’re going to be late."

"Uh-huh."

He exhales a quiet laugh, shifting beside you, and when you finally lift your head, his face is already turned toward you, bathed in the gentle glow of morning. His dimples appear with a smile—one he always saves for you, like tiny craters in the universe of his face. You reach out, pressing a finger into the tiny hollow of his cheek, and his grin only widens.

How does he never grow tired of looking at you like this?

"Come on, let’s eat, yeah?" he coaxes, pinching your cheeks.

You let yourself watch him—watch the way his eyes soften, the way he always waits for you, the way his love sits so effortlessly in the space between you.

"I love you," you whisper.

His fingers brush your cheek, his smile turning impossibly fonder.

"I love you more."

He somehow managed to pull you out of bed, though not without a few sleepy complaints. You lazily threw your hair into a ponytail—an attempt at looking somewhat awake. The moment he caught sight of it, though, laughter spilled from his lips, his dimples deepening with amusement.

“What is this?” he teased, reaching out to play with the loose strands. "A masterpiece of chaos?"

"It's ugly, isn't it?" You pouted, lips jutting out just enough to make his teasing falter. Panic flashed across his face before he quickly cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing over your skin as he pressed frantic kisses all over.

“No. You’re beautiful,” he murmured between each kiss. “Always beautiful.”

You let him win that small battle, if only because the warmth of his touch made surrendering easy.

It's always easy with him.

"Put some butter and milk in it," Soobin says, watching you whisk eggs in a bowl. He’s perched at the kitchen table, chin resting in his hand, his gaze fixed on you as you move around the kitchen. The pancakes on the stove have just started to sizzle.

"You like them better that way," he adds.

"Oh, right!" You laugh, hurrying to grab the missing ingredients from the fridge. You mix them in just the way he likes, and when the pancakes are golden and ready, you set the plates down in front of both of you, fetching the utensils.

"Thank you, love," he hums, cutting into his pancake as you take your first bite. A satisfied groan leaves your lips as the warmth of the food soothes your hunger.

"Nothing beats pancakes for breakfast," you sigh. "You and your obsession with them."

He chuckles, watching you with amusement, his elbow propped on the table and his chin resting in his palm. "Good job, chef."

You roll your eyes, dramatically bowing. "You're welcome."

He grins before his expression softens. "You have plans later, right? Be careful out there, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"And—"

Before he can finish, the sound of the doorbell cuts through the moment.

"I’ll get it," you say, pushing your chair back.

He nods at you with a smile, watching as you disappear toward the door.

You step toward the door of your apartment, fingers curling around the handle before pulling it open.

"Wonyoung, good morning!" you greet with a soft smile, but the way her eyes widen—just for a fraction of a second—doesn’t go unnoticed. She hides it quickly, clearing her throat as she shifts the bags in her hands.

"Morning," she says, stepping inside, her gaze immediately scanning you.

Her gaze sweeps over you, taking in the messy hair, the oversized shirt that’s swallowed you whole—the same one she saw you wearing last time. The deep shadows under your eyes, the pale exhaustion etched into your skin.

"Are you okay?" she asks, careful, cautious.

"Yeah, I am," you answer without hesitation, as if saying it fast enough will make it true. You turn to grab the house slippers meant for her, but your fingers hesitate when you notice Soobin’s slippers still neatly tucked by the door.

He didn’t wear them? But the floor is cold.

Shaking the thought away, you straighten up. "I'm having breakfast with Soobin. We made extra, by the way. You can eat with us."

Silence.

Wonyoung just looks at you, her expression unreadable, her lips parting slightly before closing again. There’s hesitation—pain, even—as if she’s searching for the right words.

"What's wrong—?"

You don’t get to finish.

The bags slip from her hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud as she strides toward you. Before you can react, her arms wrap around you, pulling you in tight. The force of it makes you stumble slightly, but she doesn’t let go. Her grip is desperate, as if she’s holding onto something fragile, something already breaking.

You feel her take a deep, shaking breath before she whispers, voice barely above a whisper.

"Y/N… Soobin’s been gone for two years now."

Panic grips you as your breath catches in your throat. Your head snaps toward the table—the very spot where you left him—only to find it empty—a plate of untouched food, sitting there like a ghost.

Everyone in the world fears something—even those who swear they don’t. And at the core of it all, there’s death. It is inevitable and final. It’s like spending years studying, only to fail every job interview. Like working yourself to the bone for months, only to walk away empty-handed. Like pouring your heart into a meal, only to take a bite and realise it tastes terrible.

But for you, fear isn’t just about endings. It isn’t just about pain. What haunts you more than death itself is the thought of being forgotten—or worse, forgetting.

Forgetting is terrifying. Yet, as you sit there, clipping your nailbeds, lost in thought, forgetting made you see him. You saw him this morning, standing there, just as he always had. And without thinking, you breathe.

For that fleeting moment, he’s here. Because you forget that he’s gone.

"Y/N."

You look up from the table, your fingers stiff against the wood. Your mom's eyes are swollen, glassy with unshed tears, rimmed red from exhaustion. She looks at you with so much pity it makes your stomach churn. "Are you even listening to me?"

"I am, Mom."

She exhales sharply, dragging a hand down her face. "I said we should go back to Dr. Park for another check-up. And maybe… maybe we should finally consider what she’s been recommending—"

"No." Your voice is firm, cutting through the air. "It’s just a waste of money—"

"That’s why I’m working two jobs, dear." Her voice shakes as she reaches for your hands. You flinch, but she doesn’t let go. Her grip is warm, trembling.

"You’ve been hallucinating again." She swallows hard. "I thought time would make it better. I really did." Her breath hitches. "But it’s been two years now. Your dad... he’s sick. He can't even get up on the bed, and—"

"You don't understand, Mom." Your voice trembles as tears well in your eyes. Crying has become second nature—easier than eating, easier than sleeping, easier than existing without him. "How am I supposed to act? I'm trying, I promise I am."

"Y/N." Your mom wipes her own tears, her breath unsteady. "It’s hard for me too. He was my son."

You drop your gaze, staring at the table, at the empty space in front of you, anywhere but at her.

"It haunts me," she whispers, "how deeply he loved you. He’s always here. Always with you. Always worrying about you."

The words steal the air from your lungs. Your chest tightens, the room tilts.

"But do you really think," she continues, voice breaking, "that he wouldn’t understand? That, of all people, he wouldn’t want you to keep going?"

The chair screeches against the floor as you stand abruptly. Your mother flinches at the sound. You turn to leave, but her voice stops you just before you step away.

"He loved you more than his own life," she says softly. "Do you really think it wouldn’t break his heart to see you like this?"

You bite your lip as you step out of your parents' house. Wonyoung had dropped you off earlier, she didn’t trust leaving you alone. No one does anymore. Everywhere you go, people watch you with that same look—pity, like you’re a glass figure they’re waiting to see shatter.

Like you’ll be the next one to disappear.

Your chest tightens as tears prick the corners of your eyes, blurring the edges of the world. A hiccup escapes, sharp and unexpected, and you clamp a hand over your mouth as if that might keep everything else from spilling out. You fumble with the car door, your fingers trembling against the handle. It’s only been three months since you managed to get behind the wheel again, but even now, the familiarity of it feels like a fragile lifeline—something that says I’m still here. I’m still trying.

