#what fucking progress are you TALKING ABOUT???

[madamechrissy]

Took you Like a Shot

Pairings- Rich Frat/fuckboi Toru x Preppy Sorority reader

Summary- One VERY drunk encounter between your greatest rival ever - on your last day of college- leads to you being knocked up. Satoru Gojo, a fuckboy, fratboy, rich little jerk, has been a rival of yours since you all met in College, every damn grade you fought for he got with ease. He crashed every Sorority party you threw. The two of you are so infamous in your rivalry, your friend groups were rivals, and for some reason, life is playing some damn joke on you both. Now... you have to tell him the news - but how Satoru takes it surprises you. Can you both raise a baby together!? And do you even really know each other?

Contents/Warnings- gonna be flashbacks to the rivalry/that night, nerdjo but make him a fratboy, enemies to kind of begrudging partners, but then as the pregnancy progresses, they fall in love hehe (gojo is an idiot) - fluffy and smutty, MDNI -will have explicit sex etc- 4 parts (I THINK) in this chap- flashbacks of explicit sex with dirty talk, weed smoking (Satoru and his boys aha) mentions of sex, lots of humor, enemies to loversss- WC- this chap- 8k- art in the banner by Yuana on X

Playlist (so far)- Comments and reblogs so appreciated if you enjoyy <3

Chapter One

It had been an absolutely filthy night, that led to your doctor coming in and informing you three months later-

'You're pregnant'

You came in for a normal checkup, you're on the pill and you have no sex life, aside from one encounter almost three months ago. A filthy, questionable ass encounter with what so happened to be your former 'bully' - rich boy, frat boy, pretty boy, pretentious boy- Satoru Gojo.

For years, the two of you were rivals, not just academic either, since you were both top of your class all through college, but at everything. He'd hold your notebooks high and laugh at you, he'd try to ruin and crash every sorority event he could. Known as the Queen and King of the campus, you ran the rivaling Sorority to his Fraternity. The amount of times you all had gone toe to toe was literally notorious, even your best friends hated each other on your behalf, starting an entire war between you all.

You have no clue how it happened, still, how the two of you had the best sex of your life at that damn party, fueled by drinks but also something you'd never admit- you've always wondered. Hearing those stories about his... skills, seeing his perfect body and the way his pretty lips smirked so cruelly in your direction, even after all these years- how it all led to this moment.

'Hah, sweets, ya finally admit I'm good at something?' Satoru had murmured in your ear, while he'd had you bent right over some bed at some party- both of you were seniors in college on your last and final party, finally you thought you'd be rid of him, of this ass of a man. He was going to live the rich life, working for his family, and you were moving on to a whole different career.

'One t-thing... that's it...' You had cried out when his cock had shoved in so deep, making you cum all over him, his fingers gripping your hips while he'd pumped deeper and deeper, impossibly until he'd been right on your cervix. 'F-fuck!'

'Fuck... you had a pussy like this and we've been fighting!?' Satoru is whispering, resting his snowy locks against your neck, biting it with sharp teeth as you milk his cock. 'So greedy, huh?'

'S-shut up, mnh- just... keep... there, there shit!' Satoru had slammed right against your cervix, feeling you pulsing around him, it had been too good, too tight, too fucking wet, he'd paused then, looking at your arched ass, your skirt shoved over your hips. 'Keep g-going, please...'

'M'gonna cum, tho-she's too tight- shit can I?' 

Your drunk ass had said- sure. You're precise on that pill, every day your alarm goes off in the morning, you take it. How could...

"Pregnant!?" You repeat. Unbelievable. No fucking way. You...

"Yes sweetie I suggest prenatal and an ultrasound, hmm?" The nurse says so sweetly, as you feel sick to your stomach, which your hand goes down to touch.

Pregnant. With rich, notorious fuckboy Satoru Gojo’s baby- now you would have to tell him!?

Shit.

You take the results in a shaky hand, mind swirling as the doctor goes on and on, some crazy distant humming in your head, there’s no way, it can’t be. You’re literally starting your journalism career, thinking you’d maybe gained a few pounds from stress and ramen, the interning was absolutely brutal, you’re never regular on your periods, hence the birth control in the first place.

Running coffees here and there, grabbing this and that for everyone above you, but you were now officially hired, and you were making good money for once, finally able to pay down some of your pesky student loans and get a nice car. You worked hard for it, for everything, despite many thinking leading a sorority meant you came from money, you were a scholarship girl.

That’s a huge reason you and Satoru always clashed, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, easily acing every test that you busted your ass for, things came easy to him, you worked for it. Achieving the highest you could in your graduating class, the little shit that came to school hungover grinned right next to you, like a goddamn plague, and you hoped that finally he was gone for good.

What bonded two people like you now?

Well…

“Do you need to go over your options, hunny?” One of the nurses says, touching your shoulder with a gentle smile, you shake your head then, clearing your throat.

“I just need to… think.”

You’re pacing back and forth in your apartment, feet padding gently along the hardwood floor, cell phone in your hand, staring at the phone number that just got sent to you by Shoko. She was Satoru’s friend and yours, which was rare given the ongoing student warfare zone you all created. You’d texted her a simple- hey do you have Gojo’s number- not going into details.

How do you even tell him?

What do you say!?

You psych yourself up, finally dialing it, when he picks up the phone after the second ring, murmuring - “Hello.” God, even him answering what he assumes is a stranger is snarky.

“Um, hey.” Gojo pauses at the sound of your voice, faltering just for a moment, as his friends bounce a basketball around a court outside, he sits down on the bench, vivid images filling his head. “It’s-”

“Think I don’t know your annoying voice by heart, sweetheart?” You roll your eyes, sighing and plopping down on your couch.

“Yeah, well… I got your number from Shoko.”

“Need a second round? Should have guessed.” He’s gesturing to Suguru and Sukuna, who roll their eyes at him, and he puts his voice down an octave. “I could be convinced.”

“Jesus christ, Gojo.” You almost hang up, feeling your tummy tighten then, almost nauseous, realizing you had to talk to him. “Are you, I don’t know, um… free for lunch or anything?” You despise the words falling from your lips.

“Asking me on a date, huh? So bold, I like it.” Satoru winks now at his friend’s shocked expressions, muting for a moment, telling them it was you.

“No fucking way.” Sukuna says, Suguru snorts in laughter and Satoru just grins, unmuting you again.

“I guess I could be convinced.” He purrs out those words, chuckling. “Hmm, we could go to that nice place on Hollywood ave hmm? Perfect Sushi.”

Your tummy growls, but then you frown, remembering that Sushi is on your damn list not to eat, you curse internally, peering at this list of everything you should never do or consume, and it specifically says raw fish right there. “Do they have cooked Sushi there?”

“Pshh, you’re such a prissy ass, can’t eat raw huh? Didn’t mind it raw from what I remember.” You hate this man.

“You know what never-”

“Shit, I was just kidding.” He panics, thinking you hung up, hearing your irritated sigh then. “Yeah I think they do. Why do you even wanna hang out, ya wanna nag me in person?” He spins his basketball effortlessly on his finger, acting all calm, as if he wasn’t dying to be buried in your perfect pussy again. “Miss being bitchy to me so bad?”

God he wanted to have you on his face, have you sucking him, he wanted for so much more than you all got to do, drunken fingers and your muted cries as he’d had a big hand tight over your mouth. His cock twitches under his basketball shorts just remembering how slick and hot you were, god how you fucking felt gripping him so damn tight.

Satoru had felt you pulsing around him as he reached his arm around you, pressing his fingertips to your clit in circles, as you’re crying out against his palm, practically drooling against him. ‘There you go, cumming so easy f’me huh?’ he taunts, as his own eyes roll back, feeling your pussy drool against his hand.

‘Mnh!’ was all you managed to murmur against his hand, as he feels your gummy walls spasm around his cock, his blue eyes roll back at how perfect you feel, how long he’s dreamed of this.

‘F-finally got you to shut up, hmm?’ He taunts you, normally you’d have something smart to say, but not as he’s overstimulating your little clit, pulling it away as you damn near collapse on the mattress, your thighs shaking, he wants to kiss you so bad, but you’re burying your face, arching your ass.

‘F-fuck you, Gojo- ah!’

The memories are so vivid Satoru can barely calm his thoughts, hearing you say his name in that irritated little voice, the one that drove him insane from day fucking one, the moment he’d met you. Prissy little thing with so much to prove, he thinks you still feel that way, which the biggest secret Satoru had for you had almost spilled on that last drunken night, the night he was inside you was…

He's always wanted you, not that he'd ever admit that however.

Ever.

“Is like three okay?” You're interrupting his thoughts now, as he clears his throat.

“Three rounds?”

You’re scowling at the phone as you question your life’s choices at this very moment. “Three o'clock, my god, for lunch.”

“Sounds good, it gives us time later, to… you know.” You glare at the phone, unbelievable, he’s ridiculous! 

“Time for what?” Satoru chuckles at your high pitched question.

“Don't be shy, sweets, no need to pretend. I remember it all in vivid detail, every little bit.” Your cheeks heat up, hand clutching the phone tightly, trying to calm yourself and focus.

“Just lunch, that’s all I’m asking you for. Sounds good?”

“Want me to pick you up in my-”

“No, I'll meet you. Okay um…. Bye.” You hang up, breath coming quickly, you couldn't just tell him on the damn phone, this needed to be in person.

The thought of his pretty yet annoying ass presence damn near makes your head spin… would he think it's all a joke? Some scam to get with him or get money?

You're fucking terrified, standing and staring in the mirror, rubbing your tummy and frowning as you do. A damn baby… Likely raising it alone, knowing Satoru all these years, partying, insane and so immature. Even on the phone, he’s so damn cocky and self sure, that this must absolutely be what you want, to have him, as if you are over here pining away.

The sex was amazing to put it lightly, and sure if he was a decent guy, and not a fucking ass of a man, you’d have done it again, but the walk of shame that morning had been the most embarrassing day of your life. His little smirk after you woke up, plump lips too damn glossy for his own good, yawning and stretching half naked, cock already hard as he’d tapped his lap.

‘Another round, sweets? Come to daddy.’

You scoff even at the memory, at the audacity of fuckboi Satoru Gojo, you had run out so quickly he hadn’t had a moment to speak, and you swore to yourself never, ever again. Who cared if his cock was so big it hit places you didn’t know existed, and who cared if you’ve never felt that way, fuck you wish he actually wasn’t as good at it as he was.

Perfect at everything, infuriatingly, even fucking.

You get a text from the guy you were currently at least flirting with a bit here and there, the one you suggested going on a date, and then it all starts to hit, you’re pregnant and quite likely going to be some single mom. You couldn’t just go on dates, everything is completely different, maybe forever truly.

“Twenty Two year old single mom.” You grumble, sighing a bit as you text him you’re busy.

Busy.

*****

Satoru waits nervously at the restaurant, he doesn’t really do dates, he usually spends his time in the bedroom with a girl then runs right off. Shit, he’s never even gone without a condom before you, but when you’d said hurry up and put it in, who the fuck was he to tell you no? Not only had it felt superb, he never wanted to leave that perfect pussy.

Of course you would have the most perfect pussy.

You had to be the best at everything, all the time, didn’t you? Always competing for that top spot, but Satoru always just barely got past you, that .01% of that GPA, winning every contest over you always by just a tiny bit. From the moment you glared up at him and crossed your arms, he knew it, he had to do everything he could to win against your cute little ass.

Here’s the thing… Satoru never hated you, but he loves to say he does, you both say you do, or… well, said. Considering you slept with him and didn’t say a single word after, it’s not like he’s hard to find, but each of you actively refused to add each other on socials, though Satoru will admit he stalks your IG, you’re too fucking pretty not to do so, not that he’d ever like a post.

Once he accidentally did, god he wanted to be like those pathetic simps in your comments, but he’s not that, he’s Satoru Gojo. Women come to him, women come easy too, you of course were never one to come near him in that way, no you’d look at him getting smacked in the face on campus with a grin, vowing to your friends that you’d never be one of his conquests.

That night, though, it was like he lost himself, the most stupid, corny shit Satoru could think of, that last night of his freedom before being forced to take over his family’s business. You and everyone probably thought he wanted to, but of course he fucking didn’t, he didn’t want a part of the Gojo corporation in any way, shape or form.

Satoru felt lost, honestly.

Self sure, confident, conceited clearly, talking far too much shit and laughing, picking on you every chance he got, showing up to all your sorority parties in various stages of undress to lure your friends to him. He’ll never forget him, Sukuna and Suguru crashing your ABC party, wearing nothing but cut open beer boxes, and you so happened to have some white claw box made bikini.

God you’d been sexy, but when he stole all the attention? Oh he’s never seen you more mad.

Well no, he has.

Gojo loved to make you mad, because you’re so damn cute when your nose scrunches up, when your pretty eyes narrow, there was nothing like your huffs as you would cross your arms and shift your hips just so. And if there was anything Gojo was absolutely perfect at, amongst well damn near everything, it was making you absolutely furious.

Finally Satoru sees you, dressed in this pretty blue summer dress that juts out just a bit at the waist, making his heart race for just a moment at how pretty you are. It’s not like he forgot… but god. Are your tits bigger he wonders, or is he just obsessed with them, as always, looking too hard. Your cheeks are this beautiful color, your eyes so bright, like… some damn glow about you.

How corny is he lately.

He puts on a smirk as he leans back, waving with his fingers to gesture you over, and you look at him so damn seriously, sitting across from him, hands entwined together in front of you on the table for a moment, as you eye him carefully. “Gojo, um… how are you?’

Who the fuck is this girl in your body!?

You don’t nervously ask shit, you tell Gojo to fuck off, you glare or scowl while he smirks, what’s this… shy ass shit? He frowns a bit now, you exhale and slide off your purse, letting it sit on the seat next to you, he can’t stop staring at your lips, clearly bitten to fucking hell.

He tries to feign that he’s fine, that he hasn’t missed you, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. He missed your daily arguments on campus, he missed you being a total brat. He misses your scent, god that vanilla sugar body spray was haunting his very dream.

He acts as if he hadn’t died to hit you up, but he stopped himself. He couldn’t go that far, not with you, not with what you did to him, how you’ve damn near destroyed any game for himself any longer. That one night with you had sunk into him so deeply, he wishes it was just good pussy, and not whatever this was.

He’s jerked it off to you every fucking night since, to the point is damn dick doesn’t even work, he sure also wouldn’t admit that he can’t even fuck a girl because you were so good. Some evil witch that did something, it must be, he has at this point just given up trying, until whatever curse you gave him falls the fuck off.

But god you look good in front of him.

He should tell you, but instead he swipes a hand through his silky white locks and smirks right at you. “Missed me so badly, sweets?”

You roll your pretty eyes as the menu comes, smiling and thanking the hostess, a smile reserved for anyone in the world but him, even when he’d had you cumming all over him, you weren’t smiling. No, but you were drooling then.

‘Ah, look at you, so fuckin pathetic f’me, huh? Thought you hated me, sorority brat’ Satoru had huffed, as he’d fingered your cunt, curling inside of your slick walls, watching your pretty fucked out face. ‘Just from fingers?’

‘I do h-hate you- mnh!’ Your sparkly manicured nails dug into his broad shoulders as your tight walls convulsed around him, as he hit that spot that no man had ever found in a moment.

Perfect at everything, stupid Satoru.

‘Feel her, god she’s so desperate, huh?’

“Fuck you I- there, shit!’ you’d rolled your hips, grinding right on his hand, pussy drooling as you came from his fingers before he’d even put his cock inside you, and Satoru’s cock was leaking against his boxers, twitching as he pictures how perfect you’d felt around him. ‘Fuck you for being so g-good at that!’

‘Oh, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.’ He’d turned you then, whispering a ‘bend over, just like that, gonna be a big stretch, hmm?’

Satoru struggles to calm his memory, focusing on that sexy mouth of yours moving, realizing words are coming out of them, blinking to focus.

“How are you doing, Gojo?” You ask softly, always Gojo, you never called him Satoru, and he always called you sweets, short stuff, your last name, also never your first.

But he wanted to call you a lot of things, one of them being-

Stop that Satoru.

“I’m doing great, of course, miss me so much?” He teases, winking at you and sipping on the sickeningly sweet Shirley temple he’d had them buy, you just grab a water, hand flitting to your tummy for a moment. “You’re not sick are you?”

“No, not sick just… yeah we needed to talk. Is that okay?”

Satoru leans forward, raising a thin white brow. “You seem weird, everything okay?”

“Well… shit. I guess I’ll just say this. Um…” You tuck your hair behind your ear, looking out the window at the bustling city for a moment, before looking back at him. “Remember that night?”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do all this to have a repeat.” His hand comes to your thigh, and that’s when you curse this pregnancy, because your nipples tighten, your cunt gets hot and wet from that.

Fuck hormones.

You take a breath, glaring as you always do at Satoru, the only time you never had was when he’s had your face with a slutty O for your mouth, your eyes rolled back, nails gripping those sheets. You shove his hand off, hoping he couldn’t feel your heat that quickly, as your body responds stupidly in a damn sushi restaurant.

“It’s not that, it’s important. Can you ever be serious in your life!?” You say quietly, and it’s his turn to glare, taking his hand back, sipping his drink again.

“Well just spit it out. What is all this, then?”

“It’s… I… You…” Shit, if ever you needed a drink it was now, and you damn sure wouldn’t have one for a good six months or more.

“It’s… I…. You…” He mocks, and you stand then, so furious your heart is racing, snatching up your purse.

“Never mind, I should have known you’re-”

“Shit, just sit. Sorry. Okay?” He grips your delicate wrist in his big hand, and even that is wrecking you, against your better judgement and everything you feel. “I’m sorry, it seems… serious. Just sit down and spit it out.”

You sit back down now, shifting as you both make your orders, a thankful distraction. As the waitress leaves, you sigh. “I don’t want anything from you, first off, so don’t think that.”

“What?” He blinks in confusion.

“I don’t need help, I can do it myself.”

“Do what!?”

“But you have to know… it’s the right thing to do, to tell you.” You look up at the ceiling, gathering your thoughts.

“Is this… are you in love with me, because of how good it was? Shit, that’s okay baby, everyone-”

“I’m pregnant.”

“What!?” You just sit there, seriously staring, as he blinks, looking at fuller breasts, your damn glow, thinking of every dumb thing he’s heard. “You’re… by who?” He whispers, and you flush then, shifting in your seat, sipping more of your water, condensation cool on your hot palm, your skin is burning, heart is racing.

“I was on the pill, religiously, I swear, I never missed one. Shit, until I found out I never missed… I… never would have done it like we did if I knew.” You feel sick as he gapes at you, his pretty blue eyes bulging out damn near, his mouth dropped open. “I expect no help, no involvement, we’re young. I just-”

“This a joke, right?” You take another breath, hand gripping the glass, eyeing those around you all, engulfed in conversations.

“It’s not a joke.” He’s laughing now, smacking his thigh, and your jaw tenses as he does.

“It’s you and your damn friends, someone recording!? Hah-”

“It’s not a joke.” You clear your throat now, leaning in your purse and pulling out the papers, with your name, the results, watching his expression shift, brows drawing low, his jaw tense. “It’s only been you, no one else for an entire year.”

“A whole year?” He eyes you again, and you flush under his gaze, as his hands shake, hands you’ve never seen shake, hands that dribble basketballs, that tossed footballs, all with ease.

Hands that…

Fuck, don’t think of it.

“I’m not… I was too busy.” Besting Gojo, competing with Gojo, you had no time for shit with him, your anger at him shone so brightly it was hard to think about men. “As I said, you don’t need to pay for anything, this isn’t that conversation, this is just me letting you know. I’m keeping it.”

Satoru continues to blink at you, staring open mouthed, at your face, then your body, then back to your face, over and over, while the waitress brings out the food, smiling curiously at the two of you. Satoru doesn’t make a move to touch his food, running his hand through his now messy white locks again, as his mind spins.

“I know you’re wealthy, I don’t want you thinking I want some piece of it. I’ll take care of them alone, please don’t worry.” You touch your tummy, the motion making Satoru fucking feral in some way he can’t put together, just continuing to stare at you in utter shock as the sushi sits in front of the two of you. “I can leave, now, we don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” He murmurs finally, voice hoarse.

“Act like we are civil, act like we’re anything but college enemies, fucking rivals, not even friends. God I know you hate me, I know this was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” He whispers.

“Yes, for both of us. You don’t deserve your life uprooted, sure I can’t stand you, but this is my fuck up. I said those words…”

‘Cum in me, f-fucking cum in me, mnh…’ you’d arched your back, as his long fingers wrapped your throat, god he’d never felt anything like you.

‘Want me to fill your pussy s’good, huh lil brat?’ you just whine, muscles clenching on his cock, and he’d groaned in your ear then, shoving deep inside your drooly cunt. ‘Beg for it, then’

Oh, you had.

You hated him for it.

“It’s my fault, so don’t worry. But I wanted to be transparent, but I am… indeed, pregnant.”

“Pregnant, like, with a baby?” Satoru whispers, and You giggle then, for the first time since you found out, covering your mouth just a bit as he just stares.

“Yeah, a baby.”

“Mine…” His words send something through the both of you.

“Yours, but only if you want to be involved. I know it was a hate fuck, we’re young, we have lives-”

“You got a… like that scan shit set up?”

“Ultrasound?” He nods, nervously, hands clenching the table so hard you see the veins popping up through his thin skin. “I do, next week. I mean it is a couple months already, so I will see something, not like… the sex but…”

“Can I go?”

You blink in shock now. “You want to?”

“Yeah. I mean… why wouldn’t I?” He rubs the back of his neck, as the life he thought, the mundane one of following his damn family, of being a pawn in a bigger scheme, everything flashes.

It changes.

He’s scared shitless, but…

“I want to be involved. If you want me to be.” You blink back tears, but you fail, and if it’s one thing, Satoru Gojo has never seen his preppy ass Sorority rival cry, not fucking once.

He falters as those tears run down your cheeks, he leans over, hesitantly, the only physical contact aside from that fateful night was him shoving at you teasingly, or you smacking at him. Shit you all hadn’t hugged, you never even kissed aside from that night, sloppy and messy. But he doesn’t stop, until his thumb brushes your cheek, and you gasp.

“Shit I’m crying. Stupid hormones.” You huff now, swiping at your own eyes with shaky little hands. “You really wanna go?”

“Yeah if it’s cool?”

Satoru’s shocking you, the world tilts on its axis, like you’re having some insane dream. This can’t be real, can it? It’s fuckboi, frat boy Gojo, the man who goes through girls like they’re candy, the man who takes nothing serious, who has the world handed to him.

“Gojo, if you want to go of course you can, to any and all appointments, but you’re under no obligation, and please know I can cover the costs.”

“I know you’d never take my money, shit even if I offered, stubborn ass little brat that you are.” You manage a breathless giggle, the second one, realizing he is still brushing that thumb against your cheek, before he clears his throat. “So, tell me what day, I'll be there.”

“Yeah, are you sure? It will make it so… real, you know?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Now eat your cooked sushi, aren’t you like eating for two or some shit?”

You take your chopsticks with a shaky hand, exhaling. “I was reading, I think they are like the size of a pea maybe. But, this is yummy looking.”

“Gonna be a huge ass baby, shit.”

“Oh god!” You eye his lanky body, and he’s grinning, Satoru is grinning!? Shocking you further.

Maybe you don’t know him like you think?

“Tits are gonna get so big.”

Never mind.

*****

“An ultrasound!? A baby? Fuck…” Suguru Geto inhales the blunt, sucking the smoke into his lungs as Satoru nervously paces Sukuna and Suguru’s apartment, Satoru chose to live in his own place, closer to work. But he frequently gets shitfaced and crashes out at their place.

“Sounds fucking insane, shit.” Sukuna chuckles, as he’s hitting a bong, inhaling and exhaling, broad shoulders shaking as he coughs. “You look like you could use a hit or something.

“Before the ultrasound? Shit I need more than weed. I’m freaking the fuck out right now.”

“Imagine you as a dad though hah!” Sukuna smacks his thigh, as Satoru glares now, stopping his pacing while the music plays, the same music Satoru remembers doing keg stands and playing beer pong in togas to, only to now have the possibility of being responsible for a whole human being.

“Can’t even keep a plant alive, shit.” Suguru says in between laughs, and Satoru raises a white brow at the two of them on the couch.

“You two are so supportive.”

“Well shit, she said you don’t have to be involved, you can always just like… send money and shit? Do you really want a whole kid?” Sukuna asks, and Satoru takes a breath, pacing once more as he runs hands through disheveled hair over and over.

“Do I want a whole kid, no, I never even… I mean I figured eventually, as the Gojo heir, blah blah blah.” Satoru slumps in a nearby recliner, as Suguru hands him the blunt, frowning a bit now.

“You do need a hit. You’re young, it’s not time to give your family fuckin’ heirs yet, is it?”

“They’d probably be delighted.” Satoru rolls those cerulean eyes, inhaling the smoke into his lungs and leaning back, staring up at the ceiling, as the black fans above them swirl, moving the puffy clouds of smoke all around. His nostrils fill with the scent of the Sativa, wishing he could make sense of his thoughts. “Not delighted that it’s out of wedlock and unplanned.”

“Imagine her marrying you.” Sukuna and Suguru laugh loudly again, as Satoru hits the blunt again, not passing it.

“The fucks that mean?”

“She hates you. God I think more than anyone.” Suguru says, and Satoru smirks just a bit.

“She sure didn’t hate this dick.”

“Oh!” He’s slapping hands with his friends as Sukuna and Suguru start to make the most obscene gestures, while you call, and he shushes them quickly, trying to compose himself.

“Hello?”

“Gojo, hey. Um, ultrasound is in an hour, I’m heading out soon if you want to meet up?”

“Why don’t I have my driver pick you up?” He asks, and Suguru and Sukuna continue the gestures, making Satoru snort in laughter, the weed starting to enter his bloodstream.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just thought it would be more convenient in this traffic.” He shoots a wink at his friends.

“I mean… sure?” Satoru mouths yes, pumping his fist, clearing his throat now.

“It’ll be easier this way, alright send me your addy I’ll head out.”

“All right.” You just hang up, such a rude little thing. Satoru has changed your name to Sorority Brat in his phone for a good reason.

“What are you gonna do though, man?” Suguru murmurs thoughtfully, his dark violet eyes narrowed, clearly blitzed. “Gonna like… be with her?”

“Could cum in her whenever now.” Sukuna bursts out in laughter as Satoru glares at the two of them.

“Grow up…” They blink at him, then Satoru grins wide. “Nah, that would be a perk, because her pussy my god.”

They both scooch up, elbows on their thighs, avidly staring at Satoru now. “Details, man, it’s like the one girl you never told us about?” Sukuna asks.

“Because you’re in love.”

“Pshh, in love!?”

“Haven’t seen you with anyone since.” Suguru earns Satoru’s middle finger, as he puts out the blunt, stretching and earning their pouts.

“Bet she’s so good, though, all angry and shit, bet she’s a freak.” Satoru doesn’t even know if you’re a freak necessarily, but as Suguru agrees, he glares at them both, crossing his arms.

“This has been the worst pep talk in fucking history.”

“Shit, what’s your decision?” Suguru asks, and Satoru’s mind races, peeking at his watch now.

“I think I’ll make it when I like… see it?”

“Alright big Daddy, then if you decide to be involved we’ll be like… their uncles and shit.” Suguru says, and Satoru grimaces.

“God no, you’ll ruin my kid.”

“Fuck off now.” Sukuna starts hitting his blunt again, Satoru walks out away from them and spritzes cologne all along himself, he knows your prissy self never smoked weed, no you were a little goodie goodie. He thinks the only time he saw you drink was a little at parties, but never like that last night.

He remembers just looking at you asleep when he’d woken up, and the tenderness he felt when he had brushed your hair off your pretty face, and you’d stirred a bit. For a moment he felt his heart hammer in his chest, stone cold sober, seeing the bite marks he’d left on your delicate skin, feeling affection like he couldn’t describe, Satoru never felt that way.

He didn’t cuddle, he didn’t linger.

He ran out before they could wake up, he ran out like you did to him, perhaps he was a little nicer about it, though, you’d given no fucks when you darted out the damn door in a hurry. He had acted cocky though, full on hard just by the damn thought of your slick sticking to his cock, but instead of perhaps kissing you, he’d patted his lap and been a little shit.

He hated the recognition on your face, like he’d been a mistake, so he decided to shove you out of his brain, though he clearly failed.

Jogging down the stairs, he has his driver sent in your direction, and you get the text he’s there, stepping out in front of your little house, cute Satoru thinks, it’s small but it’s immaculate from the exterior. You have pink flowers and succulents all over the front of it when he steps out, eyeing your pretty dress, nerves starting to eat at him, but he puts on an easy smile.

“Ready to go see this little parasyte?’

“A what!?”

“Technically, it sort of is. Right, you’re like its host.” Your mouth is wide open, as you touch your tummy, and he curses. “Shit…”

“A parasyte, you’re calling our… I mean I guess my… the baby a-”

“I’m sure it’s a cute parasyte? It has a pretty host.” Satoru tries to put on the charm, the smolder, as you stare at him in shock.

Was it shocking, this was Gojo.

“Dear God.”

How’d you end up pregnant with this idiot’s baby?!

You slide into the car as you shake your head, and he covers his face, grimacing as he realizes he just told his… god what even were you, a baby mama!? That his baby was a… parasyte. Well, it is, and Satoru would typically just argue with you and let you know he’s correct and you’re wrong, but he keeps quiet, feeling you seething.

“Fire signs.” He mumbles, you look at him again.

“What?”

“You’re a fire sign, it’s why you’re so feisty. I am too, you know.” You relax just a bit, curiously.

“You believe in astrology?” You ask in shock, for as long as you’ve known Satoru Gojo, the two of you don’t really know each other.

“Baby I’m the most Saggitarius man there is.” You giggle again, fuck that’s three giggles Satgoru has counted, and how it lights up your already glowing makes him ache for you, suddenly realizing one of his long legs is brushing against you. Your warmth alone makes him throb, the vanilla sugar filling the space in the car.

“You certainly are the epitome of a Saggitarius. Don’t call me feisty, yuck.” You shove at him playfully almost, pausing a bit when you realize his body feels far too good against yours.

You may or may not have masturbated last night, and he may or may not have popped in your head, over and over. But, don’t worry, because Satoru has spent months jerking his thick length to the thought of you, not that either of you would admit that it may or may not have happened.

“This baby would be a fire sign.” You murmur then, letting your hand fall, and nervously fidgeting, Gojo’s long limbs take over so much of the car, as big as it is, Gojo’s always taken over everything, even apparently your senses.

“Would it?” He asks quietly, for once just a little serious it seems.

“Yeah, an Aries if it comes when it should.”

“So it’ll be a brat like you.”

“Psh, like you.” You roll your eyes, and the two of you fall into a bit of a silence, so much unspoken between you. “Do you know if…”

“That’s why I want to see. Make it real?”

You actually nod in understanding, surprising him then. “I get it.”

The ultrasound tech is rolling the wand over cold gel soon, as you’re embarrassingly propped up with your feet in stirrups, and Satoru stands to the side, glaring at the man who’s inserting this wand in you. He gets angry that he’s getting such a view, he doesn’t even think he saw you that much.

What he remembers…

Your pussy is very pretty.

You wince a bit as the doctor smiles up at you. “Tight muscles, huh?”

Satoru snorts in laughter, and you glare. “What!?”

“You are so tight.”

“Gojo!” You glare, and even the doctor laughs, also earning your scowl, which makes them both sober up.

“Sorry, Miss. Alright… relax, would you?” How do you relax as a doctor is shoving a wand in your coochie and your enemy, who got you pregnant somehow, is turning red holding in his lewd thoughts!? “Look at the screen.”

You and Satoru both look over now, your breath catches then, as does his, when the doctor begins to tap keys on the keyboard, and you hear it for the first time, this little… heartbeat. It’s a heartbeat.

“There it is, congratulations you two. About… ten weeks?” You’re enamored as you stare at the screen, and he moves the wand inside you. “Look there, that’s the little baby.”

Baby.

A baby.

It’s all real.

Satoru’s completely silent as tears fill your eyes, a myriad of emotions, some that you’re so connected already to a little peanut inside you, some that you don’t know how you’ll do this, some of your life. How will it alter, how will it go, what will people think… and what does the man next to you think? What will he do!?

But overwhelmingly as you feel yourself begin to cry, and the screen turns off, you feel warmth spread, touching your tummy in wonder, there’s a damn baby in your body. Your baby. Something you never considered or thought of, you figured much, much later in life, not now.

And you’d likely be…

Alone in this.

“I’ll go get a picture printed for you two.” The doctor smiles kindly, as you’re left alone, with a for once silent Satoru Gojo.

You hesitate to look at him, a stunned expression on his face as you sit up, closing your legs and biting your lower lip, he finally looks at you and exhales, seeing your tear streaked cheeks. A girl he never knew to cry or giggle has done both, and a man you never thought to be serious or quiet… was.

“Satoru um…”

“Satoru?” He asks quietly, and you flush.

“Sorry…”

“No, I don’t mind, just… crazy. This is crazy. There’s a whole life inside you!? And we made it?” You sigh, nodding then, and he shocks you as he leans down, as you’re sitting in the bed, coming so close to you, eyes swirling storms of emotions.

“You can back out now, it’s okay. I won’t put this on you, keeping it is an insane idea but… it feels right to me?” He tilts your chin up, leaning closer, to where you can taste the sweetness of his breath, as your heart pounds right in your chest. “But if you’re backing out, do it now, it will hurt… fuck it will hurt more if you get too involved, okay? Do it now.”

“I’m not backing out of shit.” You gasp, and he exhales, wiping your tears away. “We both did this. I’ll not live in some world knowing my baby is raised with no help of mine in any way, fuck that.”

“But you-”

“I get it, we… aren’t… together. But in this I will be.”

“Satoru, I think I may have a cardiac arrest  before I get this baby out.” You sniffle and he smirks a bit.

“So unbelievable that I’d want to?”

“Yes. The Gojo I know…”

“You may not know me as well as you think. And maybe I don’t know you that much… aside from I agree about that tight-”

“I swear!” You shove at him, as he snorts in laughter, still a little shit, as they bring in two pictures, and Satoru takes one thoughtfully.

“That’s it, huh?” He tilts his head curiously. “Looks like me.”

“It looks like nothing yet, what?” You’re taking tissue and cleaning up a bit, as they give you privacy to pull back on your panties, but Satoru gives you no privacy, just looking. “You could turn?”

“Why, that’s one benefit you know.”

“What?”

“Could fuck any time, cum inside whenever.”

“Oh you wish.” You shove at his chest, and he’s grinning and wiggling his brows, grabbing your waist, pulling you against him.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”

“Shut it.” Yes.

“Sex is good for pregnancy.”

“You’re so full of shit! I can’t with you. Rizzing me up at a gyno?”

“Perfect place, see that doctor, he wants a piece.”

“You’re so dumb, I swear.” You look at the picture then, thumb brushing against the baby’s… maybe it’s a face?

“Are we gonna live together?”

“I mean… what?” You eye him in shock.

“When the baby’s here.”

“No, we don’t have to do all that, we live close. Can you imagine us living together, we’d kill each other.” He envisions it, the fights surely but… the sex, and seeing you in the morning?

“Or fuck. Alot.”

“That’s how this happened.” You mumble, and soon you’re back home, and trying to ignore your body’s insane responses while he stands on your porch, looking far too fucking sexy. “Thank you for being there.”

“You thanking me? the world is ending.”

“Hush. I appreciate this, you standing by me. You don’t have to.”

“I… want to. Um, what will we say?”

You bite your lip more, until he gently takes it out from under your top row of teeth, brushing against the indentations. “We could say we’re together, if you don’t mind, dating I guess? My parents would trip if they knew it’s like…”

“Same. My parents would be happy for a Gojo heir though.” You hear it, the surprising resentment in his voice.

There’s a lot you don’t know.

“Well, I can act like I like you for them if you want.” You tease, and he leans against your doorway, so fucking tall, just looming over you, and you have to clench your hands not to give in to the temptation of touching him.

“Act like you like me- you?”

“I could! If you could act like you like me, in front of my family.”

“How will we explain the whole not living together thing?”

“It’s new, it’s 2025 Gojo, not 1810. We’ll be okay. You're so old school huh, gonna marry me?”

“You’d leave me at the altar.” You both laugh again, as he straightens up now. “Alright, so when should we tell them?”

“When you want to. So work on those acting skills. I’ll set up brunch with mine, you set up dinner with yours?”

“Sounds good. Alright don’t miss Daddy too much.” You snort and roll your eyes, turning away now.

“Daddy? Whatever.”

Satoru presses you against the door, wrapping an arm around your waist, pressing a hand gently on your tummy, splaying the expanse of it with long fingers, as your breath comes quicker and quicker. “Could swear you called me daddy when I beat up that pretty pussy hmm?”

You falter, whining softly, hating your body’s reaction, scowling right up at him, your hand on your doorknob, while this tall ass of a man makes your body light up. “Never called you daddy, no way.” Your voice is a pathetic whisper, why does he do this to you, you want to arch into his damn touch, press against his length, to the point you make yourself stiffen.

“Oh? Must have been the liquor.” He caresses your face, leaning so close you wildly think he’ll kiss you, and you know damn well you can’t handle that, not with your pussy soaking your damn panties just from this.

You hate Satoru Gojo, and he hates you.

This is… because you both are having a baby.

Right?

“It must have been.”

“Ah, I see. Good night, then sweetheart.” He leans his lips up, kissing the top of your head, a gesture so oddly sweet it doesn’t even fit him. “Text me the details, Sorority brat.”

“Sure will, Frat boy.” He sticks his tongue out as you do, walking in and leaning against the door, overwhelmed by the scent of his cologne, the feel of his hands, the memories that surfaced. You slide down it slowly, burying your face in your hands, as your body trembles with this insane need.

Shit. A baby with your enemy?

A baby with Frat Boy Gojo?

Faking that you like him, would it really be that fake?

Satoru’s leaning against it too, for just a moment, trying to compose himself… finally he’s in the back of the car again, as his driver looks  in the rearview mirror curiously, tired eyes focusing as Satoru looks at the picture again. The little peanut that’s apparently a…

A baby.

With his enemy.

An enemy he really wants to be inside again.

“Everything alright, Mr. Gojo?” Kiyotaka asks, Satoru runs a hand through his hair now, leaning back in his seat as he peers out the dark tinted windows.

“I’m having… a baby with a girl who hates me.”

“Why does she hate you?” Kiyotaka asks, driving off, as Satoru chuckles just a bit, remembering bits and pieces of college, out of order, out of sync.

“Because honestly, I was kind of a complete dick to her?”

“That’s… oddly self observant.”

“You saying I’m a dick to you?”

“No Mr. Gojo!”

“I’m kidding, relax.” Kiyotaka’s tense shoulders relax when Satoru leans forward, hand on his shoulder through the little divider that’s opened. “Do you know shit about kids at all?”

“I have nephews, they’re pretty good kids. But babies, not really.”

“I could ask my parents but they basically had nannies raise me.”

“Many nannies, I heard.”

“Well, I was a menace to be honest. Where do I learn about these… things?”

“Babies?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I think there are books?”

“Hmm.” Satoru pulls out his phone then.

Fratboy Gojo🙄(yes that’s his name in your phone now, no you’re not sorry): Should I order us baby books?

Sorority Brat💦😻(of course that’s your name in his phone): Yes, if you want to? That would be good. Thank you… for today.

Fratboy Gojo🙄: Two thank yous!? That baby is making you a mush.

Sorority Brat💦😻: Whatever!

Satoru snorts then, but when you’re in your bed later that night, nibbling on a bag of hot cheetos that have been screaming at you all day, how is that your first craving!? He writes to you again, and you pick your phone up with your clean hand, sans hot cheeto dust, rolling your eyes.

Fratboy Gojo🙄: Need some nudes for your spank bank?

You’re gonna kill him.

Sorority Brat 💦😻: Good night, Gojo.

Satoru frowns, because his dick is already in his hand, but for a moment you think about it, and would it be so bad to-

No, no no.

You aggressively eat those hot cheetos, wondering just what you were in for with that damn boy in your life now, shit forever.

“Fuck.” You’ll never drink again.

I say four parts but I feel like this is gonna be long aha, bc god Gojo is a lil shithead hehe (as I like him) this just a teensy bit similar to the Knocked Up movie premise so expect a LOT of humor here! <3

Taglist one- @jannythewriter-pt2 @gojosoups @lycoris-radiata-4-sale @cutiepi-iee @poisonousspiderlily @closerbutnevertogether @myahfig4 @shokosbunny @coq1myun @rinny27 @abibliolife @coq1myun @megumisthirdog @p4lli @turtlebangtan @webshooterrr9 @aldebrana @msqudo18 @s0ulsnatchaaa @ovela @midnaamethyste @nearlyfuckingwitches @shibataimu @msniks @missthatgirl @fantasy1nightmare0 @maddyhehehehhe @yourst3pm0mmy @haithamsbb @rentheannihilator @ilovebeansyay @lemonswirlz @dilfkentolover @evelynxxo @bkgnotsuma @suki91 @burntasian @nakiich @hyunjinsruinedpainting @miniv1x3n @minascasket @ihrtmack @contaminatedcupcake @girlwithn0j0b @tokyi999 @vamqyx @queenofthekill @verriees @vullzo @jkslaugh97

[wizard-of-interesting-failure]

No you know what I'm gonna take a second here. [Highly unhinged rant at the fundamental injustice, inefficiency, and sheer bloody-minded stupidity of current social technology below the cut]

Absolute horse piss. God, even setting aside how she deserved better from everyone around her and had the same right to a fully accepted authentic life as everyone else, imagine what she could have done if she was supported instead of being treated like this. If she wasn't fired from her job, ejected from her support network, and didn't have to constantly advocate for herself and people like her to be treated like human beings (which was brave and good work worthy of being honored but should never have been necessary in the first place, like rescuing people from a building that collapsed because it was built like shit)

Like okay I don't talk about this that often but I'm a kidney transplant recipient and I think a lot about how the field (like every other avenue of human endeavour) has been crippled by short-sighted bigotry. STEM fields are still hugely male-dominated (sidebar STEM is not the be all and end all creatives y'all super valid and important and your work is foundational to the functioning of STEM and human endeavour and quality of life as a whole; this is just the example that highlights the point for me personally) and it's like. If we didn't push literally everyone except cishet white guys well off enough to afford tertiary education away from everything in the area, would I just have an artificial kidney by now? Who knows?? I'm probably never fucking going to because stupid nonsense.