Two years. Two years since his funeral. Two years since you last stepped into your office. Two years of nights that felt endless, of mornings that felt pointless. Two years of watching the people around you crumble under the weight of your grief, their hearts breaking because yours refuses to heal.

And for two years, the doctors have been whispering the same thing, their voices clinical, detached.

The procedure of erasing him from your memory completely.

Your knuckles whiten around the steering wheel as you pull out of the driveway, heart pounding harder than the engine. Every turn, every streetlight, every crack in the pavement feels like it carries his shadow. But there’s only one place where it feels bearable—one place where you can almost convince yourself he’s still there.

Choi Yeonjun’s eyes swept across your face, taking in the tear-streaked cheeks, the vacant gaze, the way you trembled just standing there. He didn’t say anything, just stepped aside and pushed the door open a little wider. You walked past him, your steps sure, like you were following an invisible thread pulling you toward the one place you needed.

"Do you need anything?" You shook your head. Because what you need isn't here anymore.

And then you slipped inside. His room.

Two years had passed, and Yeonjun never touched a thing. Dust had settled, time had moved forward, but this room remained frozen—trapped in the moment before everything shattered. They had been roommates for years, but after Soobin died, Yeonjun never found the will to replace him. Never found the strength to erase the evidence that he had once been here, that he had once been real.

No one was ever allowed inside.

No one but you.

You crossed the threshold like a sinner entering a church, hands trembling, breath unsteady. And when you sat down on the left side of the bed—his side—your chest caved in as you sob.

This was where he always slept. Where he curled into you on restless nights. Where he pressed sleepy kisses to your temple, murmuring half-formed dreams against your skin. The sheets no longer smelled like him. Time had stolen that, too. But the ceiling above was the same one you woke up to with him beside you, and if you closed your eyes, you could pretend.

Pretend that if you reached out, you’d feel his warmth. Pretend that if you called his name, he’d answer. Pretend that you weren’t alone.

But pretending could only take you so far.

You never found the strength to open the door again. You curled into yourself, gripping the blanket like it could hold you together. And when sleep finally came, it was with his name spilling from your lips.

A name that no longer had a future.

The knocking pulled you from the depths of sleep, insistent. You groaned, the sound barely more than a rasp, your throat raw from last night’s tears. Your eyelids felt swollen, heavy, reluctant to open. "Yeah?"

"It's afternoon," Yeonjun said through the door. His tone was careful, but you could hear the quiet concern woven between the words. "You’ve been sleeping for over twelve hours."

Shit.

You knew that wasn’t normal. But then again, nothing about you had been normal for a long time. Some nights, sleep was a stranger you couldn’t reach no matter how exhausted you were. Other days, it swallowed you whole, dragging you under until the hours blurred into nothingness. Staying in bed felt easier.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, "I'll come out in a minute."

Yeonjun hesitated. You knew he wanted to say something—to tell you that you didn’t have to apologize, that he understood, that he wasn’t judging you. But in the end, he just sighed. "Okay."

You listened as his footsteps retreated down the hall.

With a heavy heart, you forced yourself to move, peeling the blanket away like it weighed a thousand pounds. Every part of you ached—not just physically, but in a way that settled deep into your bones, into the spaces between your ribs. The bathroom mirror reflected a version of you that you barely recognized. Hollow eyes, a face drawn thin by grief, lips pressed into something that was neither a frown nor a smile—just existence. Surviving.

You turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto your face, letting the chill bite into your skin. Your fingers gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white, as you sucked in a breath.

And then you saw them. On the shelf behind you; Soobin’s shelf.

Your hairbands.

The sight of them made you waver. Because it was proof, wasn’t it? Proof that once, you had a place here. That once, he was here to tease you about leaving them everywhere, to slip them onto his own wrist absentmindedly, to hand them back to you with a laugh.

"You always lose your hairbands, baby."

Soobin's voice was soft and teasing as he pressed lazy kisses along your cheek, your temple, anywhere he could reach. You tried to ignore him, focused on brushing your teeth, but he never made it easy. His hands slipped under your shirt, palms warm against your bare skin, tracing absentminded patterns over your stomach. He always did that—always found some excuse to touch you.

"So," he murmured, grinning against your jaw as he pressed your cheeks to his. "I bought a whole stack of them."

You paused, raising an eyebrow at his reflection in the mirror. "A whole stack?"

"Mhm." His fingers tightened slightly, possessive. "So now you have one less excuse to leave—and one more reason to come back."

Your hairbands. Like you, were waiting for someone who was never coming back. You shake your head, snapping yourself out of it. Then you heard knocking again. "Yeonjun. I said I’ll be out in a minute."

A pause. Then, softer this time—

"It’s been an hour since you last said that. Are you okay?"

You exhale, the breath shaky, uneven. Time has slipped through your fingers again, and you hadn’t even noticed. But that’s nothing new.

It happens more often than not.

You sit with a book in your lap, determined to do what they say might help—immerse yourself in another world, let fiction be a temporary escape. But you blink, and somehow hours have passed, and you’re still stuck on the same page, the words forgotten.

You eat lunch, fork moving mechanically between your plate and your mouth, only to glance outside and realize the sky has darkened, the day gone without your permission.

You tell yourself you’ll go out, that today, you’ll meet Wonyoung like you promised. You put on your shoes, even grab your coat. But then the door never opens. And before you know it, she’s the one standing there, knocking, asking why you didn’t come—why you never showed up.

You know it’s getting worse. And the worst part? You don’t know how to stop it. You don’t want to stop it.

Because it means moving on.

Moving on has always felt like erasing him. Like accepting a world where Soobin is nothing more than a memory—left behind.

And the thought that one day, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday—everyone, even you, will stop mourning him?

That terrifies you more than anything.

You eat slowly, each bite feeling heavier than the last. Yeonjun had made you bacon and eggs—simple, warm, something that should’ve felt like comfort. But the food is cold now, left waiting for you just like he was. He eats in silence, but you feel it—his eyes keep flickering toward your wrist, checking. He doesn’t say anything.

It yanks you straight back to those first few months after Soobin’s death.

"Y/N?" Yeonjun’s face is sharp with concern as he pushes open the door. He had knocked—once, twice—but you hadn’t answered. That alone was enough to send his heart into a spiral.

"I brought you some food—" His words cut off the moment his eyes land on you. You’re sitting at the edge of the bed, shoulders curled inward, your body eerily still. But then he sees it—your wrist, the red staining your fingers, spilling onto the white sheets like ink bleeding through paper.

His breath catches. And then—

“What the fuck are you doing?” The words tear from his throat again, raw and panicked. The bags slip from his grasp, hitting the floor with a muffled thud, but he doesn’t care. He’s already rushing toward you, dropping to his knees, reaching for your wrist with hands that won’t stop shaking.

“What are you doing?!” He shouts—not out of anger, not at you—but because he’s terrified.

It scares him. God, it scares him. What would his best friend say?

"I—I don’t know," you sob, voice wrecked. Your body trembles under his hold, and the words spill out between uneven breaths. You just saw it and you couldn't stop yourself. "I don’t know what to do anymore."

Yeonjun clenches his jaw, his own tears burning behind his eyes. "You must not do this," He’s trying to be strong for you, but his hands betray him, quivering as they hold onto you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away completely. Because you might. Because you want to. "Please, Y/N. Please."