It's the same shit. And don't get me wrong, the individual human tragedy of unnecessary hardships on the part of this (and every) trans woman (and so many other groups besides) is morally horrible and an indictment of culture as a whole. But we'd probably have fucking blade runner robots or quantum computers or working fusion reactors or Actual Cool AI Instead Of The Current Horseshit by this point! Or a real Mars colony instead of some blowhard yammering on about it while he inflicts suffering on untold millions! Or God knows what else!

And don't even get me started on lack of opportunity for almost everybody in the world. It's like that quote about all the potential einsteins who were born and died impoverished without ever even touching a science textbook.

Like you wanna know why we're struggling so much? Population increase is supposed to mean more hands and minds on every problem but it doesn't because...ugh! Imagine if we cared about global poverty. Imagine how many more lives free of hunger. Imagine how many more people thinking about how to solve everything that needs solving.

I just. The morality is bad enough. It's a great evil by itself. But the sheer fucking gall of dressing it up behind progress and hard decisions. Do you have any idea how much "progress" this costs us? What a good investment humanity would be if we pulled our heads out of our asses for two seconds? What you, personally, have lost because the person who would have given it to you lived and died in preventable despair?

Again, I have to emphasise. People are worthy without contributing huge individual achievements to the arc of history. Society is a collective and everything everyone does adds to the weave and adds up to what we as a whole achieve, there's no real separating out of "this person did this thing" when they were supported by the entire collective of humanity past and present, and even if there was achievement is not the sole benchmark by which life is measured. A better life for everyone is the point, and the idea of "if I don't think you're contributing then you don't deserve anything" is a big part of how we got here in the first place.

There is no culling of the "unproductive". They are the ones who need this most of all. Every life matters, every life (yes, even that one) is a roll of the dice for a miracle of insight (not just in STEM; it all fucking matters and it always has), every life is its own purpose, every life is worthy, to save one life is to save all of mankind, to enrich one life is to enrich all of mankind, to be a life that is enriched is to be enriched on behalf of all of mankind, and none of these facts depend upon any others. There's a mind in there! A self-perceiving miracle of reality! Of course it's precious beyond measure regardless of context, you dipshit!

We can celebrate great advances and exceptional performances without ignoring that we, as a whole, made these things possible too. And we can recognise that these things are valuable because of what they do for everyone, and that the more everyone there is the more valuable they are, and that in order for making life better for the worse off to matter the worse off themselves must matter, and that every life is worthy and every soul is sacred and the people using Lynn's technology to help with their disabilities or live hidden from those who wish them harm or resist the forces I'm talking about here are why the technology is a force for good in the first place.

But I weep for the fact that we have squandered almost all human potential across all of history in short-sighted power-seeking and arbitrary outgroup punishments, and everyone everywhere has suffered for it. Yes, even the stupid billionaires; they'd probably live longer if they hadn't stepped on the people who would have discovered the cure for whatever ends up killing them. Today's average well-off human knows riches that would be the envy of the kings of old, and the average human if none of this was a problem would know riches that would be the envy of the oligarchs of today.

Lives being lived in ways that diminish other lives are ideally changed minimally so that they no longer do (this is the maximisation of collective freedom) and consigned to any other fate only with great sorrow. Even if it is right to do so, I do not believe it is ever righteous. Even if it is not regrettable that it was done in the present, it is regrettable that the past produced a present that required it, and a future that does better should ever be sought.

Just...fucking stupid. That we're so willing impoverish ourselves so that some other people we don't like for no reason can be impoverished more. That the only thing keeping us from Star Trek (not just the spaceships but everything else too) is petty fucking spite (and physics but who knows what backdoor bullshit we could find to work around that).

That Lynn Conway's life, extraordinary and laudable as it was, was made smaller by this rank fucking idiocy. I do not aim to diminish her work by considering what it could have been. I aim to diminish the age she was forced to live in.

Rest in peace, Lynn. You deserved unfathomably, infinitely fucking better, and we are all richer for what you managed to pull off in spite of it all.

[keferon]

I know baby orca that got snatched in the ocean would get transported with a helicopter to locations and stuff, so maybe something like that ?

Also Jazz hanging at the pool's water surface (probably dissociating) due to a lack of enrichment has been haunting me for many various reasons. One thing i keep thinking about, though, is Prowl witnessing that by accident one night. Maybe they've only known each other for a couple of days so Prowl at this point only got to witness this weird orca who is all soft and cutesy with the humans and endlessly chatty with him, even if he only knows like three words.

Then one night when he happens to wake up, he just gets to see Jazz hanging up there, perfectly still and awake, and also unresponsive. He's probably been up there for a few hours now. It just. Ouh.

YES YES I WAS ALSO THINKING OF THIS

Prowl would look at Jazz's weird proportions. At his thin tail and curled fins and be like what is wrong with you? What the fuck is going on here??

And then he would see Jazz just. Drifting aimlessly on the surface. Floating there like a piece of wood. Like if he was fucking dead. And it would be SO UNCANNY.

Prowl would probably try to talk to him or make him do something instead but. Realistically? There's nothing to do and nowhere to go.

And it just clicks in Prowl's head. Jazz was living like that for YEARS. It's not his laziness. Not him being weird like that. There's simply no reason to do anything.

Prowl moves a lot because he has places to be. People to meet. Problems to solve or literally anything else. Jazz moves because he's bored of staying still. And then he stays still because he's bored of moving. There is no purpose. There is no progress and no change. It doesn't matter what he does the outcome is still the same.

I think Prowl would be so fucking scared once he realizes he has a chance to repeat the same fate.

And then after they learn that humans plan to move Prowl back to the ocean? He would be FUCK NO I'm not leaving you to rot in this horrible concrete prison.

[3liza]

the twisted metal show is just getting progressively goofier and funnier and I can't emphasize enough how refreshing that is, even though it's missing a lot of the same stuff I was complaining about missing with fallout. a good attitude can excuse a litany of sins tbh!!! it's correctly on tone with the source material (which is dumb as hell) and not stuck up its own ass and not trying to adopt any more elevated message than "Orange County is full of psychopaths" which is something we can all get behind tbh

they are clearly aiming for a thunderdome or escape from LA tone and getting, generously, almost as close as they can without thunderdome production budget. once again the wardrobe is really lacking, which always bugs me when wardrobe is so easy to do on no budget if you just hire the right creatives. i don't want to watch serious or irony poisoned post apocalyptic shit anymore, I'm fed up. whanging that horseshoe as close as you can get to "mad max" and falling short is preferable to whatever smug tech conference bullshit was going on in fallout.

I'm not saying it's good but it is fun. I'm especially enjoying how the stupid action movie dialog is getting progressively more self aware, but not in an annoyingly ironic way. they are getting comfortable with letting their writers and actors softshoe a little bit and we're starting to get Simpsons-style crowd bits like the protagonists encountering some poor bastard strung up by one of the wasteland gangs and remarking that "maybe he deserved it" and the extra groans and raspily retorts "I didn't!", which got a genuine laugh out of me because they didn't linger on it and let it get stale.

i wish they had pushed this a lot father in terms of making it more late 90s grimdark gargoyle shit like the games, but that stuff is expensive and I think they spent all their money on actual vehicles (which I respect) and didn't have a lot left over for costumes and set dressing

what's most surprising about this entire production is how laser targeted it is at people born between 1980 and 1988, which cannot be a significant television viewership in the larger picture. there is almost zero effort to make this relatable to anyone outside 40 year old Oregon Trail millennials. the soundtrack is so fucking funny

special mention to casting a bunch of actual 40 year old women and letting them look haggard and dirty and wrinkled for once

really Sweet Tooth is the biggest disappointment. i understand he's the franchise figurehead but they fumbled it imo. i don't think will arnett is the right casting. idk if sweet tooth should even talk or be human tbh, I kind of always saw him more as a sort of ogre or avatar than just a normal human psycho killer, and having him onscreen so much from the beginning was probably network mandated but really spoiled the biggest narrative tension for franchise fans they could have saved up to cash in on a good reveal later. oh well. alternately I think leaning into it being JUST will arnett in a clown mask would have been funnier than trying to split the difference with dubbing arnett over a more physically powerful Joe Samoa playing the body

[thestalkerbunny]

Stalky's Live Direct React

It's mainly regarding Pokemon Z-A cause that's all I DEEPLY AND CARNALLY CARE ABOUT but let's get French

New Trainer fits look cute; the male protag looks a LOT like Sycamore.

ALL THE CHIKORITA HATERS CAN FUCKING HUFF MY DUFF, MY GIRL IS BACK, NOBODY TOUCH ME, THIS FUNKY LITTLE MANDRAKE DINOSAUR IS HOME. EVERYONE SUCK IT HARD.

Why it look like he on an awkward lunch date?

Now a new game changing mechanic: PARKOUR AND FALL DAMAGE /j

Tf is you

TF is YOU?

Mega Evos are BACK Bay BEE

LOOK OUT ITS A WELL DRESSED FRENCH WHITE WOMAN (With insignia possible new team boss?)

I HAVE FOUND THE WEIRD OLD MAN I WILL BE HYPERFIXATING OVER, EVERYONE ELSE MAY LEAVE, ME AND THIS WEIRDO NEED TO BE ALONE.

Wait....Wait is that the fucking GIANT from the last game.....

Oh my God it fucking is, That's AZ.

Someone getcha dog off the damn roof.

Hottest take-I think the overall theme is going to be Progress Vs. Nature. Much like the Art movement of Art Deco Vs Art Nouveau; human design compared to natural design. As seen in the Z and A logo Straight rigid lines vs organic curves.

NOTHING LIKE CHATTING WITH YOUR HOLOGRAM SON.

Ah I love the scent of french trash in the air.

One of these things is not like the other-one of these things is ANCIENT.

Ah that's who you is.

GOD HE'S SO FREAKISHLY TALL-FUCKING CROTCH HEIGHT TO HIM. Also HIGHLY cool choice to show him with a knee brace and a cane because in recorded history and science-WE ARE NOT MEANT TO BE THAT TALL and people who do reach that height often need disability aids to help.

We gotta get her. She's a fucking CEO.

I love that he just....has a hotel now. He's got old classic hotel vibes. Honestly-I really like it because if there's one thing I DONT like in design is ultra modernism where it's minimal with no colors or patterns. It actually irks me the heck off-I get pissed off walking into an apple store.

Fucking gated communities.

Ah...I don't think we'll be exploring the rest of Kalos and be primarily centered within the city itself. A tad bit disappointing, I was looking forward to returning to Laverre City to see what happened to the charcoal remains I left when I went there in XY and BURNT EVERYTHING TO ASH

New game feature: YOU ARE NOW IN THE ATTACK RANGE, FUCKING BRACE YOURSELF IDIOT.

THIS. THIS IS WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT FUCKING COMPANIES WITH FUCKING MINIMALIST DESIGN AND LOGOS AND SHIT PISS ME THE HELL RIGHT OFF.

DETECTIVE? D--DETECTIVE?!??! -frantically climbs over chair- DETECTIVE??!?!?!?!?

GET YOUR CRINGE ASS WORM OFF THE ROOF

Ah I love when Pokemon comes out around my birthday. It makes me feel so SPECIAL like it's a unique little treat just for me.

I'm honestly rather excited, Having the entire game take place in a contained singular city is a new angle. We're very used to being thrown willy nilly out into the wild to rough it between god and sheer luck. But now it's Urban Exploration. Which I think can be a strong idea on how FAR Lumiose city has developed since we long last saw it.

[xylatox]

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

Before I start I wanna say how genuinely excited I am

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ALMOST GETTING CAUGHT???? AHHH

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

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

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

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

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

When Cameras Stop Rolling | P.SH

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

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

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

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

Word count: 21.1k

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

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

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

“Where’s the set list?”

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

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

Directing. That’s the dream.

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

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

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

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

ㅤ─────────────────────────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ㅤ─────────────────────────

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

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

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

Park Sunghoon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you done?”

Your jaw tightens. “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The tension on set is suffocating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not today. Not ever.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s enough,” he mutters. 

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

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

He’s an actor.

He was just acting.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

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

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

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

You, who is only doing your job.

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

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

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

You brace yourself. “Yes?”

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

You blink. “What do you mean, wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him. “It’s a table.”

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

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

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

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

His eyes narrow slightly. “Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It happens again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s restricting.”

“That’s the point.”

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

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

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

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

The room falls silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You should have seen this coming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The moment shatters.

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

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

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

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

And you don’t know what that means.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The exhaustion is starting to creep in.

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

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

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

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

A soft thud.

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

For a moment, you just stare at the cup, as if trying to decipher its presence. “…What’s this?” you ask cautiously.

Sunghoon shrugs, gaze flickering away. “You’ve been up longer than most of the crew. Figured you needed it. Don’t want you messing things up again.”

You blink again, stunned into silence. Sunghoon? Offering you something? Voluntarily? The world must be ending. Slowly, you wrap your fingers around the warm cup, the heat seeping into your chilled skin. You hesitate before murmuring, “Thanks.”

Sunghoon says nothing. He simply nods once before walking away, leaving you with a cup of coffee and a strange, unfamiliar feeling curling in your chest.

You tell yourself it’s just exhaustion. That’s all it is.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The small gestures don’t stop there.

Over the next few days, there’s a shift. Subtle, but noticeable. Sunghoon still keeps his distance, still maintains that cool indifference that makes him impossible to read. But there are… moments.

Like when he passes by the props table and subtly fixes something out of place before you can do it yourself.

Or when he doesn’t argue—for once—when you tell him to adjust his costume before a scene.

Or when you find a neatly folded jacket draped over the back of your chair one evening, long after the sun has set, when the set has turned quiet and you’re the only one left working.

You never catch him in the act. But you know. And you don’t know what to make of it, because this isn’t Sunghoon. At least, not the Sunghoon you thought you knew. The one who went out of his way to ignore you, to dismiss you as nothing more than an inconvenience.

So why does it feel like—despite everything—he’s starting to notice you?

You shake the thought from your head. It doesn’t matter. This doesn’t mean anything. It can’t. Because Sunghoon is still Sunghoon.

And you? You’re still just another crew member. A nobody in his world for now. You have to focus on your goal.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The set is nearly empty, save for a few crew members wrapping up for the night. The usual hum of voices and movement has died down, replaced by the occasional rustling of equipment being packed away. You should have left hours ago, but your body moves on autopilot as you double-check the next day’s schedule, making sure nothing has slipped through the cracks.

The exhaustion clings to you like a second skin. You rub your temples, trying to will away the dull ache forming between your brows, when a voice cuts through the silence.

“You’re still here?” You flinch, turning sharply.

Sunghoon stands a few feet away, leaning casually against a production crate. His suit jacket is gone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his usual polished demeanor replaced by something looser, less composed. He looks just as tired as you feel.

You clear your throat. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, just studies you for a beat before shrugging. “Didn’t feel like going home yet.”

You frown slightly. “Why not?”

Another pause. His gaze flickers away for a moment, as if debating whether or not to answer. When he finally does, his voice is quieter than usual. “Silence feels heavier when you’re alone.”

The words catch you off guard. You’ve never heard Sunghoon speak like this before—without sarcasm, without that usual edge of indifference. Just… honest. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond. Then, before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Is that why you work so much?”

His lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t deny it.

You exhale softly, leaning back against the chair. “I get it.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicker back to you, sharp with curiosity. “Do you?”

You nod, turning your gaze to the dimly lit set in front of you. “Work keeps your mind busy. When you’re constantly moving, constantly focused on something, you don’t have time to think about the things you don’t want to face.”

There’s a beat of silence. “That’s surprisingly insightful,” Sunghoon murmurs.

You huff a quiet laugh. “I’m full of surprises.”

Sunghoon leans against the crate, tilting his head slightly. His usual sharp gaze softens, something unreadable flickering across his face. “I used to be terrified,” he says suddenly, his voice lower than before.

You blink, caught off guard by the confession. “Of what?”

His fingers drum idly against the crate’s surface. “Failing.”

You don’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.

“When I first started out, no one took me seriously. People saw my face and assumed I was just another pretty boy who got lucky.” He exhales through his nose. “I had to work twice as hard just to prove I belonged here.”

You watch him carefully. You’ve never heard him talk about this before—not in interviews, not in passing conversations with the crew. Sunghoon rarely lets people see beyond the polished surface, beyond the image of perfection he’s carefully built. But right now, there’s no mask. No arrogance. Just raw honesty.

You shift in your seat. “What was the hardest part?”

He hesitates.  “The rejection.” His fingers tighten slightly. “You think you’re good enough, and then someone tells you you’re not. Over and over again.”

You nod slowly. You understand that feeling all too well. “But you made it,” you say softly.

Sunghoon lets out a quiet laugh—one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. But the fear never really goes away.”

You tilt your head. “Even now?”

“Especially now.” His voice is calm, but there’s something heavy beneath it. “When you reach a certain point, people stop caring about how hard you worked to get there. All they see is what you are now. And if you slip, even for a second, they’re ready to move on to the next rising star.”

You don’t break his gaze. You should have guessed this—should have realized that someone as successful as Sunghoon would carry the weight of expectations heavier than most. Still, hearing it from him directly makes it feel different. Real.

“Do you ever regret it?” you ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer right away. “No.” A pause. “But sometimes, I wonder what it would feel like to just… stop. To not have to care about every little thing, to not have to be perfect all the time.” His voice is softer than before, almost distant. It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him sound tired.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “That sounds… lonely.”

Sunghoon exhales. “It is.”

The silence between you stretches, not uncomfortable but different. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t try to fill the space with unnecessary words.

And for once, you don’t feel the need to either. It’s strange—this quiet, fragile understanding between you. But maybe, just for tonight, you don’t have to question it.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You don’t know exactly when it happened, or how, but the shift between you and Sunghoon is undeniable. It’s not sudden or dramatic. There’s no grand moment of realization, no obvious turning point. It’s something quieter. Subtle.

You notice it in the way he doesn’t immediately shut you down when you speak to him anymore.

In the way his sharp remarks have softened, turning into dry humor instead of outright dismissal.

In the way he looks at you sometimes—not with disdain, not with indifference, but with something… else.

You don’t question it. You don’t acknowledge it because whatever this is, it’s fragile. And you don’t dare disturb it.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It starts with the little things.

Like today. You’re going over the schedule for the next scene when a shadow falls over your clipboard. You look up, surprised to find Sunghoon standing beside you.

“Here.” You blink as he hands you something. A protein bar.

You stare at it for a moment, then back at him. “What’s this for?”

Sunghoon shrugs, looking anywhere but at you. “You forgot to eat lunch.”

You frown. “How do you—?”

“I just noticed,” he says quickly, cutting you off.

You raise an eyebrow but take the protein bar anyway. “Thanks, I guess.”

He nods, already stepping away. But before he leaves, you hear him mumble, just loud enough for you to catch— “Don’t make a habit of skipping meals.”

You don’t even get the chance to respond before he disappears down the hall. You stare after him, heart thudding a little too loudly in your chest. This… isn’t normal. At least, not for him. Park Sunghoon doesn’t notice people. He doesn’t care about the little things. And yet, here he is, paying attention to you in ways that don’t make sense.

You shake your head, stuffing the protein bar into your bag.

It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t mean anything.

Right?

ㅤㅤ─────────────────────────

A few days later, it happens again.

This time, it’s late at night, and you’re reviewing notes in one of the empty break rooms. Most of the crew has already gone home, but you’re still here, buried in work as usual.

You barely hear the door open. “You’re still here?” You glance up, unsurprised to see Sunghoon standing in the doorway. This is becoming a pattern.

You sigh. “You really need to stop sneaking up on me like that.”

He smirks faintly. “Maybe you just need to be more aware of your surroundings.”

You roll your eyes but don’t bother arguing. Instead, you go back to your notes. “What are you still doing here?”

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“I work here.”

Sunghoon hums, stepping further into the room. He leans against the table beside you, arms crossed. “You work too much.”

You huff. “That’s rich coming from you.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just tilts his head slightly, studying you with that unreadable gaze of his. Then, after a pause, he says, “You’re good at what you do.”

You freeze. Of all the things you expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them.

Slowly, you look up. “What?”

Sunghoon’s expression is unreadable, but there’s no sarcasm in his voice when he repeats, “You’re good at your job.”

You swallow, caught off guard. Compliments aren’t something you hear often—especially not from him. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond.

Finally, you manage, “Thanks.”

Sunghoon nods once before pushing off the table. “Don’t stay too late.” And just like that, he’s gone again.

You stare after him, heart pounding with something you really don’t want to name because whatever this is—whatever is happening between you and Sunghoon—it’s starting to feel dangerously close to something real.

And you don’t know if you’re ready for that.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You don’t know what’s worse—the tension before you and Sunghoon started tolerating each other, or the tension now.

Before, you could dismiss him as insufferable, a man too caught up in his own world to care about anyone else. But now?

Now, he lingers.

Now, he notices.

Now, he watches you in a way that makes your skin feel too warm, makes the air between you feel heavier than it should.

And the worst part? You catch yourself doing the same.

It’s nothing—just a series of small moments, insignificant on their own but unbearable when strung together.

Like the way his gaze always seems to find you first when he enters a room.

Like the way your fingers brush against his more often than they should when handing him a prop or adjusting his mic.

Like the way silence between you is no longer uncomfortable, but something else entirely—something thick and unspoken.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. It has to be nothing because anything else would be a mistake.

ㅤㅤ─────────────────────────

You’re walking across the set, flipping through the pages of your clipboard as you weave between crew members adjusting lights and moving props. The scene is nearly ready, and you just need to confirm a few last-minute adjustments before filming starts.

You’re so focused on your notes that you don’t see the stray cable lying across your path. Your foot catches. The world tilts.

Your heart jumps into your throat as you stumble forward, clipboard slipping from your fingers. But before you can hit the ground, a firm hand grips your wrist.

The next thing you know, you’re being pulled upright—too fast, too close—until your body collides with solid warmth. You suck in a breath. Strong hands steady you, one gripping your wrist, the other settling lightly against your waist. You don’t have to look up to know who it is.

His hold is firm but careful, his fingers pressing against the fabric of your shirt, grounding you before you can fully process what just happened. For a moment, neither of you move. The air around you feels heavier, thick with something neither of you acknowledge.

“You should watch where you’re going,” Sunghoon murmurs, his voice lower than usual.

You finally look up.

Big mistake. Because he’s closer than you thought he was.

The dim lighting casts sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his dark eyes flicker with something unreadable. His breath is warm against your skin, and for a second, the world around you blurs—reduced to nothing but the space between you.

Your pulse pounds. “I—I was busy,” you stammer, trying to find some semblance of normalcy.

Sunghoon tilts his head slightly, gaze never leaving yours. “Too busy to notice where you’re walking?”

You swallow hard, willing your heart to calm down. “Maybe.”

His grip on your waist tightens—just a fraction. Just enough for you to feel it. For the first time, you think he might actually smile– 

“Sunghoon! We need you on set!”

His expression hardens in an instant, as if someone flipped a switch. His hands fall away, the warmth of his touch disappearing too fast. You take a quick step back, still trying to catch your breath. Sunghoon clears his throat, straightening his posture. “Try not to trip again.”

You scowl, trying to ignore the heat rushing to your face. “Try not to catch me next time.”

He smirks—just barely, just enough to make your stomach twist in a way you refuse to acknowledge. And then he’s gone. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, pressing a hand to your chest to steady yourself.

This—whatever this is—is getting out of control and you don’t know how much longer you can ignore it.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The air is thick with tension.

Not the bad kind, not the simmering annoyance that used to define your interactions with Sunghoon. This is different.

This is the kind of tension that makes your pulse race, that makes your skin tingle whenever he’s too close, that makes every glance feel too much.

The night shoot has stretched longer than expected, with last-minute script adjustments and lighting corrections delaying the schedule. Most of the crew is exhausted, but the director is pushing to get one last take before they call it a wrap.

Sunghoon has been in and out of wardrobe for hours, and by now, even he looks tired. His usual pristine appearance is slightly undone—his tie loosened, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, a few strands of dark hair falling into his eyes.

You try not to look. You really did, but you fail.

“Y/N, can you check the lighting cues with Sunghoon before we roll?” You nod, gripping your clipboard a little too tightly. “Got it.”

You make your way toward Sunghoon, who’s reviewing the script under one of the set lights. When he notices you approaching, he sighs. “What now?” he mutters.

You cross your arms. “Relax. I’m just making sure you’re ready for the next take.”

He exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. Just tired.”

You hesitate, taken aback by his honesty. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The usual biting remarks, the sarcastic exchanges—none of it comes. Instead, there’s just silence, filled with something heavier.

Sunghoon looks at you then. Really looks at you.

And that’s when everything shifts. It happens too fast.

One second, you’re stepping forward to adjust the collar of his shirt, fingers brushing against the fabric. The next, you lose your footing, maybe your own exhaustion catching up to you.

Either way, you stumble and Sunghoon catches you. Again.

His hands grip your arms, steadying you before you can fall. Your fingers clutch onto his shirt instinctively, holding onto him as the world tilts for just a moment.

And then you realize. He’s close. Too close.

Your breaths mingle in the small space between you, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around you. His hands are firm, his touch warm, and when you finally gather the courage to look up, his eyes are already on you.

Something flickers in them, something unreadable yet impossibly heavy. His gaze drops briefly—to your lips, just for a split second—before snapping back up.

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

Your grip on his shirt tightens, his fingers flex against your arms, and the world around you fades—reduced to nothing but this moment, this space, him.

Maybe, just maybe, you’re fine with the thought of kissi-

A loud crash from across the set breaks the spell. Someone curses, something clatters to the floor, and just like that, the moment is gone.

You and Sunghoon jerk away from each other as if burned, the air between you suddenly too cold, too empty. Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes—something dangerously close to frustration… or maybe regret.

You don’t stick around to find out. “I—uh—should check on that,” you blurt, stepping back too quickly. “The crash. Someone probably—”

Sunghoon nods stiffly, jaw tight. “Yeah. You should.”

And then you walk away. Fast. Too fast. Because whatever that was?

It can’t happen again. It won’t happen again.

You tell yourself it was nothing.

That the near-kiss, the tension, the way Sunghoon’s hands felt on your skin—none of it mattered. It was just exhaustion. A moment of stupid miscalculation. But deep down, you know that’s a lie.

Because now, every glance between you lingers too long. Every accidental touch burns a little hotter. And every moment spent alone feels like standing on the edge of something dangerous, something you don’t want to name.

You don’t know how much longer you can pretend it isn’t happening.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It’s raining.

The shoot ran late—again. By the time you step outside, the studio parking lot is nearly empty, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. The rain isn’t heavy, just a steady drizzle that coats everything in a thin sheen of water. You tug your jacket closer around yourself, shivering slightly as you rummage through your bag for your keys. Fuck where is it?

“You forgot this.”

You spin around.

Sunghoon stands a few feet away, holding out your clipboard. His hair is slightly damp from the rain, his white dress shirt clinging to his frame. He looks different like this—less put together, less like the untouchable star everyone sees on screen. More real.

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh. Right. Thanks.” He doesn’t move. Doesn’t walk away.

Instead, he just watches you.

Like he’s waiting for something.

Like he’s fighting something.

And you know—you know—that this is the moment.

The one where you either walk away and pretend none of this ever happened.

Or you give in.

You swallow hard, pulse hammering in your ears. “Sunghoon…” His name comes out softer than you intended and that’s all it takes. The tension between you snaps.

One second, you’re standing in the rain, barely breathing. The next, Sunghoon is closing the distance between you in two quick strides, his hands coming up to cup your face as his lips crash into yours.

Your breath catches as heat floods through you, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of urgency you’ve never felt before. His grip is firm but careful, as if he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he holds too tight.

And maybe he should be. Because this—whatever this is—feels impossible. But right now, at this moment, you don’t care. You kiss him back.

Your hands grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, pouring every ounce of frustration, of confusion, of longing into the kiss. The rain keeps falling, soaking into your clothes, tangling in your hair, but neither of you notice. The only thing that exists is this.

Sunghoon tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his fingers threading through your hair. He tastes like coffee and rain, like something dangerous and addictive all at once.

And you know—you know—that this is a mistake. But you don’t stop.

Not when his hands slide down to your waist, pulling you against him.

Not when your fingers slip into his damp hair, tugging lightly, making him groan softly against your lips.

Not when he presses you back against the side of your car, his body solid and warm against yours despite the cold night air.

You don’t stop, because for the first time in weeks, you don’t want to.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You don’t remember how you get home. All you know is that one minute, you’re in the rain, drowning in him, and the next, you’re in your apartment.

His jacket is on the floor. So is yours.

His lips molding against yours, passionate and hungry. Your back meets the door, hands travelling to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepens as your tongues fight against each other.  

Suddenly he completely pulls away, you open your eyes at the lack of contact. His hand reaches out, gently grabbing yours as your fingers entwine. “Where’s your bedroom?” he says, catching his breath. No other words pass between the two of you as you lead him down the hall.

You stop in front of your bedroom door, his free hand opens it and turns some of the lights on.  This time when your eyes meet, it's different. His eyes are dark and wreaking with lust as he closes in. His slender fingers reach forward as he cups your chin. He tilts your head up, eyes searching mine.  

He must have found exactly what he was looking for because he finally leans back in. Somehow, this kiss is even more passionate than before. You barely notice the movement as he slowly guides you toward the bed.

The moment your knees hit the frame, he pulls away. His hand on your chin trails down to your chest, pushing gently. You fall onto the bed, a surprised gasp leaving your lips as your back meets the soft material of your comforter.

He moves forward, his gaze never leaving yours. One of his knees props up against the bed next to your thigh. You look down briefly before focusing your attention on his fingers, watching as they slowly work at the buttons of his white button-up shirt, releasing them one by one until he reaches the final one.  

He shrugs off his shirt, allowing it to fall effortlessly, showing his toned chest and firm stomach. Your breath catches as he totally removes the sleeves before flinging the fabric on the floor.

If you had any doubts about what was going on, they were quickly dispelled when you noticed the tent in his pants. Is this actually happening? To be honest, everything seemed to fall into place too wonderfully, almost like a dream.

Sunghoon moves forward, taking his place above you. You’re so close that instinct kicks in, and you shift slightly, ensuring you're comfortably situated on the bed beneath him.

His hand moves down, tracing along your sides with slow, deliberate sensuality. Each brush of his fingers sends a warm shiver down your spine.

"Your hair, your eyes, your lips," he murmurs, his touch following the path of his words. "Fuck, you're so beautiful," he rasps, his voice thick with something you can't quite name. "What are you doing to me?"

Your heart skips a beat when he grasps the bottom of your shirt. "There's just something about you..."

"May I?" he asks, though all you can manage is a small nod.

A wave of last-minute nerves crashes over you as he slowly drags the fabric up, taking his time revealing your upper body. Once he’s done, he moves on to your jeans, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you before tossing them aside.

You squeeze your eyes shut, heat rising to your face in a flush of embarrassment. "You're beautiful," Sunghoon says, his words so genuine it almost hurts.Your hands fly up to cover your face, the warmth of your own skin only confirming how flustered you feel. But thinking back to his words, his actions—there’s no reason to be embarrassed at all.

You feel him shift before his hands grasp your forearms, gently pulling your hands away from your face. You let him, but you still can’t bring yourself to open your eyes.

"Look at me," he says softly. You can't.

"Baby," he pleads, "look at me." You force yourself to open your eyes, and the moment they meet his, he smiles. "There you are."

His head dips down, his lips capturing yours in a sweet, fleeting kiss. When he pulls away, he trails kisses down your neck, each one wet and slow, traveling lower—across the crook of your neck, down to your chest, your stomach, and then—your thighs.

His lips press gently against the top of your thigh, a lingering, tender kiss. His fingers graze your skin as he does so, the simple touch sending a shiver through your body.

The closer his kisses get, the deeper you feel them, your stomach twisting with anticipation. Soon, he reaches the inner part of your thigh, and the second his skin meets yours, a fire ignites inside you. The insecurities from before melt away, replaced by a single, overwhelming thought.

The kisses quickly turn into pure torment. "Sunghoon," you whine, "stop teasing." He hums in response, his fingers hooking onto your underwear. He pulls it down slowly, giving you every chance to stop him—but you never do.

A groan escapes him as he finally sees the part of you he's been waiting for. He slides the fabric down your legs, discarding it to the floor before moving back up—closer, hungrier.

Each of his hands grips your thighs, gently pushing them apart. You hide your face again, this time out of sheer shyness. Any lingering insecurities are so far gone they don’t even cross your mind anymore—not when you feel his right hand leave your thigh and trail toward your core.

The moment his fingers graze over your clit, a breathless mewl escapes your lips, the sound completely involuntary. He chuckles. "You're so wet already, and I haven't even touched you properly."

You groan, both flustered and frustrated by his teasing. "’hoon."

He laughs again, his left hand squeezing your thigh. "What?"

"Touch me, please," you plead, your voice quiet, needy.

"Anything for you."

His fingers move into your folds, spreading them apart, before pressing his thumb against your clit. He begins with slow, rhythmic circles, each one sending waves of pleasure through your body.

It feels good—too good—but you crave "more." He obliges without hesitation, understanding exactly what you desire as his lips meet your heat. A hushed cry escapes your lips, and your fist flies up to your mouth, biting down in an attempt to muffle any crude sounds.

His hand moves aside, then back to your thigh while his tongue takes control. He grabs the back of your thighs, forcing you up slightly as he devours you, working his mouth against you with such fervor that your head spins.

It doesn't take long before the familiar feeling coils inside you. The sensation grows stronger with each flick of his tongue and measured movement of his lips, with pleasure increasing by the second.

A long moan leaves you as his hold tightens and his tongue presses down with precisely the proper pressure. He smiles against you, a soft chuckle spilling from his lips, and the vibrations send another rush of pleasure through your body.

Your hand flies from your mouth, clutching the blankets. "Fuck," you gasp, your hand clenched.

His right hand moves away from your thigh and back to your core, but this time he isn't simply focusing on your clit.

Your breath is caught as his fingertip softly pushes past your entrance, slipping inside with ease, your arousal covering his digit. Sunghoon groans at the vulgar sight, and the sound sends jolts down to your heat in more ways than one. Then he inserts another finger, carefully pushing it in and out as his lips suck down harder on your clit.

It's just too much.

A shattered cry escapes your mouth as your peak draws near. You pry your eyes open, looking down at him—and instantly wish you hadn't. Seeing him positioned between your legs is nearly unbearable.  

His gaze catches yours from beneath, deep and brimming with desire, and you sense his grin on your skin. His fingers turn, curling perfectly as the pressure on your clit intensifies. The way he moves creates waves of pleasure surging within you, his tongue synchronizing flawlessly with his hands.  

The feeling is so strong that your body surrenders, collapsing onto the bed as your head touches the plush duvet. Your abdomen constricts, your muscles gripping his fingers.  

"I'm almost there," you whine, voice trembling and gasping.  

He remains unwavering, maintaining his pace as the strain in your stomach intensifies to the limit.  "Oh God—fuck," you exclaim, your hand moving to bring him nearer.  

Your fingers weave through his dark hair, pulling gently, and the low groan that slips from his mouth resonates profoundly within you. That sound—combined with the movements of his tongue—pushes you to the brink.  

A sharp breath escapes you as your spine bends, ecstasy flooding your body in overwhelming surges. Blinding sparks fill your sight as your climax overwhelms you. Your grip on his hair strengthens, and your thighs instinctively squeeze around his head.

"It feels so good," you murmur, voice dazed and dripping with lust. "Shit, Sunghoon, you're so good.”

He hums with contentment, his tongue skillfully navigating you through your peak, extending every surge of pleasure until it gradually starts to fade. You fall onto the bed, your hold on his head loosening, your legs parting a bit.

His fingers withdraw from you—but his mouth remains. His tongue caresses your delicate folds once more, savoring every single drop of your climax.  

A whimper slips from you. "Sensitive, ah—"  Your thighs shake, the overexcitement delivering intense yet pleasurable jolts throughout you. It's intense—agonizing and exhilarating simultaneously.

Satisfied, he finally pulls away. "You taste so good," he murmurs, voice thick with desire. "So sweet."

Your dazed eyes meet his, and you watch as he licks his lips, his lower face glistening with your arousal. Just seeing this sight alone sends another chill up your spine.

He climbs up your body, trapping you beneath him. The moment his lips crash into yours, you groan, tasting yourself on his tongue. When he pulls away, you instinctively chase after his lips, only for him to chuckle and gently push you back down.

He presses a wet kiss to your cheek before moving down to your neck, lips trailing lower in search of your sweet spot. When he finds it, your body jerks, a sharp inhale giving you away. He smirks against your skin, sucking down before biting softly, marking you his.

He continues his path down, leaving a trail of bruises along your neck and collarbone. Your hands find their way to his bare shoulders, nails digging into his skin as his lips descend further.

Kneeling between your legs, his hands slide around your back. You arch instinctively, allowing him access to the clasp of your bra. His fingers fumble with the material, trying to unhook it.

A quiet curse leaves his lips when he fails. He tries again—another curse. You giggle, tapping his back. He lifts his head, meeting your amused gaze with pleading eyes.

Chuckling, you sit up slightly, giving him room as he leans back on his knees. Your hands move behind you, unclasping your bra on the second try. He watches, mesmerized, as you shrug it off, discarding the fabric to the floor.

He’s about to push you back down, but you stop him, pressing a hand to his chest. Reaching forward, you hook your fingers into the loops of his slacks. "Take it off," you say, voice firm with want.

You’re already completely bare beneath him, while he’s only shirtless. That’s not fair, is it?

Sensing your impatience, his fingers work swifty to unbuckle his belt, throwing it aside before undoing the button of his slacks. When he pulls down the zipper, you let go, allowing him to rid himself of the material on his own.

Your mouth practically waters as Sunghoon reveals his black boxer briefs, the outline of his arousal leaving nothing to the imagination. He kicks them off, letting the fabric join the scattered mess of clothing on the bedroom floor.

Your fingers instinctively reach forward, tracing the rigid shape still clothed beneath the thin material. A low groan escapes him at your touch, his brows furrowing as pleasure flickers across his face. The way he reacts makes your stomach tighten—you want to return the favor.

You grab hold of the waistband, ready to pull them down, but before you can, he pushes you back against the mattress, towering over you once more.

"Wait," you whine, looking up at him. "I wanna make you feel good."

"I'm sorry, baby, but I can't wait any longer." His hands find your waist, pulling you further up the bed until your head rests against the pillows. His voice drops, thick with need. "I need to feel you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, equal parts frustration and anticipation curling low in your stomach.

Your gaze stays locked onto his briefs—he still needs to take them off. But he's moving too slowly, teasing you on purpose. Huffing, you reach forward and yank them down in one swift motion.

His cock finally springs free, the motion making it smack against the firm plane of his stomach. You can’t help but stare. It’s odd to admit, but—God, it’s pretty. Of course, it is. Just look at his damn face.

He chuckles, the deep sound laced with amusement. "Is my baby getting impatient?"

"You're such a tease," you mumble, cheeks burning as you refuse to look away from his lower half.

"But you like it, don't you?"

You don’t deny it, though words fail you. As much as you love his teasing, the ache inside you is unbearable now, your body begging for his. The want in your stomach is almost outmatched by the throbbing between your legs.

A groan of frustration slips past your lips as you throw your head back against the pillows. "Sunghoon," you scold, voice strained with impatience.

"Hm?" He hums innocently. "What is it?" The playfulness in his tone only makes it worse.

You swallow hard, your entire body burning with need. "I need you."

"Yeah?" His hands settle on your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh.

"Yeah." A sharp gasp leaves you as he grinds against you, his cock sliding along your folds, spreading the wetness. The friction makes your breath hitch, but it’s not enough. You reach for him, arms winding around his back, pulling him closer.

"Stop teasing," you beg, voice trembling. "I can't take it anymore."

His gaze darkens as he takes in your desperate expression. "Shit. I can’t either."

One of his hands leaves your thigh, wrapping around his length as he strokes himself briefly. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he aligns himself at your entrance.

A sharp moan tears from your throat as he pushes inside, inch by inch. The wetness between your legs makes it easy, the stretch deep but not painful. He bottoms out, and for a second, neither of you moves, the moment overwhelming.

Not only is he perfect, but he fits inside you like he was meant to be there. Like your body was made to take him.

"You feel so good," he groans, his head dipping to press against your neck. "So fucking good."

His breath is warm against your skin as he starts to move, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm. You get lost in the sensation—the heat of his body against yours, the way he fills you so perfectly, the rough yet tender press of his lips at the curve of your throat.

His pace quickens, his strokes deeper, more insistent. Each thrust ignites something inside you, and you whimper, fingers threading through his hair.

"I don’t think I'm gonna last long," he confesses, voice hushed against your ear.

"That's okay," you whisper back, your lips brushing against his temple. "Just feel good for me."

A strangled groan rumbles from his chest. His teeth graze your neck before biting down gently. One of his hands snakes between your bodies, fingertips finding your clit. The moment he starts to rub slow, firm circles, you let out a gasp.

Your hand tightens in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. Your other arm clings to his back, fingers digging into his skin.

"More," you plead, voice breaking.

"Like this?" He applies more pressure, his movements precise, skilled.

Your only response is a hurried nod, your body arching into his touch. "Yes—just like that."

He lets out a desperate moan, hips snapping harder. His rhythm falters slightly, but the intensity only makes it better. Each thrust hits something deep inside you, winding the coil in your stomach impossibly tight.

You’re close. So close. "Sunghoon—"

He answers before you can even finish, slamming into you just right. The air is knocked from your lungs, a cry of pleasure escaping before you can stop it.

The knot inside you snaps. Your entire body trembles as pleasure crashes over you in waves, your walls tightening around him. Your hands fall from his body, too weak to hold on any longer.

A broken moan tumbles from his lips. "Fuck—baby, I'm gonna—"

His hips stutter, his cock twitching deep inside you. A strangled groan escapes him as he spills his seed inside you, his face still buried in your shoulder. Even through his climax, he keeps moving, his thrusts growing sloppy as he works you both through the high.

Eventually, his movements slow. The pleasure lingers, buzzing through your veins even after he pulls out. His fingers slip away from your clit, leaving your body aching but satisfied.

Silence settles between you, the only sound filling the room being your ragged breathing.

Sunghoon is the first to move, letting out a low groan as he sits up. 

You let out a slow breath, running your hands over your face, then through your now-messy hair. The post-orgasmic haze still lingers, making you feel weightless. When you turn your head, you find Sunghoon already watching you.

He offers you a lazy smile. "How do you feel?" His fingers trace gently along the side of your face.

"Amazing," you murmur. "I feel amazing."

"Good." He leans down, his face hovering inches from yours.

You reach up, fingers curling into his hair, and pull him in for a slow, lingering kiss, before exhaustion takes over both of you.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The first thing you notice when you wake up is warmth.

The second is that you’re not alone.