You were so beautiful in Soobin’s love, and now it clings to you like a disease.

"I know it’s hard," he chokes out, pulling you into his arms. "Fuck, I know. But think of his face." He pleads. "Whenever you see your wrist, whenever you look at your skin—think of him. Do you ever want to hurt him?"

"Jjunie." Yeonjun's eyes lift to meet yours. "You don’t have to keep looking at my wrists anymore,"

A breath leaves him, slow and measured, as if he’s been waiting to hear that. He tries for a smile, small. "It worked like a miracle, didn’t it?"

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. "He always is." The smile that flickers across your lips feels foreign, like something borrowed from a version of yourself that no longer exists.

"My dad…" you hesitate, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater. "I—I need to go back to work."

Yeonjun watches you carefully, as if afraid you’ll change your mind. He nods. "It’s only about time, Y/N."

Silence stretches between you before he speaks again, voice careful, "Are you considering the treatment?"

You don’t answer.

Yeonjun didn’t kick you out. He never would.

In the afternoon, the two of you sat on the couch—long enough to fit three, but only occupied by two. And yet, without thinking, without speaking, you both left a space between you. A space for him.

Infinity War played on the screen, a movie you’d both seen more times than you could count. It was muscle memory at this point—the dialogue, the fight scenes, the inevitable heartbreak.

The credits rolled, and the room felt heavier.

"Soobin always bawled his eyes out here," you whispered, voice trembling. You laughed, but it cracked in the middle. "Like a baby."

Yeonjun exhaled shakily, his own throat tightening. "It makes me wonder how such a tall man could cry that easily."

You nodded, wiping at your face as tears slipped free. "He’s a loser." Your sob broke through before you could stop it. "He’s my loser."

Yeonjun pressed his lips together, but it was useless. His own tears fell before he could even blink them away. "Fuck," he muttered, voice thick.

Neither of you moved.

Because some absences can never be replaced.

"It's time for you to move on," Yeonjun says, his voice steady but careful. "You tried going back to work, but you can’t. You should be out there, living your life."

A fresh wave of grief crashes over you. "It feels like I'm betraying him, Jun." Your voice breaks, and before you know it, you're fully sobbing, the weight of it pressing down on your chest like it might crush you.

Yeonjun exhales sharply, his hands clenching into fists. "I feel like he's going to haunt me any day now for letting you stay like this, and he'd probably call me an idiot for not shaking some sense into you sooner." he half-jokes, but it’s bitter. It’s pained. The two of you laugh, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, dies as quickly as it comes.

"But if you're worried about him—about who will take care of his… grave," Yeonjun hesitates as if the word itself could break you. "I promise, I’ll do that. His family will, too. He won’t be forgotten, Y/N. Ever." You hate it. Hate that he’s making sense. Hate that every word he says feels like it's prying you away from Soobin, piece by piece.

"Your father, your mother, your siblings... they need you back," he presses on, his voice gentler now. "And you… you need to go on with your life. That treatment, it’s the only thing that can help you now."

You shake your head, barely able to breathe between the sobs. "I can't let him go."

Yeonjun swallows hard, his hands trembling as they reach for yours. "You’re not letting him go," he whispers. "He's already gone."

And then, softer, like he’s begging, "And I know, if he were here… to talk to you one last time, he would beg you to keep living."

It took him two years to say it, but Yeonjun cried with you that day, his own grief spilling over as you sobbed into the worn-out cushions of the sofa. Because he, too, was once afraid—to let go, to move forward. But he knows now, knows in the deepest part of himself, that Soobin, the kindest soul he had ever met, the person who loved you deeply, would understand.

Yeonjun will spend his lifetime visiting Soobin’s grave, honouring him in the quiet ways he can. For Soobin. For you.

Even if he has a family of his own one day. Even if his hair turns grey, and his legs grow too weak to stand. Even then, he will still go. And he’ll pass that promise down to his children, to his grandchildren, so that Soobin’s name is never forgotten.

But if he lets you waste away like this, there will be no future to carry on. And the guilt would eat him alive because Yeonjun knows—more than anyone—what Soobin would have wanted.

It’s cruel, cruel that he had to pull the names of your family into this, had to remind you of the people who are still waiting for you to come home. But it’s the truth. And if you can’t find the strength to fight for yourself, then at least let them be the reason you try.

You step out of the car, your breath hitching as your eyes sweep over the familiar neighbourhood—the one you used to visit so often, the one that once felt like a second home. Now, after two years, it feels like stepping into a past life.

"Y/N!"

You barely have time to react before Soobin’s older sister is pulling you into her arms, her laugh warm, her embrace familiar. It nearly unravels you.

"I missed you," she murmurs.

You swallow the lump in your throat. "I missed you too, unnie."

And then your eyes land on the small boy in her arms—the baby who was just two the last time you saw him. Now four, grown but still soft with childhood. His wobbly cheeks, the way his dimples deepen when he shifts shyly under your gaze—

It’s too much.

"Hi," you say, voice barely above a whisper.

"Hi," he replies, eyes wide, cheeks flushing as he clings closer to his mother.

You look away. Because he looks too much like him. Because for a second, your mind plays cruel tricks, and you almost convince yourself that if you just turn your head, Soobin will be right there, smiling at you like he used to.

But he's not. He never will be.

"Come inside," his sister says gently, as if she understands the storm inside you. "Mom knows you’re here." And you nod, forcing your feet to move, even as your heart screams for you to turn back.

In the first month after Soobin was gone, his mother stayed by your side. She held you as you cried, made sure you ate, whispered that she understood, because she had lost him too.

In the following months, she kept visiting, kept checking in. But as time passed, she began to pull away. Subtly, at first. The visits became less frequent, the calls shorter. And then, one day, they stopped altogether. Your messages, your calls—they went unanswered. His family, the people you once thought of as your own, had slowly closed their doors to you.

Except for his sister.

She leads you inside, her expression unreadable as she gestures toward the dining table.

And there she is. The woman you once called mother.

"Mother," you bow, the word slipping from your lips before you can stop it.

She doesn’t even turn to look at you. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?" Her voice is clipped, distant. "And why are you here?"

You swallow, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. "Because I wanted to see you. I wanted to talk to you."

Finally, she rises from her chair, her gaze locking onto yours. And it is nothing like before. It is cold. Empty. Unforgiving.

“Get out, Y/N,” she says, her voice devoid of warmth. “Don’t come here anymore.” Your chest tightens. You don’t even realize your hands have started shaking.

"Mom, don't be like this," Soobin's sister cuts in, her voice soft but firm.

And for just a moment—a brief, moment—you see it. The way her lips press together. The way her shoulders tense. The way her eyes, for just a second, glisten as though they, too, are on the verge of breaking. She blinks the tears away before they can fall, turning away from you, like it’s the only way she can keep standing. She walks away without any second glance.

“I’m sorry,” Soobin’s sister whispers.

You force yourself to smile, though it trembles on your lips. “It’s okay,” you murmur. “I just… I just really need to talk to her.”

You spent the hour with Soobin’s sister, unraveling everything you had kept inside. Every dark thought, every ounce of guilt, every desperate attempt to hold onto him. And she listened. She held your hand, pulled you into her arms.