Your eyes blink open slowly, adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through your curtains. Your body is sore in ways that make your face heat up, the memories of last night flashing through your mind in fragmented pieces—his hands on your skin, his breath against your neck, the way he whispered your name like it was something precious.

You swallow hard, pulse stuttering.

Sunghoon is still beside you. He’s lying on his side, face relaxed in sleep, dark lashes fanned across his cheekbones. His hair is tousled, strands falling messily over his forehead. His bare shoulder peeks out from beneath the sheets, and one of his arms is draped over your waist, keeping you close even in sleep.

For a moment, you just stare. Because this? This is different.

You’ve seen Sunghoon in a hundred different ways—on set, in magazines, under the harsh glow of studio lights. But never like this. Never so unguarded.

Your heart clenches, confusion and something dangerously close to longing twisting inside you.

Whatever this is—feels real. Too real and that’s what scares you the most.

You shift slightly, trying to untangle yourself from him, but the small movement stirs him.

Sunghoon hums low in his throat, his grip tightening around you for just a second before his breathing changes, his body stretching out as he starts to wake up.

His eyes open, still heavy with sleep, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he looks at you without his usual guarded expression.

His gaze flickers over your face, his fingers tracing absent patterns against your hip beneath the sheets. “Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough and quiet.

Your throat goes dry. You should say something. Something easy. Light. Anything that will make this feel normal. But before you can, reality slams into you like a freight train.

This is Sunghoon.

Sunghoon, who is always in control.

Sunghoon, who has spent weeks pretending you didn’t exist only to kiss you like he was drowning last night.

Sunghoon, who—despite everything—still belongs to a world that isn’t yours.

The thought is sobering And judging by the way his gaze sharpens slightly, the way his fingers still against your skin, he sees the shift in your expression. He sighs. “You’re overthinking.”

You force a small, stiff laugh. “I just—”

“I know,” he cuts in, voice unreadable now.

Your lips press together.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Sunghoon is sitting up, the warmth of his body leaving yours as he runs a hand through his hair. The loss of contact makes something inside you ache but you don’t stop him.

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees for a second before exhaling sharply. Then, he reaches for his clothes. And just like that, the spell is broken.

You watch as he dresses, his movements slower than usual, as if he’s waiting for you to say something, but you don’t, because you don’t know what to say.

By the time he buttons his shirt, the tension between you is suffocating. Sunghoon finally turns, his gaze meeting yours again. “I have to go.”

You nod. “Right. Early shoot.”

He hesitates. “Yeah.” He doesn’t move right away. Doesn’t leave. Just lingers by the bed, like there’s something else he wants to say.

“You regret it?” The question is quiet, but it cuts through the air like a blade.

Your stomach twists. “I—”

Sunghoon’s expression is unreadable. “It’s fine if you do.”

You don’t know what you feel. But regret? No.

You shake your head, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Sunghoon exhales through his nose, nodding once before stepping toward the door.

You watch as he reaches for the handle, your fingers clenching against the sheets. You should stop him. You should say something.

But before you can, he glances over his shoulder one last time. “I’ll see you on set.” And then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him, and you’re left staring at the empty space where he stood.

And for the first time, you wonder if walking away was easier when he was just a stranger.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The next few days are torture.

You and Sunghoon don’t talk about that night. You don’t talk at all.

It’s not like before, when he was cold and dismissive, or when every glance between you carried an undercurrent of tension.

This is different. This is silence filled with something too heavy to ignore.

And Sunghoon? Sunghoon looks at you like he’s waiting.

For you to acknowledge it.

For you to say something.

For you to do something.

But you don’t.

Until one night, he makes the decision for you.

You’re the last one on set, flipping through notes in one of the break rooms, pretending you’re focused when your mind has been elsewhere all day.

You hear him before you see him. The quiet shuffle of footsteps. The faint sigh of someone bracing themselves before speaking.

“We need to talk.”

You tense. Slowly, you look up.

Sunghoon is standing in the doorway, hands tucked into his pockets, expression unreadable.

You swallow. “About what?”

He exhales sharply, stepping forward. “You know what.”

You force yourself to hold his gaze. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

A humorless chuckle. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Your jaw tightens. “Sunghoon—”

“Why are you pretending it didn’t happen?” he cuts in, voice edged with frustration.

You flinch. “Because it shouldn’t have.”

His expression flickers—just for a second. But you see it.

The hurt. The hesitation. Then, just as quickly, it’s gone.

“So that’s it?” His voice is quieter now, calmer. “You’re just going to pretend nothing happened?”

You exhale, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know what you want from me, Sunghoon.”

He’s quiet for a beat.

“I want you.”

Your breath catches.

He steps closer, gaze steady. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

He swallows hard, voice softer now. “I just care about you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

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

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

And you realize…

Maybe you don’t have to be ready.

Maybe you just have to try.

So you inhale deeply, steadying yourself. You nod and Sunghoon smiles.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Keeping a secret relationship on set is harder than you thought.

It’s not just about avoiding suspicion—it’s about suppressing the way your eyes linger on each other longer than they should. About keeping your hands to yourself when all you want to do is reach for him. About pretending that nothing between you has changed, when in reality, everything has.

And Sunghoon isn’t making it any easier.

It’s in the way he watches you when he thinks no one is looking.

The way his fingers brush against yours when he hands you something, even though there’s no reason for them to.

The way his expression softens, just barely, whenever your eyes meet.

It’s subtle, but it’s there. And every time it happens, your heart stutters in your chest.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The first time you slip up, it’s barely noticeable.

You’re standing by the monitors, going over the director’s notes, when Sunghoon walks past you. It’s nothing out of the ordinary—he’s just moving to his next position for the scene, but as he passes, his fingers graze lightly against your waist.

It’s so brief, so quick, that if anyone were watching, they’d assume it was an accident, but you know better, and judging by the way he smirks as he walks away, he knows you know better.

You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to stay composed. This man is going to be the death of you.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The second time, it’s more obvious.

You’re on set, waiting for the next scene to start, when you feel the weight of his gaze. You try to ignore it and you fail. Against your better judgment, you glance up—and sure enough, Sunghoon is watching you from across the room. His eyes are unreadable, dark and steady, as if he’s daring you to react.

You scowl, mouthing, What?

Instead of answering, he tilts his head slightly, gaze flickering down—just for a second—before meeting your eyes again.

It takes you a moment to process what he just did, and when you do, your face burns, because he wasn’t just looking at you. He was looking at your lips.

You inhale sharply, whipping your head away before anyone can catch the way your expression betrays you. Sunghoon chuckles under his breath, clearly entertained.

You hate him. You really hate him. But the worst part? You don’t. Not even a little.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The third time, it’s a problem.

Sunghoon is filming an emotional scene, one that requires complete focus. The cameras are rolling, the entire crew is watching, and you should be paying attention to the details—the lighting, the sound cues, the blocking, but instead, all you can focus on is him.

Because for the first time, his eyes aren’t just on his co-star. They’re on you. It’s subtle, barely noticeable to anyone else. But you see it.

Every time the camera resets, every time there’s a break between takes, his gaze flickers to you. Just for a second. Just long enough to make your stomach twist.

Then, during takes, a green monster appears. The female lead—a well-known actress, beautiful and elegant—laughs at something Sunghoon says. She leans in slightly, playfully nudging his arm, and he chuckles in return.

It’s nothing. It’s acting. It’s professional. But it still makes something bitter curl in your chest. You hate that feeling. You have no right to feel it, and yet Sunghoon glances at you then, as if he knows. As if he can see the shift in your expression, despite how hard you try to mask it.

You force yourself to look away, because this is dangerous. Because if you let yourself get caught up in this—if you let yourself forge that this is a secret—you’re going to get hurt.

And Sunghoon? You can’t be the reason his career gets ruined.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Keeping your relationship a secret is turning into a losing battle.

It was easier at first. The stolen moments, the quick touches, the looks that only the two of you understood—it was thrilling in a way, like playing a game where no one else knew the rules. But the longer it goes on, the more reckless Sunghoon gets. And the more reckless you get.

The moment happens during a break in filming. You’re standing near the refreshment table, absentmindedly stirring sugar into your coffee, when you feel him before you even see him.

He doesn’t say anything at first—just steps up beside you, close enough that his arm brushes against yours. Your body tenses instinctively, your grip tightening around your cup.

“Careful,” Sunghoon murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “You’re gonna spill.”

You exhale sharply. “Maybe don’t sneak up on me, then.”

He smirks, leaning in slightly. “Didn’t realize I was sneaking.”

You roll your eyes. “What do you want?”

He hums, pretending to consider it. “I could use some sugar in my coffee.”

You move to hand him the packet in your hand, but instead of taking it, he wraps his fingers around yours, holding them in place. Your breath catches. This is dangerous. Anyone could see. Anyone could notice.

You try to pull away, but his grip only tightens for a second before he finally releases you, his fingers grazing yours as he takes the sugar packet. The smirk never leaves his face. You glare at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Sunghoon chuckles, tearing the packet open. “Maybe.”

You shake your head, muttering under your breath before turning to leave. But before you can take a step, his voice stops you. “You look good today.”

You freeze. Your heart lurches against your ribs. You turn slowly, meeting his gaze. “What?”

Sunghoon shrugs, casually stirring his coffee. “Just saying.”

There’s nothing just about it. Your stomach twists, heat creeping up your neck. “You’re impossible.”

He grins. “And yet, here you are.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you walk away before you do something really reckless. Something like kissing him in the middle of set.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The director is giving notes to the cast, and you’re standing at a distance, pretending to be focused on your clipboard when, in reality, your thoughts are nowhere near work.

You don’t mean to look at Sunghoon, but you do, and he’s already looking at you. Your pulse stutters. You don’t know how long he’s been staring, but he doesn’t look away when your eyes meet. Instead, he smirks. It’s barely there—a small twitch of his lips, a flicker of amusement—but you feel it.

Heat prickles up your spine, your fingers gripping the edge of your clipboard so tightly your knuckles turn white. You mouth, Stop it.

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly, pretending not to understand. He knows what he’s doing. And worse? He’s enjoying it.

You scowl, turning your attention back to your notes. But the damage is already done. Your face is warm, your thoughts scrambled, and you know Sunghoon isn’t going to let you live this down.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You’ve spent weeks walking a tightrope, balancing between professionalism and the undeniable pull toward Sunghoon. Every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every moment spent too close when no one is looking—it’s all been a careful game of control. But control is a fleeting thing. 

And tonight, you lose it.

It happens after another long shoot, exhaustion weighing heavily on you.

The set has cleared out for the night, most of the crew heading home, but you linger, finishing up last-minute adjustments for tomorrow’s call sheet. You don’t hear him approach—you never do.

“You’re still here.”

You sigh, glancing up from your notes. “So are you.”

Sunghoon shrugs, stepping closer. “Didn’t feel like leaving yet.”

You exhale, rubbing a hand over your face. “You should. We have another early morning.”

Instead of listening, he moves behind you, leaning down slightly until his voice is right beside your ear. “So should you.”

Your breath catches. You should step away. You should remind him that this is dangerous. That someone has already seen too much, that you’re walking on thin ice. But instead, you stand there, your fingers gripping the edge of the table as warmth spreads down your spine.

Sunghoon notices. Of course he does. “Come with me.”

You blink, turning to face him. “What?” He’s already reaching for your wrist, tugging you gently toward the far side of the set. You hesitate for only a second before following, your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

Sunghoon leads you down a quiet hallway, past dressing rooms and storage spaces, until he finds an unlocked door. Without another word, he pulls you inside. It’s a small space—an old wardrobe storage room, lined with racks of costumes and forgotten props. The air is still, thick with dust and the faint scent of fabric softener.

And then, before you can even ask, Sunghoon shuts the door and locks it. Then he turns to you.

Your back presses against the cool surface, his hands resting on either side of you, caging you in. The only sound is the distant hum of the studio lights, the uneven rhythm of your breaths mingling in the quiet. “This is a bad idea,” you whisper.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, his gaze flickering down to your lips. “Probably.”

You swallow hard. “Then why—”

“Because I can’t do this anymore.” His voice is lower now, rougher. “I can’t pretend like I don’t want you.”

Your pulse skyrockets. You should stop this. You should. But when Sunghoon leans in, so close that his lips brush against your jaw, you don’t.

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

A quiet groan escapes him as he deepens the kiss, one hand sliding up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head to get more.

More of you.

More of this.

More of everything he’s been denying himself.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him curse under his breath. The sound sends heat pooling in your stomach, and suddenly, you don’t care where you are. You don’t care about the risk. All you care about is him.

Sunghoon presses you further against the door, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands tracing fire along your skin. You gasp, tilting your head back, and he takes the opportunity to press another open-mouthed kiss just below your ear.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your skin.

You don’t. Instead, you pull him back to you, crashing your lips against his once more.

Sunghoon groans, gripping your hips tighter, and you know you’ve lost. Completely, but if this is losing, you don’t think you ever want to win.

The kiss is scorching, heat pooling between you as Sunghoon tightens his grip on your ass and lifts you effortlessly against the wall. A gasp escapes you, your lips parting, and he takes full advantage—his tongue slipping past your own, greedy and demanding. A needy whine slips from your throat as your legs wrap around his waist, his arousal unmistakable as he presses against you.

“Sunghoon, fuck,” you breathe, your head falling back to hit the wall with a soft thud. He seizes the opportunity, dragging his mouth down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing sensitive skin.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, licking a slow stripe up your neck before nipping at your earlobe. “Someone could walk in. Do you really want them to hear you?”

You glare at him, the expression meant to be a warning—but all it takes is a slow roll of his hips, and any fight in you melts away.

“What—what are you doing?” he asks, blinking in surprise as you suddenly push at his shoulders, dropping down onto your knees before him.

“What do you think?” You flash him a knowing look, amusement laced with something darker, more deliberate, as your fingers make quick work of his belt. Tugging his pants down his thighs, you smirk. “Didn’t get to do this last time, remember?”

Sunghoon’s head falls back with a groan the moment you pull him free from his boxers, wasting no time in taking him into your mouth.

“Fuck, why didn’t I let you do this sooner?” he groans, fingers threading into your hair as you begin to bob your head. You hum around him, the vibration making his knees nearly buckle.  

His hips jerk shallowly, testing, and when you grip his thighs and let your mouth open wider, he gets the message. Glancing up at him with watery eyes, you meet him halfway, hollowing your cheeks. A curse falls from his lips as he tightens his hold on your hair, taking control. His thrusts grow deeper, his pelvis pressing into your face with every movement, and you use his thighs to steady yourself as he groans above you.

“Baby, fuck—you feel so good,” he pants, muscles tensing as heat coils low in his stomach.

Your jaw goes slack as you accept more of his cock, relaxing into the feeling. He picks up the pace, basking in view of his glossy cock dragging against your lips. You’re a vision. So beautiful to him. The disgusting wet noises your throat makes when he pulls away are deafening. He loves the way you gag when he pushes back in.

“Mhm, it’s yours, baby. Take it.” He licks his lips and nods, looking at you with hooded lustful eyes. You hollow your cheeks, drawing a strangled moan from him. “Shit, I’m not gonna last.”

Determined, you push forward, taking him to the base, your nose pressing against the soft hair at his pelvis. He lets out a broken curse, his grip tightening as he thrusts once, twice—before he’s unraveling with a sharp groan. “Fuck—”

“Excuse me?” A voice. From outside the storage room.

Sunghoon’s eyes snap open, panic flashing across his face.

“Yes?” you call out, pulling away as if you hadn’t just had him down your throat moments ago. There’s a translucent strand of spit connecting his penis to your mouth. You swallow, wiping your chin with the back of your hand. A fit of coughs want to erupt through your chest, but you’re able to stop it. You can’t really focus at the moment.

“Uh… is everything all right?”

“Yep! All good,” you reply, voice bright but just a little hoarse as you quickly pull his pants back up. “I just dropped something while looking for some equipment.”

“Oh. Do you need help?”

“Nope, I got it. Thanks, though!” A pause. Then retreating footsteps.

Sunghoon sags against the wall, exhaling hard. “Holy shit.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Holy shit indeed. Now, let me go out first. Meet me at my apartment later?” You grin before slipping out the door, leaving him to catch his breath.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It’s been days since that night in the storage room—days of stolen moments and whispered conversations, of Sunghoon pulling you into empty hallways when no one’s looking, of his lips ghosting against your skin right before he’s called back on set.

It’s reckless. It’s dangerous. But it’s addictive.

And now, sitting beside him at a long restaurant table filled with the entire production team, you’re starting to realize just how stupid this is. Because Sunghoon is doing it again.

That thing where he pretends to be focused on his conversation, nodding along to whatever the director is saying, while his foot slowly nudges against yours under the table.

You shoot him a warning glance. Stop it. He doesn’t. If anything, he makes it worse. His foot slides up the side of your calf, subtle but deliberate, sending an involuntary shiver up your spine. You nearly drop your chopsticks, barely managing to recover before anyone notices. Sunghoon smirks behind the rim of his glass, taking a slow sip of his drink like he isn’t actively trying to ruin your life.

You inhale sharply, gripping your napkin with unnecessary force. Two can play this game. Carefully—casually—you shift your foot, pressing against his ankle before dragging it up just enough to make him twitch this time. His smirk falters, just barely, but it’s enough Your turn to smirk.

Sunghoon narrows his eyes slightly, and you know—you know—he’s not letting this slide. And then, without warning, his hand finds yours under the table.

Your breath catches. You weren’t expecting that. The teasing was one thing. The flirting, the pushing, the secret little games you played when no one was watching.

But this? This is different, this was… sweet. His fingers lace through yours, warm and solid, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your knuckles. It’s not playful. It’s not reckless. It’s soft. And that’s what terrifies you.

You could have ignored the teasing. You could have laughed off the flirting. But this quiet gesture—the way he holds your hand like it’s normal, like it’s natural—makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t want to acknowledge.

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening slightly around his before you can stop yourself.

Sunghoon’s gaze flickers toward you, barely for a second, but the look in his eyes makes your heart stutter. He knows. He feels it too.

But before either of you can say—or do—anything, someone calls your name. You jolt, quickly pulling your hand back, hoping your face isn’t betraying anything. One of the assistant directors grins, nudging your shoulder. “You’ve been quiet. What, Sunghoon making you nervous?” Your stomach drops.

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, effortlessly sliding back into his usual composed demeanor. “Why would she be nervous around me?”

You force a laugh, shaking your head. “Please. If anything, he’s the one who should be nervous.” The table erupts in laughter, and just like that, the moment is gone. But under the table, Sunghoon’s fingers brush against yours one last time before pulling away.

And even as the dinner continues, even as conversations shift and drinks are poured, you can still feel the imprint of his touch against your skin.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The rumors are starting.

You hear them in passing—casual whispers from crew members, quiet speculations during coffee breaks, the occasional knowing glance when you and Sunghoon are in the same room. No one knows, not for sure. But people are noticing, and that’s dangerous.

So when Sunghoon pulls you aside after filming one night, his expression unreadable, you already know what he’s about to say. “We need to be more careful,” he mutters, arms crossed as he leans against the wall of an empty dressing room.

You sigh, mirroring his posture. “No kidding.”

He exhales sharply, tilting his head back slightly. “Someone almost caught us last night.”

Your stomach twists. “Who?”

“One of the lighting techs,” he says. “They walked in right after you left my trailer.”

You curse under your breath. “This is getting impossible.”

Sunghoon pushes a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “We need to lay low for a while.”

You frown. You hate this—hiding, pretending, the constant paranoia that one wrong move could ruin everything. But you also know he’s right.

You nod slowly. “Okay.”

For a second, it seems like the conversation is over.

“…You free tonight?” Sunghoon asks, glancing at you.

You blink. “Didn’t we just agree to be careful?”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “We will be.”

You narrow your eyes. “I don’t like that look.”

His smirk widens. “Trust me.”

You groan. “That’s exactly what someone untrustworthy would say.”

But despite yourself, you agree.

And that’s how you end up standing outside his car later that night, staring at the ridiculous disguise he’s holding out to you.

A frumpy cardigan. A floral scarf. And—dear god—gray wig.

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “No.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “You got a better idea?”

You do, actually. It’s called staying inside like normal people instead of dressing like retirees on a Sunday stroll.

But Sunghoon is already shrugging into his own disguise—a baggy windbreaker, oversized glasses, and a gray newsboy cap that makes him look like he belongs in a retirement home. He looks ridiculous. You bite your lip, trying so hard not to laugh.

He catches it. “Say one word, and I’m leaving you here.”

You hold up your hands in surrender. “Not a word.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re walking side by side through the city, looking like an elderly couple that escaped their nursing home. You shake your head, tucking the scarf tighter around your neck. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

Sunghoon adjusts his fake glasses. “Genius, isn’t it?”

“I think ‘genius’ is a stretch.”

He smirks. “No one’s looking at us, are they?”

You glance around. To your absolute disbelief, no one is paying attention. Not a single person gives you a second glance. And somehow, that makes you laugh.

Sunghoon looks at you, amused. “What?”

“This is so stupid,” you giggle, shaking your head.

He grins. “Yeah. But it’s working.”

You sigh, looping your arm through his dramatically. “Fine, Grandpa. Where are we going?”

Sunghoon chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Wherever you want, Grandma.”

And for the first time in weeks, the weight of secrecy feels a little lighter. Because right now, in this ridiculous moment, it’s just you and him.

And nothing else matters.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It’s late when you both make it back to your apartment.