But time moves forward, even when you don’t want it to.

You check the clock, exhaling. “I’m going to try talking to her again. I have plans after this, too.” She doesn’t stop you. But the way she squeezes your hand before letting go, it’s as if she knows how much this is going to hurt.

As you walk through the house, memories seep into every corner. His presence is everywhere. The framed pictures lined the walls, the dent in the couch where he used to sit. It’s overwhelming. It steals the breath from your lungs, forcing you to press a hand to your chest just to steady yourself.

You don’t belong here anymore. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to leave.

The kitchen light is on. The soft rhythm of a knife against the cutting board fills the silence.

She’s there.

Soobin’s mother stands at the counter, slicing vegetables with practised precision. You swallow, stepping forward, trying to find your voice. She doesn’t look up.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave?”

"Mom, I missed you." Your voice trembles, barely above a whisper, and for a moment, her hands still. The steady chopping ceases, but she doesn’t turn. She keeps her back to you, her shoulders rising and falling with each controlled breath. "I came here because… I wanted to let you know that I think it’s time. I’m going to get the treatment."

Your own arms wrap around yourself, as if bracing against the cold creeping into your bones. "It will alter my memory. There’s big a chance I’ll forget you, too."

The words shatter something inside you. "But I wanted to say it—just one last time. Thank you. For everything. For giving birth to Soobin. For raising him into someone who could love me so deeply, who made me feel safe, who made me feel like I belonged here. Thank you for accepting me, for loving me. And I love you. I always will. I just… I just hope you can forgive me for what I’m about to do."

At your last words, she turns. And for the first time in a year, you see it—the grief she’s buried, the pain she’s carried alone. Her eyes, red and wet, spill over as she closes the space between you, pulling you into her arms.

You don’t hold back. You collapse into her, sobs wracking through your body as she holds you like she used to. As if you were still hers. As if you always would be.

Her hands run soothingly over your back, her voice breaking. "My daughter… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to go through this."

She clutches you tighter. "I thought… if I pushed you away, if I kept my distance, maybe you’d find a way to stand on your own. I thought if I pushed you away, maybe it would force you to move forward. Maybe it would break whatever was keeping you trapped in the past. It felt like it was my fault you couldn’t move on. Our fault. That the love my son left behind has been anchoring you instead of lifting you. And I’ve been so afraid, afraid that his love, instead of saving you would destroy you." She cries, "I prayed for you every single day. That you would find the courage. That you would choose to keep going."

You shake your head against her shoulder, your grip on her tightening. "I understand. I do. I just—" Your breath hitches. "I’m scared. I’m scared to forget him."

She exhales shakily, her lips pressing against your hair. "Forgetting… it’s easier than suffering for the rest of your life." Her hands cup your face, her thumbs brushing the tears away even as her own continue to fall.

"You won’t lose him. Not really. Whatever Soobin left in this world, it’s you." Your breath shudders as she presses a kiss to your forehead.

"I want you to live, sweetheart. To build a life that he would be proud of. A new one, filled with love, with hope. And maybe, one day, we’ll meet again—whether you remember me or not. And even then, I will love you. Always. Just like he did."

It was a hard goodbye—one that clung to your skin like the scent of home you’d never return to. Their arms around you had been warm, their voices soft, their smiles trembling. And as you drove away, watching Soobin’s family grow smaller in the rearview mirror, you forced yourself to smile, to wave back.

But the moment they faded from sight, the mask crumbled.

Your hands tightened around the wheel as your breath hitched, but it was useless. You pulled over, burying your face in your palms, sobs wracking your body.

You knew you would never see them again.

A shuddering breath escaped you as you wiped your tears with shaking fingers, swallowing against the grief clawing at your throat. You couldn’t fall apart now. Not yet.

Because there was still one more goodbye to say.One more person waiting for you. One who had left but never truly rested. Because for two years, you hadn’t found the courage to let go.

To free him.

You don’t know how you managed to bring yourself here. Your legs felt heavy the whole way, like they knew what your heart refused to accept—that every step forward was another step closer to goodbye.

The grave is pristine, not a speck of dust in sight. Someone else had been here. Someone else still comes. And for a moment, a tiny splinter of relief wedges itself into your grief. He’s being cared for, even without you.

You stand there, your throat tightening, your lips parting—then closing again. The words are trapped somewhere deep inside you, tangled between the memories and the pain. What do you even say? How do you speak when just looking at his name carved into stone is enough to make your chest cave in? How do you even start? What do you say to someone who can’t answer back?

And then your eyes fall to the base of the headstone. White roses. Fresh. Untouched.

Your breath stumbles.

White roses—his favourite. The same ones he gave you that night, trembling fingers offering a bouquet, his eyes filled with so much hope. Now, they sit beside his grave, a brutal echo of the past.

And you wonder—when did forever become something so short?

You swallow hard. "Hey," you whisper. Just one word, and already, you feel yourself crying. "Are you somewhere nice?"

"I really… I really hope you are," your voice trembles, your vision blurring. "God, I cry so easily now. You’d tease me for it, wouldn’t you?" A broken laugh escapes your lips, but it fades as quickly as it came. "I’m nothing like the person you knew. I'm not that woman anymore. I’ve changed." You take a shuddering breath. "All because you left me."

The confession spills out before you can stop it, "You left me here alone, and I didn’t know what to do. Because you were my world, and our plans—" Your voice cracks. You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. "No. No, Soobin. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean any of it. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry."

Your knees buckle, and you let them. You fold into yourself, pressing your palms against your face as the sobs finally come, wrenching their way out of you. "I’m weak," you choke out. "I’ve been nothing but weak without you."

Time slips away. You don’t know how long you sit there, trembling, letting everything have its way with you. At some point, people come and go, visiting the graves nearby. They stay for a while, whispering prayers, placing flowers, saying their goodbyes. And then, one by one, they leave.

But you don’t.

Because you know—this is the last time you’ll ever be here.

What does it truly mean to forget?

Is it letting go of the bad memories, even if it means losing the lessons they left behind? Erasing the trauma, even if it forged the strength that kept you standing? Wiping away the heartbreak, even if it unmade the love that once felt endless? If forgetting means unravelling the version of yourself shaped by every moment... then is it really freedom? Or is it just another kind of loss?

And if you don’t forget—who carries the weight of those memories with you? The nights spent in quiet conversation, the laughter that once echoed in familiar streets, the warmth of his hand in yours. Does one painful ending justify the erasure of everything that came before?

It doesn’t. Because memories do not vanish. They are not erased like ink wiped clean from a page.

The streets still remember the way you walked together. The wind still hums with the echoes of his voice. The people who once saw your love still hold its remnants, even in passing glances. And perhaps, this is the only way to keep it beautiful. Your memories, deserve to be left as they are. You should not taint it any further.

"I decided to do it," you whisper, your voice barely carrying over the wind. "I’m finally doing it, love. It took me so long, but… I will."

"I don't want you to think that I'll forget you. Because you're my life." A shaky breath escapes your lips, your fingers tracing the edge of cold stone as if it were his hand, warm and real, just one last time. "But you don’t have to worry about me anymore," you murmur. "You can rest now."

Your eyes lift, meeting the name carved into eternity—Choi Soobin. A tear slips down your cheek, catching on your lips as you whisper, broken and raw—

"I love you. And I’m sorry."

Sorry that it took this long. Sorry that you held on when you should have let go. Sorry that no matter how much time passes, some wounds never really heal.

Your wounds will never heal.

The overhead lights burn against your swollen eyes. You blink, but it only makes the sting worse. You thought they would’ve dried by now. That at some point, your body would just refuse to keep grieving.

Do people have a limit? Is there a point where you simply run out? Or does the body just keep producing sorrow, as long as there’s pain to feed it? Has anyone in history ever cried so much that their body just… gave up?

Maybe not.

Or maybe, if you stay like this long enough, you’ll be the first. Because this is all you know how to do now.

Cry. Cry for him. Cry for yourself.

Cry because it’s the only thing that makes the weight in your chest feel even a little less suffocating. Because if you stop, even for a moment, you’re terrified you’ll realise just how empty the world is without him in it.

You're not strong enough.

"Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?" Your mother’s hand is warm as she pats your back, enough for you to let out a breath you were holding.

"Yeah," you whisper. "You can wait for me in the waiting area." Your eyes flicker toward the entrance as another person steps in. She carries a box, full of things and when your gaze meets hers, you swear you see your own reflection staring back.

Haunted.

Your own box grows heavier in your hands.

"I’m a big girl, you know," you murmur, forcing the words out as if saying them makes them true.

Your mother gives you a small smile before kissing your cheek. "I’ll be here," she says softly. "After all of this, I’ll be here to pick you up."

Something tightens in your chest. Such simple words, so ordinary, yet they make your throat close up. One less worry, a hundred more to carry.

But she’ll be here after.

No matter what happens behind those doors, no matter how much of you is left when it’s over—your mother will be here, waiting on the other side.

And that should be enough, right?

You take a step. Then another. Three steps before something in you falters, pulling you back. You turn around, and your mother, standing right where you left her. Her eyes meet yours, and one of them glistens now, like she’s holding something back. She’s trying to be strong for you.

"Does it have to be today, Mom?" Your voice wavers, barely above a whisper. "I mean… can we, can we just—" The words die in your throat. You swallow hard. You promised him.

You promised.

And if you don’t do it today… you might never do it at all.

“Honey, we can always come back.” Your mother’s voice is soft. She’s in front of you now, hands warm on your shoulders. “We can reschedule, and—”

“It’s fine.” You shake your head, refusing to meet her eyes. If you look at her, if you see the way she’s looking at you, you might shatter right here, in front of her. So you turn away. The door is just a few steps ahead. White. Sterile. All you have to do is cross it. You can do it. You have to do it. Because—

You promised him.

"Miss Y/N?" The sound of your name barely registers. You don’t even remember sitting down. One moment, you were outside and now—now you’re here. In this cold, sterile waiting room, surrounded by people clutching their own silent burdens. Boxes. Everyone has one. Resting on their laps. Some are dressed in stiff work clothes, like they came straight from their jobs. Others wear the softness of home... sweatshirts, slippers, a kind of exhaustion that no amount of rest could ever fix.

No one speaks.

No one looks at each other for too long.

It doesn’t matter where you came from. It doesn’t matter who you were before this moment.

You’re all here for the same reason.

"You need to sign the waiver. Please read each clause carefully dear. The nurse will call you once it's your turn." The papers were handed in your hands, making your heart pound, each beat a hammer striking painfully inside your ribs. The relentless ticking of the clock thumps in your ears, a fierce reminder of the gravity of what you’re about to do. Your fingers tremble against the pen, gripping it so tightly your knuckles ache, but the pressure doesn’t help you—nothing ever will.

You sigh, biting your lip so hard you taste a bit of blood. Your stare drifts ahead, settling on a woman a few seats away. Her eyes are red, swollen. She isn’t crying anymore, but she looks like she hasn’t stopped in days.

You follow her stare, down to the box in her lap. It’s small. Too small. A bib, baby rattles, tiny clothes meant for someone who never even saw their first birthday. Your throat tightens. You force yourself to look away. Swallowing hard, you check your own papers. Your box sits beside you, shut tight. Your mother had suggested covering it with a cloth—to make it easier, to keep you from looking at it. And it worked. Because if you had to see what was inside…

You don’t know if you’d still be here.

Your hands tremble as you stare down at the waiver, the words blurring in and out of focus. You read the clauses again. And again. And again. Your eyes trace the final lines, the words smudging under the sting in your eyes.

You have given extensive thought behind your decision and give "Brighter Days Inc." the exclusive permission to remove this person completely from your memory:

☐ Yes ☐ No

You shakily checked what you knew... he'd want for you. You need to think this is what he would've wanted.

“Y/N?” The nurse’s voice is gentle, but it still makes you flinch. She stands in the doorway, dressed in white, looking at you. You wipe away a tear, but another one slips free before you can stop it. “You can come inside now.”

“Okay,” Your legs barely carry you as you stand. Your trembling hands clutch the box, holding it so tightly.

Inside, the room is cold, sterile. Three people wait—one dressed in blue, one who looks like the doctor, and the nurse who fetched you. The chair in the middle looms, surrounded by wires, screens filled with numbers and statistics you don’t understand. But the moment your eyes land on the headrest, on the equipment waiting there—your stomach drops. Your body moves before you can think. A step back, then another, until a hand gently stops you.

The nurse reaches for your box. Your fingers twitch as they slip away from it, “Let’s get you on the chair,” she says softly. You nod. You don’t trust yourself to speak. You started crying again. Not with sound, not with sobs... just endless, silent tears slipping down your face, one after the other.

No one tells you to stop crying. No one even reacts. You wonder how many people they’ve seen like this.

How many they’ve seen as wrecked as you.

Her hands are warm against your shaking ones, steadying you just enough to guide you down into the chair. You let her. You don’t have the strength to resist. The doctor moves quickly, securing straps around you—across your wrists, your chest. Another band wraps around your finger, likely for your heartbeat. It’s already racing. You don’t need a machine to tell you that. The person in blue starts placing wires against your temple, the cold press of metal settling on the right side of your head. It sends a shiver through you, but you don’t move.

You barely breathe.

“Okay, so now—” The doctor’s voice is calm, clinical. “As you’ve read, you’ll need to recall the moments tied to the things you brought. We asked you to choose items that hold the strongest memories because only then can they be altered. These machines will help bring them to the surface. You don’t have to force it—we’ll go slow, one step at a time.” A pause. “Are you ready?”

Your throat closes. Your hands curl into weak fists against the armrests. All you can do is nod.

The man in blue moves quietly. You barely notice him at first, lost in the weight pressing down on your chest—until he reaches for your box. The cloth is lifted. Your breath catches.

The first item is pulled free, and the moment your eyes land on it, something inside you crumbles. "Wa-wait," A sob rips through you, raw and unrestrained, your whole body trembling. The nurse kneels beside you, her eyes unbearably soft, understanding. "It will be much easier after this," she murmurs.

You swallow back another sob, hiccupping through shallow, gasping breaths. It's ridiculous, isn’t it? That at your weakest, you're placing your trust in strangers. That you can't even find the strength to speak. But this isn’t for you.

For him. For your family.

For him.

Your nails dig into the synthetic material on the armrest. You close your eyes, surrendering to their instructions, to the machines humming around you. A sharp beep echoes in the room, signalling the process to begin. A single tear slips free, tracing a path down your cheek, and despite the agony twisting in your chest, you manage the smallest, most broken smile because you see his face.