After spending the night disguised as an elderly couple—walking through quiet streets, sneaking into a small late-night café, laughing at how absurd you both looked—there’s a strange kind of warmth settling in your chest.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t looking over your shoulder.

For the first time, you and Sunghoon were just two normal people.

Now, you sit on your couch, legs tucked beneath you, watching as Sunghoon flips idly through an old book on your coffee table. “You really read all of these?” he asks, eyes scanning the spines of stacked screenwriting books on the shelf.

You nod, sipping from your mug. “Some of them multiple times.”

Sunghoon hums in approval, setting the book down before leaning back against the couch. “You’re serious about this directing thing, huh?”

You shoot him a deadpan look. “I work on a movie set, Sunghoon.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, but a lot of people say they want to be directors. Not everyone actually means it.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around your mug. You’ve heard that before. From coworkers, from mentors, from people who’ve been in the industry long enough to know how brutal it is. Everyone wants to be a director, but only a few ever make it. And you refuse to be part of the majority that doesn’t. “I do mean it,” you say quietly. “I don’t just want to be some assistant forever.”

Sunghoon watches you carefully. “You won’t be.”

You glance at him. “You say that like it’s a guarantee.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Because it is.”

Your throat tightens. You don’t know when Sunghoon started believing in you so much, but hearing it from him now—when you’re still fighting to believe in yourself—hits differently. A small silence stretches between you before you muster the courage to ask, “What about you?”

Sunghoon blinks. “What about me?”

You shrug. “You’ve been acting for years. You ever think about what’s next?”

He exhales slowly, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “I try not to.”

You frown. “Why not?”

His lips press together, as if weighing his words. “Because thinking about the future means thinking about the end. And I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

You stare at him. For all his success, for all the ways he’s established himself in the industry, Sunghoon still carries fear. The same fear you have—the fear of not making it. The fear of being forgotten. You set your mug down, shifting closer. “Well,” you say softly, “if I ever do make it as a director…”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “If?”

You roll your eyes. “When I make it, then.”

He smirks, satisfied. “Go on.”

You inhale deeply. “I’ll cast you in my first movie. You can be the lead.”

Sunghoon scoffs, but there’s amusement in his expression. “Oh? That’s bold of you.”

You tilt your head. “What, you think I wouldn’t?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No. I think you would.”

You smile, nudging him lightly. “And then when it wins an award, I’ll make sure to thank you in my speech.”

Sunghoon hums. “What would you say?”

You pretend to think. “Something like, ‘I’d like to thank Park Sunghoon, my first-ever lead actor, for not throwing a tantrum on set and actually listening to my direction.’”

Sunghoon laughs, a full, real laugh that makes something warm bloom in your chest.

“You’re hilarious,” he mutters.

“I try.”

He watches you for a moment, his laughter fading into something quieter, softer. His fingers brush against yours on the couch, his touch deliberate. “Promise me something,” he says.

Your breath catches. “What?”

“When you make it big—” His voice is low, steady. “Don’t forget about me.”

You blink. “Sunghoon…”

“I mean it.” His gaze is unreadable, but there’s something vulnerable beneath it. “You’re going to do great things. I know it.”

Your chest tightens. “I won’t forget you.” A small pause.

Then, just barely above a whisper, “You better not.”

Your fingers entwine with his, the silence between you heavy with things unsaid. And for the first time, you wonder. If this could last beyond stolen moments and whispered secrets.

If this—you and him—could ever belong to the future you’re both afraid to think about.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

For a while, everything is perfect.

Or at least, it feels that way.

Sunghoon’s hands find yours more easily now, even if they have to let go before anyone notices. His glances linger longer, his smiles come easier, and the time spent together—hidden away in the late hours of the night or in the quiet spaces between scenes—feels real.

The secrecy is still there, but it’s different now. It’s not something you tiptoe around in fear. It’s something you choose—a fragile world that exists only between the two of you, protected from the outside.

And for a while, that’s enough.

Until it isn’t.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It starts with small things.

Sunghoon doesn’t touch you as much anymore—not even when no one’s looking.

He still meets you in quiet corners of the set, still kisses you breathless when you’re alone, but there’s a distance now. A flicker of something restrained in his gaze, something held back.

At first, you think you’re imagining it. But then the silences grow longer. The laughter comes less often. Then you realize Sunghoon is pulling away.

The first time you bring it up, he brushes it off.

“I’m just tired,” he says, rubbing his temples.

You hesitate. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

His jaw tightens. “Yeah. Long shoots. Too much press. It’s nothing.”

But it doesn’t feel like nothing. The more time passes, the more you feel him slipping away.

It gets worse when he starts missing your usual late-night meetings.

You wait for him after shoots, sitting alone in the dimly lit studio hallways, only for your phone to vibrate with a short, clipped text.

Can’t make it tonight. Sorry.

The first time, you let it slide.

The second time, you tell yourself he’s just busy.

The third time, you feel something inside you crack.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

One night, after another grueling day on set, you decide you can’t take it anymore.

You find Sunghoon sitting in his dressing room, scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t look up when you enter. You close the door behind you, arms crossing over your chest. “What’s happening?”

Sunghoon finally glances at you, his expression unreadable. “What do you mean?”

You inhale sharply, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like this—” you gesture between you “—is fine when we both know it’s not.”

He exhales, setting his phone down. “Y/N—”

“You’re pulling away,” you cut in, voice quieter now, but no less firm. “And I don’t know why.”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leans back, rubbing a hand over his face. When he finally speaks, his voice is tired. “I have a lot on my plate,” he mutters. “There’s a ton of press lined up, and the agency is already breathing down my neck about scheduling conflicts. They want me to be careful, especially with—” He stops himself, but you already know what he was going to say.

Especially with you.

Your chest tightens. “So what? I’m just another inconvenience?”

Sunghoon’s gaze snaps to yours, sharp and unyielding. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But it’s what it feels like.” Your voice wavers despite your best efforts. “You’re choosing to distance yourself, Sunghoon. And I don’t understand why.”

He exhales heavily, standing up and pacing across the room. “Because I have to, okay? Do you know what would happen if this got out? Do you know what the agency would do?”

You swallow hard. “So you’re just going to push me away?”

His hands clench at his sides. “I don’t have a choice.”

You laugh—bitter and hollow. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Sunghoon flinches, but he doesn’t argue, and that hurts more than anything.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “What’s happening to us?”

He doesn’t answer. The silence tells you everything.

You nod slowly, stepping back toward the door. “I get it.”

Sunghoon’s brows furrow. “Y/N—”

“No,” you interrupt, voice raw. “I get it. You don’t have to say anything else.”

You leave before he can stop you, and for the first time in weeks, you feel alone.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You barely see Sunghoon after that night.

You don’t wait for him after shoots anymore. You don’t check your phone for his messages. You don’t seek him out in the quiet moments between takes. And, most of all, you don’t ask him for explanations he’s never going to give.

It’s easier this way. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. But deep down, you know that’s a lie. Because every time you step on set, every time you hear his voice in the distance, every time you feel his presence before you even see him—your chest tightens.

Sunghoon might be pulling away, but that doesn’t mean you’ve stopped wanting him to stay.

The breaking point comes when you least expect it.

Sunghoon has been acting off all day—more distant than usual, his shoulders stiff, his jaw clenched. The crew is extra careful around him, treading lightly, trying not to provoke whatever storm is brewing beneath the surface.

You do the same, but when the director announces a sudden scheduling change, everything snaps.

“We need to push the final filming dates up,” the director says, glancing at Sunghoon. “Your overseas project confirmed your start date, so we have to wrap this production sooner than expected.”

Your stomach drops. Overseas project? You turn toward Sunghoon, heart pounding.

He doesn’t look at you. “Understood,” he says stiffly.

The meeting ends, people disperse, and you stand frozen in place, trying to process what just happened. You don’t realize you’re walking toward him until you’re already standing in front of him. “Overseas?” your voice comes out unsteady. “When were you going to tell me?”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicker, but his expression remains guarded. “I was going to.”

“When?” You exhale sharply, frustration bubbling up. “After you left?”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Y/N—”

“No.” Your hands curl into fists. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to pull away for weeks and then act like this is nothing.”

Sunghoon clenches his jaw. “I never said it was nothing.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Really? Because that’s exactly what it feels like.”

The tension in the air is suffocating. Crew members glance at you both nervously from a distance, sensing the hostility radiating off of you, but you don’t care. You’re too angry. Too tired.

“You’re leaving,” you say, your voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “And you weren’t even going to tell me.”

His lips part, but no words come out. And that—more than anything—breaks you.

“Right,” you whisper, nodding to yourself. “Got it.”

You turn to leave.

“If you love me, why are you making me choose?” His voice is quiet. Frustrated. Pained.

You freeze. Slowly, you turn back to face him.

Sunghoon’s eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

Then in a hushed voice, “If you love me,” you whisper, “why won’t you choose me?”

His expression falters.

Silence. Heavy. Unforgiving.

Sunghoon looks at you, his gaze full of everything he wants to say but won’t, and that’s all you need to know.

You inhale sharply, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “I hope your career was worth it. Take care ‘hoon, I mean it.” Then you walk away.

And this time, Sunghoon doesn’t stop you.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The set feels off today.

Sunghoon notices it the moment he steps onto the lot.

Everything looks the same—the cameras rolling into position, the crew bustling around, the murmurs of last-minute adjustments to the schedule.

But something is missing. No—someone is missing.

His eyes instinctively scan the space, searching for you. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it at first. It’s second nature by now—finding you in a crowd, watching you from across the set, waiting for the moment your eyes meet his.

Except today, that moment doesn’t come.

A strange weight settles in his chest. Maybe you’re just running late. Maybe you’re off handling something behind the scenes. Maybe—

“Sunghoon, we need you on set!”

He blinks, snapping out of it. Right. Focus. But as the morning drags on, the unease only grows.

By lunch, when he still hasn’t seen you, it becomes unbearable. He stops one of the assistant directors on their way back from a meeting. “Where’s Y/N?”

The assistant director hesitates. “You don’t know?”

Sunghoon’s stomach twists. “Know what?”

“She transferred to another crew.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He stares at them, unable to process it. “What?”

“She requested a transfer last night.” The assistant director shifts uncomfortably. “The director approved it this morning. She’s working on another set now.”

Sunghoon’s breath catches. You left. Not just him. Not just the late-night moments and stolen glances. You left everything. And you didn’t tell him. Didn’t give him a warning. Didn’t give him a chance.

For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t know what to do. All he knows is that the set feels emptier now. Colder. And no matter how many times he looks, you’re not coming back.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Time moves forward, with or without you.

At first, it feels like you’re running on autopilot. The transfer to another crew is exactly what you needed—a fresh start, a clean slate, a distraction. The work is just as exhausting, the deadlines just as relentless, but at least here, no one looks at you like they know.

No one whispers behind your back.

No one searches for your eyes across the set.

No one makes your heart ache just by existing.

And that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To forget? To move on?

You tell yourself that enough times, and eventually, you almost start to believe it.

Months turn into years. Your career flourishes.

At first, you’re just another assistant, working your way up, taking whatever projects come your way. But then, little by little, your name starts to mean something.

Your hard work doesn’t go unnoticed. Producers take note of your efficiency. Directors praise your instincts. Soon, you’re getting bigger responsibilities—helping with shot lists, offering creative input, refining scenes.

Until, one day, you get the call.

The one that changes everything.

The one that makes your dream of becoming a director something more than just a dream.

Your first movie. Your name on the credits, not as an assistant, not as someone behind the scenes, but as the director.

You should be overjoyed. And you are. Really.

But success has a funny way of feeling lonely sometimes.

Because no matter how many awards you win, no matter how many people praise your vision, there’s still a part of you that wonders—

Would Sunghoon have been proud of you?

Would he have smiled the way he did that night on your couch, when you told him your dreams?

Would he have been your lead?

You never let yourself dwell on the answers, because the past is the past, and Sunghoon is nothing more than a ghost in it.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Sunghoon gets everything he ever wanted.

The overseas project is a massive hit. Critics rave about his performance, calling it his most compelling work yet. He wins awards, lands more prestigious roles, works with some of the biggest names in the industry.

His career skyrockets. Every magazine cover, every interview, every red carpet event cements his status as one of the top actors of his generation. And yet, the higher he climbs, the emptier it feels.

The first few months after you left were the hardest. He would step on set and instinctively look for you, only to remember—you’re gone. He would scroll through his phone late at night, resisting the urge to type out a message he knew he’d never send. He told himself he had no right to miss you. That he made his choice. That this was the price of success. 

But sometimes, when the nights were too quiet and the loneliness too loud, he wondered, had he really chosen his career? Or had he just been too afraid to choose you?

But life moves on and Sunghoon learns to live with it.

He throws himself into work, into press tours, into pretending that nothing haunts him. It works. For a while.

Until one day, he sees you on a screen instead of beside him. Your name flashes across an industry article—"Breakout Director Y/N Takes the Film World by Storm." There’s a photo of you attached to it. You’re smiling, standing on a stage, accepting an award.You look different. More polished, more confident. Like the version of yourself you always wanted to be.

And for the first time in years, Sunghoon feels like he lost, because you made it. Without him.

And he doesn’t know if he should be proud of you, or devastated that he’s no longer a part of your story.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Success is supposed to be fulfilling.

That’s what you tell yourself when you sit in an empty editing room late at night, staring at the final cut of your latest film. The screen glows in the dimly lit space, casting shadows across your desk, but you don’t move.

You should be proud. This is your film. Your vision. Your name stamped onto something that will live beyond you. But right now, all you can feel is exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders.

And something else. Something lonelier.

Your phone buzzes on the desk, breaking the silence. You blink, glancing at the screen. A message from an old friend from your assistant days.

Did you see the headlines?

Your fingers hesitate before typing. What headlines? It doesn’t take long for the reply to come through.

Sunghoon just won another Best Actor award. His speech was everywhere.

You inhale sharply. Of course he did. Of course he’s still winning, still thriving. He’s Park Sunghoon. This is what he was always meant to do.

Still, your hands move on their own, searching his name. And there it is. A photo of him on stage, trophy in hand, looking every bit the polished, untouchable star he’s become.

You tell yourself not to click on the video. You tell yourself not to care, but your finger taps play before your mind can catch up.

Sunghoon stands before a packed audience, cameras flashing, his expression calm and composed as always.

“…There are too many people to thank,” he says, his voice steady. “But more than anything, I want to thank the people who believed in me before the rest of the world did.”

He pauses, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “And to those I let go of along the way,” he exhales quietly, “I hope you’re doing well.”

Your breath catches. Because he knows. He knows you’d be watching. He knows you’d hear those words and wonder, was he talking about you?

A lump forms in your throat. You close the video before it can play any longer, tossing your phone onto the desk as you press the heels of your palms into your eyes.

This is ridiculous. It’s been years. You shouldn’t still feel like this. But as you sit there, alone in a room filled with nothing but the echoes of your own thoughts, you realize something terrifying. No matter how much time has passed, no matter how much you’ve accomplished.

Sunghoon is still a part of you, and you don’t know if that will ever change.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Years later, you’re working on the biggest project yet.

The set is already bustling when you arrive.

Your latest film—the one you spent years working toward—is finally in production, and you’re at the helm. The director’s chair belongs to you now, the vision in your hands, the weight of the project resting on your shoulders.

It should feel like a victory, but the moment you step onto set, something shifts.

A whisper moves through the crew, quiet but undeniable. You turn to your assistant, frowning slightly. “What’s going on?”

She hesitates. “Uh… the lead just arrived.”

Your stomach drops. You already know who it is. But what you don’t expect is for him to walk in with her.

Sunghoon enters the set with his co-star—an actress whose name has been plastered across magazines, her face just as recognizable as his. She’s beautiful, effortlessly poised, the kind of woman who fits perfectly into the world he’s built for himself.

And she’s holding his hand.

Your grip tightens on the clipboard in your hands as you watch her lean in close, whispering something against his ear. Sunghoon chuckles, his lips curling into an easy smile—one that looks far too public, too polished. Too different from the way he used to smile at you.

Your chest tightens. Because this? This is nothing like what the two of you had.

Sunghoon was never the type to be affectionate in front of others. With you, everything was secret—stolen glances, hidden touches, late-night meetings where the only witnesses were the shadows.

But with her? He isn’t hiding. He isn’t holding back. It’s as if whatever existed between you never even mattered. You force yourself to breathe, schooling your expression into something unreadable.

Sunghoon’s eyes sweep over the room, taking everything in, before they land on you. And for the first time in years, your gazes lock. The noise around you fades. The years that have passed, the distance that’s settled, the choices that have been made—they all press into the space between you, heavy and suffocating. Sunghoon’s smile falters for just a second. But it’s enough. Because in that second, you see it—the flicker of recognition, of hesitation. The realization that you’re here, that this is real, that after all this time, after all the choices that led you both here— You’re standing in front of him again. And then, just as quickly, the moment is gone.

Sunghoon’s expression smooths over, unreadable once more. His grip on her hand tightens ever so slightly, a silent reminder of the life he’s built without you. He takes a step forward, nodding in greeting.

“Director,” he says, his voice even.

You swallow down the lump in your throat. “Mr. Park,” you reply, just as composed. The formalities sting. Especially when the last time you spoke, you were begging him to choose you.

Sunghoon watches you for a moment longer, as if searching for something in your face, and for the first time in years, you don’t let him find it.

You glance at your assistant, clearing your throat. “Let’s get started.” Then you turn away.Because no matter how much your heart still aches, no matter how much it kills you to see him like this.

You refuse to be a part of his past anymore. Because you’re living your future.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You do what you do best. You focus.

You drown yourself in your work, in camera angles and shot compositions, in the steady rhythm of directing. You give feedback, adjust blocking, consult with the cinematographer—anything to keep yourself from thinking about the fact that he’s here. That he’s with her. That you’re finally in the same place again, but this time, he’s standing next to someone else.

Sunghoon is professional. You expected nothing less. He follows directions with sharp precision, delivering each scene flawlessly, slipping into character with the kind of ease that made him famous. He listens when you speak, nods when you give him notes, keeps his distance when the cameras aren’t rolling. And for the first few days, it works.

Until one night, after an exhausting day on set, you step outside for some air and find him already there, waiting. The cool night air is a relief against your skin, but the sight of him standing by the railing, hands tucked into his pockets, sends a sharp wave of something unwelcome through your chest.

You should turn around. You shouldn’t let this happen. But then he turns, his gaze meeting yours, and just like before—just like always—you can’t look away. He exhales slowly. “I was wondering when we’d actually talk.”

Your fingers tighten around your jacket sleeves. “We talk every day.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “What do you want me to say, Sunghoon? That it’s weird seeing you again? That it’s strange directing you? That it’s exhausting pretending like the past doesn’t exist?”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. But something in his expression shifts. A crack in the carefully composed exterior. “That night,” he says quietly. “The night you left.”

Your breath catches.

“I let you walk away,” he continues, voice heavier now. “And I thought—no, I told myself—that was the right choice.”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stay still. To stay indifferent.

“But I watched your career take off. I saw your name in the headlines. I saw you win—without me.” His voice is softer now, more raw. “And for years, I convinced myself that was enough.” Silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. “It wasn’t.”

Your heart clenches. This isn’t happening. You can’t let this happen. “You don’t get to do this,” you say, your voice colder than you intend. “You don’t get to come back after all this time and say this.”

Sunghoon takes a slow step forward. “Why not?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Because you made your choice, Sunghoon. You chose your career. And I chose to stop waiting for you to choose me.”

He exhales sharply. “Y/N—”

“You have her now,” you cut in, your tone sharp, pointed. “So why are you standing here, saying these things?”

Sunghoon falls silent. For a moment, you almost think he won’t answer. “She’s not you.”

Your breath stutters. “Don’t,” you whisper, shaking your head. “Don’t say that.”

“I thought it would be easier,” he continues, ignoring the warning in your voice. “That if I had someone who fit into my world, who didn’t make me question everything, it would be enough.”

You inhale shakily, willing yourself to stay calm. To stay unaffected.

“But it wasn’t,” Sunghoon murmurs, looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. “Because no matter where I went, no matter who I was with—” His voice drops lower, heavier. “It was always you.”

The words slice through you like a knife. But you don’t let them break you. You can’t. Because the past is the past. And you’re not that girl anymore. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before meeting his gaze. “Then I feel sorry for you.” Sunghoon stills. You exhale slowly, your voice quiet but firm. “Because I moved on.”

It’s a lie. A lie so fragile that if he pushed just a little harder, if he looked at you just a second longer, it would shatter.

But Sunghoon doesn’t push, because maybe, just maybe, he already knows he’s too late.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The next few days pass in a blur.

You and Sunghoon fall back into professionalism, neither of you acknowledging what was said that night. The crew doesn’t notice the way your exchanges are clipped, the way you avoid being alone together, the way Sunghoon’s co-star pulls him into picture-perfect embraces while you pretend not to see.

It’s exhausting. But you refuse to let it break you. You’ve spent years building yourself up again. You won’t let him tear you down now. So when you see him lingering after a late-night shoot, standing alone by the trailers, you tell yourself to keep walking. You don’t owe him anything.

“Y/N.” You stop. Sunghoon exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Just—stay for a second.”

Against your better judgment, you do. But when you turn to face him, your expression is unreadable. “What do you want, Sunghoon?”

He hesitates. “The truth.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “The truth?”

He nods. “Did you really move on?”

Your stomach twists. Because you should say yes. You should lie. But you don’t. Instead, you take a deep breath and meet his gaze, steady and firm. “I had to forgive you,” you say quietly. “Not for you. For me.”