Memories. It all flashes.

THE PEN

"Let's take a 30-minute break, and then we'll go over the discussion again, okay?" Your ten-year-old eyes lock onto your homeroom teacher, a sigh slipping past your lips. Math has never been kind to you. Numbers blur together, equations twist into impossible knots in your head. If you had it your way, subjects like this wouldn’t even exist. You’d much rather read—preferably a hundred books. Or better yet, a hundred manga.

You reach for your bag, already deciding that a "break" means exactly that. No memorizing. No thinking about numbers. Your brain deserves rest. With a small pout, you pull out your current manga, flipping through the worn pages with practiced ease.

Your friends prefer watching anime, gathering around their phones or talking about the latest episodes. But your mom—she's strict about screen time. Too much of it, she says, will rot your brain. So, you stick to reading. At first, it was just a substitute, a way to keep up with your friends. But over time, it grew on you.

You're barely on the second page when a shadow falls over your desk.

"Uh, Y/N? Do you have, uh… an extra pen?"

You glance up, mildly irritated at the interruption, only to be met with the tallest boy in your class—Choi Soobin. A transfer student. You’ve only been classmates for a few months, and until now, you’ve barely spoken.

"I don’t," you reply flatly.

His eyes dart to your open pencil case, where at least five pens sit in plain sight. "But… you have so many," he points out, looking almost betrayed. "Please? I swear I’ll give it back!"

You sigh, flipping another page of your manga, already regretting this conversation. "Fine."

He grins, reaching straight for the glitter pen.

"Not that one—" Your head snaps up. "That’s off-limits, it’s my favourit—"

"Wait, is that Inuyasha?!" His voice practically jumps an octave, eyes wide with excitement as he plops down in the seat beside you without a second thought. "I love this series! I read them all the time!"

Your annoyance falters, replaced by something close to surprise. You glance at him, then at your manga, then back at him. "It’s my favourite," you say, flipping the page. "I have all the volumes."

His eyes widen. "Whoa. Lend me some?"

You raise a brow. "And what do I get in return?"

"Uh… strawberry milk?"

"I hate strawberries."

"Hand massages?"

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin. "I’ll think about it."

He nods eagerly, leaning in a little. "Okay, but—serious question. Kikyo or Kagome?"

"Kagome," you answer without hesitation. "I pity her." At that, he studies your face.

"But Kikyo…" he murmurs, gaze dropping for a second. "I pity her more." His voice is softer now, "Because she doesn’t get to be with Inuyasha anymore. And I think… that’s sad."

For ten whole minutes, the two of you went back and forth—voices overlapping, hands flying in exasperation—until your classmates abandoned all pretence of studying just to watch. Some whispered bets under their breath, stifling laughs as you and Soobin yapped at each other like two kids fighting over the last piece of candy.

And then, finally, Soobin sighed, slumping in defeat. "But at the end of the day," he muttered, rubbing his temple, "Kikyo is Kagome, right?"

You scoff, shaking your head. "That’s not how it works." You roll your eyes, turning back to your manga. "Loser,"

And then—he laughs. Not just a chuckle. A real laugh, the kind that makes his eyes scrunch up until they almost disappear, deep crinkles forming at the corners. His dimples dig so deep it’s like someone pressed a pencil into a soft dough, and his cheeks, full and round, look annoyingly pinchable. You catch yourself staring, warmth crawls up your neck, spreading to your ears.

That day, for the first time, you let someone else use your glitter pen.

THE POLAROID CAMERA

Your feet dangle lazily in the air as you scribble in your notebook, your laptop propped open in front of you. You scroll through pages, searching for answers, when a notification pops up.

Meet me at the playground?

You sigh, fingers hovering over the keyboard. But I’m doing homework…

I’ll let you copy mine.

Your lips twitch. Okay. Be there in 10 minutes.

Excitement bubbles in your chest as you throw on a hoodie and a pair of shorts, not even bothering to check if they match. You bound down the stairs, brushing past your mom just as she calls after you. "Be careful—!"

"I’m meeting Binnie, Mom!" you shout over your shoulder. Her resolve crumbles instantly. She sighs, but there’s a small smile in her voice as she mutters, “Be home before dark!”

The walk to the playground is short. When you arrive, you spot Soobin awkwardly lingering by the swings, kicking at the dirt with the toe of his shoe.

"Soobin!" His head snaps up, and the moment he sees you, a grin spreads across his face.

It’s been three years since you first met, three years of him becoming your best friend. Everyone at school knows it. High school doesn’t feel as scary because he’s always there—hovering, teasing, sticking by your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. People assume you’re together, which is ridiculous. He’s your best friend. Sure, he goes everywhere with you, sure, you’ve fallen asleep on the same couch during sleepovers, sure, his family adores you, and your mom—well, sometimes it feels like she likes him more than she likes you. But again, he's your best friend.

You slow your pace, tilting your head playfully. "What’s up? Finally giving in and letting me copy your homework?" You wiggle your eyebrows, smirking as you catch the faint pink dusting his cheeks—something that happens more and more these days.

But instead of rolling his eyes or firing back with a sarcastic remark, he just exhales. "Happy birthday," he says. "Happy 13th birthday."

Before you can react, he holds out a neatly wrapped box. Confused, you take it, fingers fumbling with the ribbon before you lift the lid. Inside, is a brand-new Polaroid camera. The exact one you’ve been rambling about for weeks. You gape at him. "No way."

Soobin shrugs, scratching the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. "You wouldn’t shut up about it," he mumbles. "Figured it’d be easier to just get you one instead of listening to you whine forever."

Your throat tightens, something warm spreading through your chest. You can't stop yourself from hugging him. His hands stilling on his sides. "Shut up," you whisper. "And thank you."

If you weren’t pressed against him, your face buried in the fabric of his hoodie, the hoodie you gifted him, you would’ve seen the deep flush creeping up his neck, turning his cheeks a fierce shade of red.

THE TEDDY BEAR

“Stop staring.” You nudge his foot under the table, twirling the lollipop in your mouth—the strawberry ones. You used to hate the flavour, the fruit too, but it was impossible to keep up when it’s his favourite. “Am I ugly or something?”

Soobin hasn’t stopped looking at you since you showed up at his house. Not the kind of stare that lingers, but the kind that keeps sneaking glances every five minutes, like he can’t help it.

You cut your hair. The long strands that used to reach your back now barely brush your shoulders. Because I’m turning 18 tomorrow, you told him earlier. And of course, he laughed.

“Okay, okay,” he finally says, chuckling. You’re sprawled out on his bed now, while he’s still at his desk, spinning a pen between his fingers. “Do you wanna sleep over tonight?”

You freeze. Hands dropping from your face, you stare at him. “Why?” you ask, voice laced with suspicion. “Seriously? I’ve spent the midnight of my birthday with you for almost… five years now?”

“Four years.” — “What?”

“It’s four, not five.” He pushes up his reading glasses—the ones that somehow make him look even more handsome. Not that you’d ever admit it. He leans back in his chair, casual as ever. “Stay over, okay? Let’s play League.”

You scoff. “So you can bully me the whole time? Yeah, no thanks.”

“I’ll go easy on you.”