Sunghoon doesn’t speak. He just watches you, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

You exhale slowly. “I had to forgive you because holding onto the anger and resentment wasn’t healthy for me. But remember that it made me who I am now.”

He swallows hard. “Y/N—”

You shake your head. “You have a long-term girlfriend now, too.” Your voice doesn’t waver. “You made your choice years ago. You have to live with it, just like I did.”

His fingers twitch at his sides. “I know.”

You pause, letting the words settle between you. Then, with a small, tired smile, you add, “Don’t treat her like you did with me.”

Sunghoon’s breath catches.

“And hey,” you say, your tone softer now, “you’re already a step ahead of where we were. Be proud to be able to share her with the world.”

He doesn’t respond. He just looks at you, something fragile and almost broken in his gaze. But you don’t let yourself fall into it. Not anymore.

“We both moved on, maybe not from each other yet, but we’ve moved on with our lives already,” you continue, offering him one last bittersweet smile. “And I hope you find peace with it.”

Sunghoon doesn’t argue. He finally understands. You’re not his anymore, and you might never be again.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

On the last day of filming, as the crew wraps up and the cast exchanges goodbyes, you step outside for a breath of air.

You should be celebrating. This film—the one you fought for, the one you poured your soul into—is finally complete. And yet, all you can think about is the fact that this means you’ll never see him again. That after today, Sunghoon will just be another name in the credits. Another person in your past. You exhale slowly, pressing a hand against your forehead. This is good, you remind yourself. This is how it’s supposed to be.

“Y/N.” You stiffen. You knew he’d come. You don’t know how, but you knew. Sunghoon stands behind you, hands tucked into his pockets, his expression unreadable. “So… this is it.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He exhales, glancing up at the sky. “It’s funny. I used to think we’d meet again and everything would just… fall back into place.”

Your heart aches, but you don’t let it show. “That’s not how life works,” you murmur.

Sunghoon looks at you then, and for the first time, there’s no longing. No regret. Just quiet acceptance. “I know,” he says. Silence stretches between you. “I’m proud of you. Take care, Y/N.”

You swallow down the lump in your throat, offering him a small, soft smile. “You too, Sunghoon.”

And with that, you turn and walk away. For the last time.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You watch as your hard work gets shown on the big screen, proud of where you’ve come.

The final shot of the film is of him.

The camera lingers as he delivers his last lines, “I’m happy for you,” his gaze drifting past the lens, it’s not obvious, but you notice it. And for a fleeting moment, as you and thousands of people watch the end of your film, you wonder if he’s looking at you.

But then the scene ends, the cameras stop rolling, and the moment fades.

Just like everything else.

Taglist: @yunverie @dawngyu @hueningstar @hhoneyhan @immelissaaa @lovingbeomgyudayone @xylatox @i-like-to-read-at-4am @imlonelydontsendhelp @ode2soob @pagelets @laylasbunbunny @vrusha01 @enhaflixer @highway-143 @keloiu @m1kkso @cutehoons02 If you want to be tagged in all of my fics, go here to be added to my permanent taglist.

© all rights reserved ─ @gyu-tori 2025

Rei's Notes ✎: It's here woooo, no one dies this time dw. I hope the smut improved from last time T^T Was heavily inspired by the k-drama Melo Movie, but the fic is more of a rough inspiration. Once again, I've broken my longest word count record, this time we went past 20k. Had to use a different divider instead of the usual image cuz of how long this was. As always I'd love to hear your thoughts and how this made you feel so leave a reblog or reply!! <33

[seasprincess]

Two man but my friend couldn’t make it

MDNI

warnings: smut, threesome, degrading, praise, oral (m recive), p in v (unprotected), this is pure filth inspired by a caption i saw on tiktok, there’s probably more warnings

wc: 1.2k

a/n: not proof read and this is an au where rafe and jj are friends.

You don’t really know how you ended up in this situation. It had progressed rather quickly. Not that you were really complaining though.

“You’re so pretty.” Rafe says as his arm wraps around your shoulder. Pulling you closer into him as his fingers trace patterns. His eyes scan your face to see how nervous you are. He notices the way you’re avoiding eye contact. And so does the line boy next to you.

“He’s right baby. Such a pretty girl.” JJ says as his hand runs up your thigh to the hem of your shorts. Slowly slipping a finger into it to keep stroking.

You freeze up as you know what they want. And it both excites you and makes you nervous.

“You said she isn’t a virgin right Maybank?” Rafe eyes flicker to him before back on you. Seeing how your cheeks turn red at his words.

JJ just lets out a small chuckle as he squeezes your thigh.

“Yeah, she’s not a virgin. But I bet she’s still tight.”

Rafe smirks as he kisses your cheek, hand coming up to play with your hair.

“I bet that cunts so tight. And we’re gonna to find out sweetheart. Is that okay?” JJ asks as he looks at you. All of a sudden the bed feels hot, everything feels hot.

“Y-yes.” You choke out, wanting to make sure they are aware how much you want it. Which they already know.

“She’s a slut. I told you.” JJ says as he looks at Rafe. Talking to him like you’re not there.

“Oh I didn’t doubt you. I’ve seen her outfits.”

“Maybe we should get her out of this outfit.”

A grin grows on Rafe’s face as he stands up. JJ follows his action before helping you stand up.

They look over you like a piece of meat, so hungry to do all the things in their head.

Rafe’s hands make their way to your shorts zipper as he looks into your eyes. Turning your back towards JJ who’s working on pulling your top off.

After not much effort they’ve stripped you. Leaving you in your matching set that took you ages to choose.

The two boys start to undress themselves before JJ fiddles with your bra. Letting it fall to the floor.

Rafe’s eyes look over you before you’re turned so JJ can see you. Staring at your tits as they push you onto the bed. Not too forcefully, they do want to be rather sweet to you. Even if they’re about to fuck your brains out.

“I want to be first in her cunt.” Rafe says as places a hand on JJ’s chest. The tent forming in his boxers matching JJ’s.

“I’ll take her mouth. Is that okay baby?”

You nod eagerly as you smile. You do really want that.

Rafe walks closer to you as he pulls off his boxers. His cock hitting his stomach as he pulls you closer. He brings his index finger to your clothed pussy. Rubbing it slowly as a wet patch starts to form. Which makes Rafe let out a small chuckle as he moves to your clit. A little moan escapes your lip.

“We’re gonna make you feel good sweetheart.” Rafe says as he captures your lips in a kiss, hungrily kissing you as he pulls down your panties. His hands rake up your body as he starts touching your nipples. The noises that come out of you are pornographic. And all Rafe is doing is smirking smugly.

“Can I go in you raw princess?”

“Rafe we said we wouldn’t.” JJ pipes up, stopping his movements of rubbing his cock. The sight of you two is just too much to just watch.

“Look we’re both clean and she’s on birth control right sweetheart?”

You nod as Rafe turns to JJ. Pulling a ‘see’ face.

Rafe turns back to you as he looks into your eyes. Watching for any signs of uncertainty. But when you look up at him with that look, the look of wanting him. He can’t help but pull your lower half closer. Rafe kneels on the bed as he lays you down fully, putting your legs over his shoulder as he lines himself up with your entrance.

He once again looks into your eyes. But when he sees that you’re as eager as him he slides in.

You let out a moan, even if it is only the tip in you. Rafe’s big. Rafe knows he’s big. So he slowly pushes into you, moaning and groaning like you are.

“Fuck. She is tight J.” Rafe says as he looks to the blonde boy who’s sitting in the chair at the end of the bed. The same blonde boy who’s stroking his dick to the picture of Rafe fucking you. He doesn’t really know how long he’s going to be able to keep his hands off of you.

Rafe groans as he enters you fully. Your cunt sucking him in as he has that stupid grin on his face.

Rafe starts slowly thrusting in you. Picking up the pace with every thrust before he’s at a speed that is a little uncomfortable but god does it feel good.

“Oh god sweetheart. Such a good slut huh?”

You can’t reply verbally but the way your eyes roll back in your head is enough of a reply. And of course the cocky bastard just chuckles.

After a while the blonde boy who’s been banished to the chair has had enough of his own hand and starts to make his way towards the bed.

Rafe sees him walk towards the pair of you and slows his movements before coming to a stop.

“Rafe.” You whine out, that orgasm that was building being abandoned.

“On your hands and knees baby. Gonna help JJ out too.”

You obey straight away. Positioning yourself between the pair. JJ’s dick in front of you Rafe’s lined back up with your entrance.

The two boys look at eachother with a smirk before Rafe enters you again. JJ doing the same with your mouth.

They both begin thrusting and you grip onto JJ’s thighs as a small chuckle escaping his lips. Looking down at you as he stops his movements as his dick hits the back of your throat. Making you gag, the mascara you put on to make yourself look all pretty for the boys is now starting to run down your face.

Rafe smiles at the sound of you gagging as he looks down to where he’s entering you. Watching his dick work in and out of your cunt.

“She’s so wet J.” Rafe says as he groans, feeling his orgasm building up. JJ who is also close can’t help but groan too. The way your mouth is wrapped around him, licking and sucking.

“She sucks cock good too.”

It doesn’t take long for you all to get to the brink of orgasming. JJ first in your mouth. Letting it go down your throat as you swallow. Which JJ praises with a ‘good girl.’

Rafe cums in you next, filling you up with a loud groan that just pushes you over the edge. Cumming on his dick. His cum starts to slowly drip out of you as he pulls out.

You lay down on your back as you pant. Able to regain your breath after finally being empty.

JJ presses a kiss to your head before Rafe places a kiss on your breast. He’s always been a tits guy, he just can’t help it.

“You ready for a swap sweetheart?”

Oh this is gonna be a long night.

[area51-escapee]

“A little progress is better than none!!! Vote blue anyways <3!!!!!” I’m going to start beating these people with a baseball bat I swear to god

[neewtmas]

*cracks knuckles* okay let's do this

First of all you’re insane for using that first pic✋🏻😮‍💨

She’d been there three months already, but she still wasn’t used to the hours kept by her colleagues. They could eat breakfast at 3am or 11, sometimes had breakfast for dinner or the other way around.

They have the same fucked up eating schedule I have hallelujah

The only noises came from George’s cooking. They would soon be replaced by uninterrupted chatter, the scraping of chairs against the floor and the kettle that was kept on most of the time.

The cosy vibes are off the charts ☕️☕️☕️

However, she had made the mistake of smiling at him which instantly turned him mute once again before exiting the room without finishing whatever thought he had started.

He is just social anxiety in person omg

She turned around to see George rearranging her table setting, visibly sighing as he placed attentively the forks on the left face up and the knives on the right blades in. He once again avoided her gaze and went back to his dish still cooking on the stove.

Dude wtf is wrong with u😒

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Lucy said as soon as she entered the kitchen.

Good question lucy! I was asking the same thing

She didn’t want to say anything yet, but she had a hunch.

Meddling lucy truly is the best Lucy🤩

George looked back at her, a knot forming in his stomach. Having all his mistakes lined up this way made him realize how badly he had handled the situation

George stared at the closed door with round eyes. He wasn’t mad about the files anymore. This was worse. So much worse. How was he supposed to get anything done while she was around?

🦋🦋🦋

Aww no poor baby🫂

Whatever trick this might be, it was working. He couldn’t resist correcting anyone about his filing system.

He’s such a fucking nerd I love him

“Are you okay?” George asked, worried, as he crashed back into his room. Desperately trying to get away from the cold wet blanket, she pulled herself up, only managing to hurt herself more.

God now I am the idiot🤡

She looked back down and noticed what George had draped over her. His own sweater, the one he wore in October when the days started getting colder, sat gently on her shoulders, smelling faintly of cedarwood.

Alksjdgjgsalaeh

She just took a seat at the kitchen table and smiled at him. He had been talking to her for five uninterrupted minutes with eye contact and everything. Technically it was to yell at her, but still. progress was progress. He gave up when noticing her smile wouldn’t budge.

He can just go and yell at me whenever he wants🥰

She scoffed and threw the orange in her hand, aiming for his head. He caught it just in time before it made contact with his cheek. He stared back at her with round eyes.

“What the hell was that?” he asked with an edge in his voice. Did she just imagine his voice getting deeper? The slightest grin formed at the corner of his mouth, giving her chills.

HUH🫠🫠🫠

The fruit’s sweet perfume filled the air as George dropped the peel on the table in one piece. While she studied his hands attentively, he proceeded to tear the orange apart, setting its pieces on the table in front of her.

Not the orange peeling ahhhh

“Like spending time with you could ever be wasted time” he wanted to say. Instead, he simply shook his head and started his explanation over, shaking off the thought.

🥹🥹🥹

She didn’t really expect him to, so it really came as a surprise when he reached for her hand without taking his eyes off his notes.

He held his hand out high for her to high five him back. She did, her touch electric against his. She didn’t let go and wrapped her fingers around his, lingering there for another second. He stared at their tangled fingers, oddly captivated. His eyes traveled down her arm and up her face to find her already staring. His breath caught. Suddenly he couldn’t care less about the case they had been working on. Nothing mattered except for the way the warm light of the kitchen lit up her eyes. Her lips parted, catching his eye before he could stop it

My guyyyyy

He got closer each time and she took each opportunity to raise the blanket higher over him. He needed to sleep and he would, even if she had to sneak up on him

Not tricking him into falling asleep lmao

When he noticed her dosing off, he spoke lower and lower before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

AHHHHHHHHHH

What she hadn’t expected was George laying down closer against her with his arms draped around her waist. She froze. His hands traced their way down her arms and his hands locked around hers, gently trying to nudge his glasses out of her hands. She held them tighter, unable to keep herself from smiling. He had his head in the crook of her neck and she felt a smile forming on his lips too.

I am GAGGED✋🏻✋🏻✋🏻

“Is that why you’re staying up so late?” He didn’t say anything back. She rolled back to face him, his hands now resting on her lower back.

SPEECHLESS; CLAWING AT THE WALL

The KISS

Alice you absolute legend

we're not gonna be friends

one shot

Warnings: none

Content: not ennemies, more like annoyed at each other, to lovers, f!reader x George

Word count: 6.8k

Summary: George and y/n can't stand each other, but Lucy can see through their annoyance. Maybe she should help them out a little bit.

Comment: it took me an embarrassingly long time to write this but i'm so happy it's finally here! It was inspired by the song We're not gonna be friends by PJ Frantz which is attached to this

@neewtmas ; @maraschinomerry ; @oblivious-idiot ; @bella-rose29 ; @bobbys-not-that-small ; @lewkwoodnco ; @clarabowmp3 ; @demigoddess-of-ghosts

The kitchen was silent like it often was before breakfast. Or was it lunchtime already? Despite the number of clocks in the house, y/n couldn’t keep track of the day. Unlike Tendy’s where every agent had to keep a tight schedule, Lockwood&Co taught her to be more spontaneous with her day. She’d been there three months already, but she still wasn’t used to the hours kept by her colleagues. They could eat breakfast at 3am or 11, sometimes had breakfast for dinner or the other way around. The only thing she knew by heart was the quietness before a shared meal. The only noises came from George’s cooking. They would soon be replaced by uninterrupted chatter, the scraping of chairs against the floor and the kettle that was kept on most of the time.

She tried to appreciate the peace before the storm but it was tainted with the heavy stillness of the room. With his back turned to her, George couldn’t see her disappointment at the lack of conversation between them. Despite her best efforts, she hadn’t managed to find any sort of anchor with him. She had tried her best to be friendly, helpful, grateful for everything he did around the house but nothing had worked. Even the best conversation starters she could find about the Problem would get shut down in two sentences or less. Once, she mentioned the conversation she had overheard between two of her ex-colleagues, theories on the best ways to stop the Problem. His eyes had lit up, eager to respond and keep the debate going. He had only taken part of the conversation to contradict whatever the agents had said, but she was glad of the progress she made. However, she had made the mistake of smiling at him which instantly turned him mute once again before exiting the room without finishing whatever thought he had started.

She had grown frustrated of the situation. Frankly, if it hadn’t been for Lockwood and Lucy, she would have given up entirely. But they kept insisting that they could be the best of friends and if she was honest with herself she felt insecure about wrecking the harmony between the three roommates. She already felt guilty enough for making Lucy share her room, no matter how much she insisted that she liked having her here. So, she attempted a new approach: instead of talking to him, she would try to help him out, be of service.

She waited patiently for him to finish whatever step he was on in his recipe to get the plates from behind him. When he rested the spoon he had in hand on the side of the pan, she stood up and went for the plates. He got there first and turned around carrying the four plates. Instead of handing them to her, he avoided her eyes and set them down himself, practically walking through her. She didn’t let his rudeness stop her from helping and opened the cupboard where sat the glasses. He was faster once more and slid his fingers inside the glasses to grab two with each hand. Refusing to back down, she took the forks and knives out and set one of each next to the plates. She went next for the napkins but was stopped in her tracks by the sound of metal hitting plates. She turned around to see George rearranging her table setting, visibly sighing as he placed attentively the forks on the left face up and the knives on the right blades in. He once again avoided her gaze and went back to his dish still cooking on the stove.

“Should I bring the napkins or do you have preferences for that too?” She tried to say on a light tone but her annoyance bled through.

“However you want is fine.”

“Apparently not…” she mumbled.

“They’re just napkins, y/n.”

“They were just forks.”

“That’s differ-“

She slammed the door behind her before he could finish. She wasn’t sure if she was hungry anymore. The front door opened and she came face to face with Lockwood who was coming back from whatever errand he and Lucy had run in the morning.

“Hey,” he said as she passed by him. “Aren’t we about to eat?” he asked, but she was already climbing up the stairs.

He and Lucy exchanged a look before the girl decided to go after her. Even though y/n hadn’t said anything, Lucy was pretty sure George had to be involved. She couldn’t really blame her. She and George had had a difficult start too. But it hadn’t taken this long for the researcher to warm up to her. And y/n was much more polite than she had been. Something was off and he had some explaining to do. She would ask him about it after she made sure y/n was okay. She climbed the stairs up to the attic and found y/n angrily fluffing the pillows on her bed. She didn’t have to ask to know whose face she was picturing while violently adjusting the stuffing of a forest green throw pillow.

“So…” she started carefully, “how was your morning?”

“He is the most obnoxious and condescending jerk I’ve ever met.”

“What happened now?” she asked cautiously, but she couldn’t help the smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“I have tried so hard to be pleasant and helpful. I talk about subjects he is interested in, I help out on chores he does, I do everything to be nice and a good roommate and he still won’t talk to me for more than thirty seconds and he won’t under any circumstances let me help out.”

She threw the innocent pillow on her bed to punctuate her annoyance.

Lucy felt torn by the situation. On the one hand she felt bad for her. Getting used to living with George hadn’t been easy for her either, but compared to how he was treating y/n, she had had it easy. He had been irritable lately and he snapped at the slightest inconvenience. On the other hand, she might have an idea of what was really going on.

“Why don’t we go back downstairs and eat something, it’ll make you feel better.”

“And deal with him? No thanks.”

She resolutely sat on her bed, crossing her arms to mark her words.

“I’ll bring up a plate for you.” Lucy said as she made her way back down the stairs.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Lucy said as soon as she entered the kitchen.

“Where should I start?” The skull countered in that invasive way he had of barging in on her conversations.

She ignored him and tapped George on the shoulder, making him look away from his cooking.

“Please, Lucy, we’re about to eat.”

“Yeah, well y/n’s not coming down because of you.”

“She’s not?” Lockwood chimed in.

“Our dear friend George annoyed her away.”

Lockwood smiled somewhat fondly. This was classic George.

“I didn’t do anything.” He said flatly.

“You didn’t let her help, you keep leaving her out!”

George took a deep breath before affirming decidedly

“I don’t like the way she sets the forks and knives.”

She and Lockwood exchanged a look. He couldn’t be serious.

“George, please,” Lockwood started, sensing Lucy’s annoyance.

“She doesn’t check if they match and she sets them haphazardly because she can’t be bothered to place them on each side of the plate, it drives me nuts!”

She looked across the table to see Lockwood smiling at her, silently acknowledging his friend’s quirks.

“George,” he started, “I can’t have two team members unable to work together over forks and knives. I’m gonna need you to make an effort, try and be friends.” He punctuated his words with one of his charming smiles.

George stood up and grabbed his plate.

“I can’t be friends with her.” He declared before going in his room.

Lockwood sighed in defeat.

“Don’t worry about it too much.” Lucy told him.

“How can I not? They’re this close to being at each other’s throat.”

Oh I don’t know about throats but something else surely. She didn’t want to say anything yet, but she had a hunch. George was rude, more so than he had ever been to her. He claimed he couldn’t stand y/n, yet he somehow always managed to be in the same room as her. If he truly couldn’t spend a minute in her company, why did she find him researching a case in the library on several occasions with y/n reading nearby instead of going in his room? And why would he spend twice as much time cleaning if not maybe to see her coming in? He may have his preferences when it came to cleaning, but her instincts told her there was something else at play here.

“Maybe we could make them collaborate more…” She told Lockwood with a grin.

They shared a complicit look.

George was halfway through an article when Lockwood called him down. He wondered what could be more important than being prepared for a case but with Lockwood it could be anything. Without looking up from the newspaper he was reading he went downstairs, only to be greeted with Lucy’s insistent stare. She had that look on her face. It instantly filled him with dread. Whatever they did, it obviously meant more work for him.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“Nothing!” Lucy answered too quickly. “We just…”

He left the article on the nearest table to cross his arms. He looked back at Lockwood.