You grab a pillow and chuck it at him. He catches it effortlessly, smirking. “That’s worse!”

You stayed. One pout from him, and you caved. You acted annoyed, but in truth, you just didn’t want him to know how easily he could sway you. You will do anything to hide the fact that he had you wrapped around his finger, whether he knew it or not.

And so, you played. You laughed until your stomach hurt, cursed loud enough that Soobin’s sister pounded on the door, yelling at you both to shut up. But it didn’t matter. Nothing outside that room ever really did when it was just the two of you.

Your birthdays used to be simple, just another day with family, another year passing by. But ever since Soobin came along, they became something special. Something that felt irreplaceable. And the thought of him not being there, of waking up to a birthday where he wasn’t the first person you saw, made your throat tighten in a way you couldn’t explain.

Maybe you didn’t want to explain it. Maybe you were scared to.

"Let's go out to the balcony," he says, shutting off his computer with a final click. You glance at the clock—11:45 PM. Fifteen minutes till you turn eighteen.

"Why?"

"Just because." He nudges you forward, hands settling on your shoulders, his touch impossibly light. No matter how much taller or broader he’s gotten over the years, he never holds you too tightly. It’s always careful. And that’s why your heart stutters in your chest every time.

You step outside, the night air crisp against your skin. The trees sway below, dark silhouettes against the dim glow of the streetlights. You wrap your arms around yourself, glancing at him. "So… are we spending my birthday just standing here?" you tease. "Shouldn't we be doing something? Eating ice cream, maybe?"

He smiles, "We’ll do that after," he says, already stepping back inside. "Wait here."

You're confused as he leaves you outside. Through the thin curtain, you see his shadow moving; shuffling, hesitating. "Soobin, don’t tell me you got me a cake or something," you call out, teasing. He doesn’t answer right away, and that alone makes you smirk. "So you did get me a cake."

"Sh—no. Yes. Ugh, I hate you," he groans, but when he steps out, there it is, a cake in his hands, eighteen candles flickering in the night breeze. He clears his throat, awkwardly starting, "Happy birthday to you…" His voice is unsure, barely above a murmur, but it’s enough. You smile, and as cheesy as it sounds, your heart clenches in your chest. You close your eyes, letting the warmth of the moment settle over you.

Please let forever be like this.

You blow out the candles, and when you open your eyes, he’s grinning. "I baked this, by the way."

"Wow, looks amazing," you breathe, taking the cake from him. The effort, the slightly uneven letters of your name written on top—it makes your throat tighten. You don’t say anything, just sit down beside him, forks in hand, digging straight into the cake. The wind picks up slightly, ruffling your hair, but neither of you cares. You talk, laugh, and steal bites from each other’s sides, like time doesn’t exist.

"Y/N," he says, your name rolling off his tongue softer than usual. His gaze lingers, watching as you hug the big white teddy bear he got you. Your fingers clutch the plush fur, cheeks pressed against it, lips curled into a quiet, content smile.

His chest tightens.

"Eight years... For eight years, I, I've been," He falters, blinking, momentarily losing himself in the way your eyes widen at him. God. You’re beautiful.

"Hmm?"

He exhales sharply, fingers twitching at his sides. His heartbeat stumbles over itself, but before he can think, before he can think of the script he rehearsed over and over, before he can convince himself to hold back—

"Could I please be your boyfriend?"

THE SILVER METAL BAND

"Sweetheart."

Warm hands find your waist, circling you with a gentle pull, long fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns across your bare skin. A soft squeeze follows, then, warm—featherlight kisses trail from your neck to your ear, each one taking time to settle on your skin. Your name slips from his lips, barely more than a breath, before he tucks himself closer, body melting into yours. "Wake up, sleepyhead. It's almost midnight,"

You laugh softly when you feel him press another kiss behind your ear. Turning over, you’re met with his familiar smirk, eyes already tracing every inch of your face like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. His hands find your cheeks, cradling them gently—like he always does. As if he hasn’t held you a thousand times before. As if you haven’t been his to hold since high school.

"It's a crime to be this pretty when you just woke up, don't you think?" he teases, his nose bumping against yours before he gives your lips a quick peck. "I love looking at you,"

"We're seriously keeping up with the tradition?" you mumble, voice still heavy with sleep as you reach for him, burying your face against his shoulder blades. Your eyes slip shut again, and he hums softly, his hand tracing slow, soothing patterns on your back.

"Happy 25th birthday, baby," he murmurs. Then, softer—like he’s letting the words settle between you before he dares breathe again, "I love you." His voice pulls you from the edges of sleep, and when your eyes flutter open, you find him already watching you.

Is there anything in this world more beautiful than love? More sacred than being loved?

"Thank you," you reply, smiling. He sits up beside you, and you chuckle softly as he fumbles for something on the floor beside the bed. "What did you get me this time?"

But then your breath stumbles. White roses. A small black box in his hands. Your heart clenches. "Soobin,"

"I’ve been thinking about how I should do this," he starts, chuckling nervously, though his fingers tighten around the box as if anchoring himself. "I thought about renting a place, throwing a party, taking you to some fancy dinner, or even an overseas trip." His gaze finds yours, earnest. "But the truth is, nothing makes me happier than waking up beside you. Nothing feels more right than this—just us, here, like this. So I chose this moment, this place… because I want it forever."

His voice trembles, his hands unfolding the box before you. The silver ring with a single diamond sitting atop. "So please," he whispers, his throat tight, his eyes searching yours. "Could you—will you—marry me?"

“Fuck.” The word rips from your throat as reality slams into you. The room is chaos—voices rising, bodies moving, the cold bite of metal and plastic pressing against your skin. The doctor’s hands fly across his keyboard, adjusting something you don’t understand, while the nurse grips your shoulders like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You’re crying.

You don’t remember when it started, but the tears won’t stop. Your breath comes in sharp, panicked gasps as your hands scramble to your chest, fingers clutching desperately at the thin chain around your neck. The ring is warm against your skin, pressed into your palm, solid and real. His ring. The one he slid onto your finger with shaking hands.

“Please,” your voice cracks, “please—just let me keep this.”

The nurse exchanges a glance with the doctor. Their hesitation is suffocating. “We need to take it,” someone says—calm, detached. Like this is just another part of the process. Like it doesn’t matter. “It goes with the rest of your belongings.”

Your heart seizes. The box? What else was in the box? You try to remember, but your mind is a blur of static, you can't. You can't remember now. “No,” you sob, curling around it, pressing it to your lips, your chest, anywhere that might keep it safe. “Please. Not this."

The nurse looks at you with something that almost feels like pity. A softness in her eyes that only makes your chest ache more. “You’re almost done, honey,” she murmurs, her voice gentle, coaxing. “A little more. You can do this. Just close your eyes. You just have to close your eyes.” Your hands won’t stop shaking. The tremors run up your arms, through your ribs, settling somewhere deep in your throat. You feel the prick of a needle, the slow push of something cold into your veins. It soothes the sharp edges, dulls the panic—but not enough. Not enough to stop the tears from slipping down your cheeks. “Close your eyes,” she whispers again.

You do.

Your hands are in his. The car hums beneath you, the city lights flashing by in a blur, but all you can focus on is him. He drives with one hand, the other wrapped around yours, bringing it to his lips every time you hit a red light. Soft, lingering kisses against your knuckles, “How many babies would you want?”

You nearly choke on your drink, coughing as you turn to him. “What?”

He laughs, eyes flicking toward you for just a second before focusing back on the road. “I mean… I’d love as many as we can have. But of course, it’s your body, baby. You get to tell me.”

Your heart flutters. “We don’t even have a wedding date yet.” Another red light. Another kiss against your hand.

“I know,” he says, voice softer now. “It just crossed my mind. Last night, I dreamt of a little girl… she looked just like you.” He pauses, his thumb brushing against your skin. “She was so beautiful. Like you. And I—”

His words are cut off by the violent, shattering force of metal colliding with metal. The world twists—spins—flips. A scream rips from your throat as the car is thrown into chaos, gravity shifting, glass cracking, the deafening sound of impact swallowing everything.

In the middle of it all, his hand finds yours. Instinctive. Desperate.

Then—stillness.

A ringing in your ears. The distant sound of voices, footsteps pounding against the pavement. Shadows moving outside the wreck. Someone is calling, you think it's for an ambulance. Your chest heaves as you groan, the taste of blood thick on your tongue. Pain radiates from everywhere, your head throbbing as you press trembling fingers against your scalp. Everything hurts.

You turn, breath shaky, searching. Soobin.

You look to your right and he’s already looking at your face. Pale, dazed, blinking too slowly. "Y/N, are you okay?" His voice is hoarse, weak, but when you nod, he exhales a shaky, "Thank fuck."

His grip tightens around your hand. You can barely feel it, your body is numb, adrenaline rushing through your veins. But you squeeze back. Hold on. You breathe. It’s going to be okay. The ambulance is coming.

Then your eyes drop. And your stomach lurches. "Soobin?"

A jagged piece of debris—large, sharp, too deep—juts from his stomach, trailing up his chest. Blood blooms around it, staining his shirt, spilling over his hands where he grips it like he’s not sure whether to pull or hold on.

Your world tilts again. This is just a dream. "Soobin, what—what—how the—"

There’s so much blood. Too much. Your hands press against the wound trembling, trying to keep it from spilling out, but it’s everywhere—warm and sticky between your fingers, staining your skin, pooling beneath him. You’re sobbing, whispering frantic words that don’t make sense, but you can’t even hear yourself. The panic is eating your face, roaring in your ears as you struggle to breathe. “How should I—”

Then his fingers find your face.

His touch is weak but certain, cradling your cheeks, forcing your wild, tear-filled eyes to meet his. His voice is hoarse when he speaks, but stronger than it should be. “Look at me.” His grip tightens, thumbs brushing your tears away. “Baby, shhh, look at me.”

You shake your head, choking on a sob. “Soobin—”

“I don’t wanna see you cry.”

You’re unravelling. He’s bleeding out beneath you, and you can’t do a damn thing to stop it. “Help! Please, someone help us!” you scream, voice cracking. There are people—so many people—but no one can touch him.

His breath stutters, but he still holds onto you. “Y/N.” Your eyes blur with tears as you grip his hand, pressing his palm tighter against your cheek. “Look at me, yeah?” His lips tremble, but he’s still here, still fighting to keep you calm. “Just keep looking at me. Please.” His forehead rests against yours. “It doesn’t hurt when you’re looking at me. We’re gonna get help soon. You're gonna get help soon, okay?”

The last memory crashes over you, pulling you under. Your chest feels heavy, unbearably so, but then… slowly… it gives. The weight that has kept you drowning eases, just enough for you to take a breath. The sound of machines hums beside you. A final tear slips down your cheek.

It feels like the end.

You close your eyes, just for a moment, just to see him one last time—the Soobin you knew like the back of your hand. And then, you see his face. That soft, lopsided grin that always made your heart stumble. His voice is a whisper, just a breath against your skin.

“I’m proud of you.” Your lip trembles. “You’ll be okay.”

"Congratulations, it's successful."

The doctor shakes your hand, his grip firm, reassuring. You smile, nodding along. The nurse beside him looks at you with warmth, and before she can react, you throw your arms around her. She lets out a small gasp before melting into the hug.

You feel light. Weightless.

They tell you the treatment worked. They tell you your mother is waiting outside. You nod again, absorbing their words, but for a brief moment, your fingers drift to your neck, expecting something to be there. But it’s bare.

You push the thought away as you step outside. The air feels fresh against your skin, and then you see her. Your mother. She looks thinner than you remember, her cheeks a little sunken, her eyes holding something you can’t quite place. Had she lost weight?

"Hi, Mom," you say, smiling. She looks at you—really looks at you—and her lips part. She smiles back.

"Oh, honey," she breathes, pulling you into her arms.

You giggle, warmth spreading through your chest. "What’s wrong?"

She pulls back just enough to cup your face, shaking her head. "Let’s go home, okay?" You nod, letting her guide you toward the entrance. Everything feels new, yet oddly familiar, like a dream you barely remember but somehow miss.

You're about to step outside when someone walks in. A bouquet of white roses in their arms. Your breath catches, feet falter. Your head turns instinctively, eyes following the flowers, something deep in your chest stirring, something you can’t name.

Your mother notices. "What is it?"

You blink, exhaling softly. "Nothing." You force a small smile, eyes lingering on the roses. "Those flowers… it’s beautiful."

"Yeah, I'll go home after class, Mom," you say, balancing your phone between your shoulder and ear as you adjust your bag. "Plus, I'm nineteen. An adult now. I can take care of myself."

Your mom chuckles on the other end, the kind of laugh that says she doesn’t quite believe you but won’t argue. "Alright, alright. Just don’t stay out too late."

"I won’t." She sighs, but you can hear the smile in her voice as she bids you goodbye.

The campus is buzzing with energy, students milling about for the event. It’s a collaboration between three schools—art students showcasing their work, others just here to admire. Beside you, Wonyoung loops her arm through yours, eyes scanning the crowd. "Girl, I’m getting us drinks," she announces. "Wait for me here."

You roll your eyes with a laugh. "Okay, okay. Don’t take forever." She winks before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you standing in the middle of it all.

Your eyes drift over the canvases, taking in the strokes of colour, the textures, the stories woven into the art. And then, you stop. Something about this one halts you mid-step. Oh. It’s a painting of—

“You’re a fan of Inuyasha?”

The voice beside you is warm, curious. You turn, finding a tall boy with black specs watching you, his hands tucked into his pockets. He shifts slightly when you meet his gaze, and after a beat, he offers you a small, hesitant smile. It’s barely there, just a quirk of his lips. And yet… his dimples poke through anyway.

He’s cute.

“It’s my favourite,” you reply, tearing your eyes away from the painting.

He nods, a quiet hum escaping him. “Mine too.” Then, after a pause, “Kikyo or Kagome?”

You blink at him. He stares at you, and something in your chest stirs.

Not deja vu—no, it’s not that fleeting, ghostly sense of repetition. This is different. Deeper. It feels like a memory you never knew you had, something tucked away in the quiet corners of your mind. Like a song, you don’t remember learning but somehow know all the words to. Like a book misplaced on a shelf, rediscovered years later—its pages worn, its story intact, as if it had been waiting for you to return.

It feels like something preserved, sealed in the vault of you.

Something... archived.

"What's your name?"

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