“We knocked over a few boxes while training.”

“So? Just clean it up.”

“They’re yours. It’s your records and research on the Problem…”

George stormed downstairs. Dealing with Lockwood’s recklessness in the field was already a lot, but carelessness in the house they all lived in, that’s where he drew the line.

“I’m sorry George,” Lockwood chased after him, “I want to help but I don’t know your system.”

“You’d mess it up anyway. It’s fine, I’ll take care of it.” He sighed.

“At least let me get you some help,” Lucy said, already halfway back into the hall.

Before he could protest, she called “y/n! We need your help!”

The girl arrived shortly after, visibly unhappy about the situation.

“We have errands to run, but have fun you two!” Lucy said cheerfully, quickly exiting through the front door before anyone of them could protest.

George stared at the closed door with round eyes. He wasn’t mad about the files anymore. This was worse. So much worse. How was he supposed to get anything done while she was around?

“What do you need help with?” y/n asked flatly.

Without sparing her another glance he rushed back downstairs to evaluate how much damage had been done. He didn’t want to try and explain his system. Frankly, he wasn’t sure he could. He was aware of his quirks and weird habits, and he was aware that it didn’t make sense to most people. Lockwood had made that clear. And even though Lucy made efforts, his filing system was where she drew the line. He didn’t want to hear the same thing from y/n.

Papers were scattered across the office floor. The filing box labelled ‘Problem’ was upside down, balanced between two chairs and on the verge of joining its content below it. The tabs he had placed inside to keep everything organized hadn’t survived the attack. This would take hours.

“So, you’re not even going to talk to me now?” y/n’s voice resonated from the kitchen.

His heart started to beat faster. With wild eyes, he started to pick up the papers mechanically while his mind reeled. What was he supposed to say? Her footsteps resonated louder as she stepped further down into the basement. The air grew thicker with tension as she did so. He wished he would break through the window and run away from this awkward situation.

“George?” she started, crossing her arms as she reached the last step.

Reluctantly, he lifted his eyes towards her, silently cursing himself for screwing up their relationship this badly. He blinked, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Fine.” she let out, slightly louder.

The look on her face made him ache. She looked terrifying when she was angry. He froze halfway through collecting the papers at his feet. She frowned at him, probably wondering what was wrong with him. She bent down and picked the papers up for him, organizing them in neat piles on the one desk that Lockwood and Lucy had spared.

“You know,” she started, “you’re probably the most confusing person I’ve ever met.”

He still stood in the middle of the room, paralyzed by the coldness of her voice. He stared blankly as she angrily collected the papers and forcefully sorted them, creasing some of them in the process.

“I tried to help around the house, but you never let me. I clean, you clean again after me. I initiate conversation and you find any excuse to leave the room.”

She looked down at the last papers she picked up. They were newspaper cuttings about the most relevant outbreaks of the Problem. She smiled as she read the titles and it sent a chill down his spine. Whatever was coming next was not going to be good.

“I spent hours reading all I could find about the origin of the Problem. Lucy said that was how she got you to open up. I thought we could finally have something to talk about. Instead, you walked out after two minutes.”

George looked back at her, a knot forming in his stomach. Having all his mistakes lined up this way made him realize how badly he had handled the situation.

“Am I really that hard to live with?” she asked. There was a crack in her voice.

He couldn’t stay silent. Not this time. But no matter how much he wanted to find the right thing to say, he came up short.

“I’m sorry!” he blurted out.

She looked up, surprised.

“What was that?” she said, eager to make him apologize again.

“You heard me…” he mumbled.

“No, I don’t think I did,” she smiled. “George Karim apologizing? That’s more unlikely than seeing a ghost hula hooping.”

He smiled back. They stared at each other for a few seconds, long enough to make the air feel warmer in the basement. The first crumb of complicity gave him enough courage to try to make up for his rudeness. He added the papers in his hand to the pile on the desk in front of him before continuing.

“I never wanted to make you feel unwelcome.” He looked down, ashamed to admit he had badly misread the situation. “I’m just used to Lucy pushing back and when you didn’t, I thought… that maybe you were faking it? That you were talking about the Problem just to make fun, and you helped out just to annoy me and slow me down-”

“Oh, being nice is annoying now?”

“I don’t know! I’m a jerk, I see that now.”

“At least we can agree on that.”

He looked back up expecting to see her frowning.

“Why are you smiling?”

“You’re finally honest with me. I take that as a victory,” she said decidedly as she reached for the upturned cardboard box.

“So I’m guessing you have a system to organize your files?”

The question caught him off-guard. Was she really moving on from three months of feud that easily? It felt like a trick. She stared at him expectantly.

“Just… chronological.” He said cautiously.

“I don’t think you’d use that many tabs if it was just chronological. You must have subcategories, right? Like at least geographical and then maybe by source…”

Whatever trick this might be, it was working. He couldn’t resist correcting anyone about his filing system.

“I always start with the chronological order and then I file everything according to geography. For each year, I like to organize the records by city then order them by region and finally-”

“Alphabetically?”

“No,” he said with a smile. “I take the region most located South then move back up East, then North and finish West.”

“Why?”

“It’s easier to visualize on a map.”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t expect any less from you.”

When she and Lockwood came back from their errand, which really consisted of going to the coffeeshop closest to the house to let George and y/n have it out, Lucy was shocked to discover that her plan had actually worked. Well, not that shocked. She knew there was something there. They just needed a little push.

They had to climb down the stairs to the basement to finally find them because none of them answered their calls from the hallway. They were deep in conversation about the Problem. The files and boxes had been entirely cleaned up, everything was back on the shelves and… Wait, did George just laugh at something y/n said? How long had they been gone?

Lockwood had a confused look on her face, matching hers. It didn’t leave him the entire way to the client’s house that evening. There was no more tense silence, awkward avoidance or strange atmosphere in the group. The change was radical. Had she known it would have been this effective, she would have locked them up in the basement three months ago. She had been worried they would have ripped each other’s eyes out in such close quarters. In this moment though, they stared intently at each other more than they looked murderous. She smiled to herself, only making Lockwood more confused. She threw him a look. They are so gone for each other. He looked at her sideways, seemingly in disbelief. She raised her eyebrows. I swear! You’ll see. He seemed unconvinced, but she knew. “I can’t be friends with her” George had said. Yes, quite literally, she thought.

The cab came to a halt in front of their workplace for the night. 11 Hall Road. Lucy would have loved to have an exciting new case that she could add to her journal, but the truth was that most cases were plain. An old person dies, the inheritors need to clear the house before living there or selling it. Those who had become apathetical to the Problem said it was just another expense to plan alongside the funeral. She wasn’t in the mood for apathetical. Not when she had two idiotic friends practically holding hands after being at each other’s throat for the past three months. It comforted her to see them remain focused on their tasks without breaking conversation, and she almost didn’t want to tell them to stop to allow her to use her talent. A job was still a job though.

When silence hit them, so did the cold realization of all the sorrow surrounding them. Wailing filled Lucy’s ears and soon the faint outline of the phantasm haunting the place appeared in the corner of her eye. She couldn’t perceive it very well, but its screams made it hard for her to think. Lockwood stepped in front of her, rapier drawn and ready for a fight, while George tried to yell over the disembodied screams what the source could be. y/n was running through the house following his directions but to no avail. His last idea was a miniature car in the bedroom at the end of the hall.

“Found it!” y/n called from upstairs.

But Lucy was the one with the silver nets. She drew her own rapier, aiming for the stairs. The phantasm was faster. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the figure floating upstairs, so fast she doubted her mind for a second. y/n’s scream confirmed she hadn’t been dreaming. Lucy saw the girl running past her in the opposite direction, only stopped by the chest of drawers stationed on the landing. She hit her side with a definite thump, bringing her down and leaving her paralyzed on the floor of the corridor. Lucy hurried up the stairs and came to stand between y/n and the ghost, drawing intricate patterns she had practiced with Lockwood. When she heard the boys climbing the stairs, she used her other hand to take the silver nets out of her pocket. They got caught in her belt and the second she looked away was enough for the visitor to float closer to y/n, still lying a few feet behind her. Using her remaining strength, y/n threw a salt bomb, winning enough time for Lockwood to join Lucy’s side, covering George while he took care of the source.

None of them really spoke on their way back, still shaken from the close call they avoided. Y/n didn’t suffer major injuries, just a few bad bruises, which was a relief. It was enough for Lockwood to tell her to stay home for the next few days. She hadn’t protested, probably because she was exhausted from the night and the drive had rocked her to sleep. When they arrived in front of Portland Row, George didn’t let Lucy wake her up. Instead he carried her inside and despite the night they’d had, she smiled.

The rays of light shining on her face hurt her closed eyes, but not as much as the bruises in her side that decided to wake up as soon as she emerged from her heavy sleep. She was sore, thirsty and only managed to groan when trying to move in what was definitely not her bed. She reached over, eyes still closed, and encountered something cold. Her reflexes kicked in, knocking the glass over and effectively pouring its content on her. She jerked up and immediately screamed at the pain stabbing her side.

“Are you okay?” George asked, worried, as he crashed back into his room.

Desperately trying to get away from the cold wet blanket, she pulled herself up, only managing to hurt herself more.

“No, no, no, slow down. You’re only going to hurt yourself more if you do that.”

He gently nudged her back down, elevating her head with a pillow and removing the blanket to toss it on the floor. She shivered.

“How did you sleep?” he asked as he casually laid something else on her.

“Terrible,” she simply said as she managed to open an eye.

“Do you remember last night?” he continued while helping her sit.

“Yes… I think.” She looked around with half-opened eyes. “Why am I in your room?”

“Lockwood almost passed out after the first flight of stairs.”

She opened her second eye and stared at him dubitatively.

“Fine I wasn’t doing great either.”

She laughed lightly but it only triggered her injury again.

“Here, drink this,” he handed her a cup of tea, “and today you’re on bed rest. No work, no chores, nothing. Not even laughing.”

“I should keep you around then,” she said, before taking a sip.

He threw her a look, but even with eyes half open she could see the shadow of a smile on his face.

He went back downstairs, leaving her to savor her tea, its warmth welcome after having been awakened in such a brutal way. She looked back down and noticed what George had draped over her. His own sweater, the one he wore in October when the days started getting colder, sat gently on her shoulders, smelling faintly of cedarwood. She hadn’t realized how soft it was, having only touched it with her eyes. The night after the case was a blur, but she could have sworn that only one person had carried her upstairs. She smiled to herself as she looked around his room. Papers were left scattered on his desk, some fallen on the floor. Trinkets were gathered on every shelf that wasn’t already full of books. It was messy, disorganized, but comforting in its own way. She wondered how someone who kept such meticulous files on the Problem could live in a room like this. If she tried to make sense of it, she would probably spend the day here, and she simply refused that. Staying still was out of the question. She carefully sat back up before she tried to get onto her feet. The whole ordeal took about ten minutes. This might not be the brightest idea, she thought to herself, but she was finally making progress with George, they had a semblance of connection and she certainly wouldn’t let one wound stand in the way of her friendship with him.

One painful shower and a whole hour later, y/n made her way downstairs and joined George in the kitchen. She hadn’t even made it through the door that she could already hear him telling her off for getting out of bed. He chastised her about the dangers of disregarding health and how irresponsible it was of her to push her body to its limit. She just took a seat at the kitchen table and smiled at him. He had been talking to her for five uninterrupted minutes with eye contact and everything. Technically it was to yell at her, but still. progress was progress. He gave up when noticing her smile wouldn’t budge.

“Why did you come down anyway?”

“I was hungry,” she said while grabbing an orange from the fruit bowl in front of her.

“You could’ve just told me I would have brought something for you.”

“Actually, since I’m on house arrest and you’re finally speaking to me, why don’t you let me help you out today? You know like cleaning, cooking… everything you do all the time for everyone and never let me help with?”

“No. You’re injured. You shouldn’t move that much.”

“How about research then? That’s just reading.”

“No,” he said decisively, punctuating his rejection with a pointed look.

“Stubborn idiot.”

“Well, I am not the idiot who tripped and almost shattered my hip on a dresser.”

She scoffed and threw the orange in her hand, aiming for his head. He caught it just in time before it made contact with his cheek. He stared back at her with round eyes.

“What the hell was that?” he asked with an edge in his voice. Did she just imagine his voice getting deeper? The slightest grin formed at the corner of his mouth, giving her chills. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re just jealous because even injured I have better aim than you.” She blurted out, hoping the redness of her face wasn’t obvious.

When he didn’t respond, an idea popped into her head.

“And you probably don’t want me to help because you’re scared I’ll be better at research than you are too.”

He smiled, set the orange down on the table and turned back to the dishes he had started before she got there.

“You really think I’d fall for that? Who do you think I am? Lockwood?”

She took back the fruit and slumped into her chair.

“Can you at least let me help? I can’t stay still for so long, I’ll go mad”

She fidgeted with the orange in her hands, planting her short nails into its skin the best she could. She only managed to pull off small pieces each time.

“You’ll slow me down, and I can’t allow myself to miss a single element. I don’t want last night to happen again.”

She looked up to find him already staring.

“I managed to keep up with your files on the Problem, why would that be any different?”

He didn’t have anything to say back. She smiled triumphantly.

“You have no more arguments, I win the argument! Where should I start?”

He sighed, dried the glass he was holding and sat next to her.

“By learning how to peel an orange properly.” He retorted, snatching the fruit from her hand.

Methodically, he sunk his finger under the peel, tearing it confidently. The fruit’s sweet perfume filled the air as George dropped the peel on the table in one piece. While she studied his hands attentively, he proceeded to tear the orange apart, setting its pieces on the table in front of her.

“I can do that myself you know.”

“Can you?”

“Jerk.” She laughed. Being friends with him wasn’t exactly what she had thought it would be, but she had to admit that she liked it.

He got up and snatched a piece from her hand.

“Hey, what was that for?”

“Compensation for my efforts.” He smirked.

He disappeared into the living room and came back with piles of materials in his arms. He did a second trip to bring books and case files, then a third to get notebooks from his room. When he got back into the kitchen, he sat next to her and wrote the name of the client on the thinking cloth. He pushed back his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s get to work.”

George knew that y/n was too stubborn to rest despite her injury, and she was too clever to be tricked into it. To be fair, he hadn’t tried that hard. He really was glad of the company. He gave her some context for their upcoming case and described his usual research methods. He realized he might have been explaining things too fast when he noticed her staring at him with round eyes.

“I lost you, didn’t I?”

“Sort of…” she answered, embarrassed. “Am I wasting your time?”

“Like spending time with you could ever be wasted time” he wanted to say. Instead, he simply shook his head and started his explanation over, shaking off the thought.

He was right, though. Not only was he greatly enjoying himself, she was also a quick learner. By the second hour spent gathering material, they had already uncovered crucial elements about the history of the place and they had started narrowing in on the type of object that could be a potential source. They made a good team.

The day had gone by without any of them leaving the kitchen. They were enthralled in their work with a comfortable silence between them. They sat side by side, sharing documents and exchanging notes on the Thinking Cloth with an appeasing familiarity. Deep down, George felt guilty that they missed out on moments like these in the past because he was too focused on keeping his new colleague at arm’s length. Their knees bumped every once in a while, each moment making his heart skip a beat. Out of surprise, that is, not that he paid it any mind.

In just a day he had learned to read her smile. The soft polite one was how she asked if he wanted more tea. The shy one meant she needed his help but didn’t want to ask. His favorite one was her triumphant smile when she finally figured out what the source must be. He held his hand out high for her to high five him back. She did, her touch electric against his. She didn’t let go and wrapped her fingers around his, lingering there for another second. He stared at their tangled fingers, oddly captivated. His eyes traveled down her arm and up her face to find her already staring. His breath caught. Suddenly he couldn’t care less about the case they had been working on. Nothing mattered except for the way the warm light of the kitchen lit up her eyes. Her lips parted, catching his eye before he could stop it.

“It’s late, I should probably get some sleep,” she quickly said when their eyes met.

“Yeah,” he let go of her hand, “good idea.”

She used his shoulder to stand up and flinched. He didn’t know if it was from the contact or the effort.

“Good night,” he said gently, trying to shake off some of the awkwardness he was feeling.

“Good night. Don’t stay up too late.”

“I can’t promise anything,” he mumbled as he watched her close the door behind her.

He found it ironic that she was giving him advice when she had been blatantly ignoring everything he said about her health all day long. He returned to the newspaper he was reading, every word on the page escaping his attention. What smile had she used when she left the room? He took a pen to keep his eyes from skipping five words at a time. She had touched his shoulder on purpose earlier, hadn’t she? This was useless. He gathered up the rest of the papers he hadn’t read yet and headed back to his room, conceding defeat to the butterflies settling in his stomach.

y/n woke up around 2 am, her aching body forcing her awake demanding a glass of water. Everything was dark around her, but she could hear Lucy’s steady breathing on the opposite side of the room. She did her best to get to her feet silently, ignoring the pain still twisting her side. The steps creaked lightly underneath her bare feet, the sound resonating loudly in the silent house. She reached the first landing discreetly with the hope that she wouldn’t wake anyone up. Instead, she was surprised to see a ray of light coming from under George’s door. It was ajar, so she pushed it lightly to see him hunched over his desk, still reading the newspapers she had left on the table a few hours earlier.

“You’re really stubborn you know?”

He didn’t seem surprised to hear her behind him.

“You’re one to talk,” he retorted.

She knew there was no point in arguing, especially at this hour.

“I’m getting some water, do you want anything?”

“Tea would be fine, thanks.” He turned around. His hair was visibly disheveled. Even though he didn’t put that much effort into it at regular hours, it was obvious that he was tired.

When she came back a few moments later, he was still absorbed by whatever article he was reading. He hardly paid attention when she set the steaming cup next to him. She didn’t really expect him to, so it really came as a surprise when he reached for her hand without taking his eyes off his notes. The contact of his hand on the bare skin of her arm almost made her spill her water.

“Take a look,” he simply said. He pointed at an annotation he had written in the margin of a newspaper article he was reading.

She sat on the stool next to him to inspect his findings. His scribbling was already hard to read in the daylight, but in the dead hours of the night it was almost impossible. He saw her squint and read aloud. The words evaded her. She blamed the lack of sleep and not the fact that his hand was still resting on her arm, gently swaying back and forth. She stared at it, its slow movements calming her down. It made her feel peaceful, appeased. She wondered however why her heart was beating faster if she was feeling so calm.

“y/n?”

“Hmm?” She looked up and was caught off guard by the gentleness in his eyes.

“You should go back to bed.”

“No, no, tell me. I’m listening.”

She could see the cogs turning in his head, weighing his options, whether forcing her to rest would be worth the effort or pointless from the start. He sighed.

“I found another death related to the client’s house. I’m trying to see if the haunting is caused by what we found earlier or if it’s something else entirely.”

“That’s way too much work to do by yourself in one night.”

“Someone has to do it. You should rest, I’ll tell you what I found in the morning.”

She got up, but she knew fully well she wasn’t letting him work all night alone. She took all the papers she could gather in her arms, ignoring his hushed protests, and made herself comfortable in his bed. He looked at her incredulously. She tapped the spot next to her, a large smile lighting up her face.

He sounded defeated when he said “why are you like this?”

“You look out for me, I look out for you.”

It shut him up on the spot. She got under the covers and organized the documents in piles around her while he stared silently, his mouth slightly agape.

“What? If we’re here all night we might as well get comfortable.”

His eyes were so round she thought it must hurt him. “We?”

She tapped the spot next to her again.

“Come on. You can’t tell me to rest if you’re not doing it either.”

Reluctantly, he joined her, looking like he was intruding in the sheets of a total stranger. At first, he pushed the cover aside. It was as if he was allergic to comfort. He kept his distance and even hesitated to reach over to grab a newspaper. They read in silence, the only sound coming occasionally from the turning of pages. He seemed to quickly forget about his awkwardness though, as he leaned in whenever he found something. He got closer each time and she took each opportunity to raise the blanket higher over him. He needed to sleep and he would, even if she had to sneak up on him. By the time he finished his mug, they were shoulder to shoulder, speaking in low voices in each other’s ear. Even in hushed tones, she could sense how enthusiastic he was about what he discovered one newspaper after the other. She could have listened to him talk for hours… if she wasn’t so exhausted. No matter how hard she tried to keep her eyes open, her head was drawing impossibly close to George’s shoulder. She was too comfortable to resist. When he noticed her dosing off, he spoke lower and lower before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She sunk into a deeper slumber, George’s even breathing rocking her to sleep, until the turning of pages disturbed her ears. He wasn’t going to sleep unless she made him. With her eyes still closed, she traced her fingers up his torso to find his neck, his chin, and finally his glasses. She took them off before turning her back on him.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Forcing you to get some sleep,” she mumbled.

“Give me back my glasses.”

“Come get them yourself.”

She was certain he would concede defeat after this. What she hadn’t expected was George laying down closer against her with his arms draped around her waist. She froze. His hands traced their way down her arms and his hands locked around hers, gently trying to nudge his glasses out of her hands. She held them tighter, unable to keep herself from smiling. He had his head in the crook of her neck and she felt a smile forming on his lips too.

“You’re impossible. You’re stubborn, insufferable-”

“You used that one earlier already.”

He laughed. “You’re just proving my point.”

A light laugh escaped her too, only it made her bruises act up again. She flinched.

George let go of her hand, his fingers traveling lightly over her side.

“Does it still hurt?”

“A little bit.”

He sighed in her neck, making her shiver.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out sooner what the source was. I could have saved you the injury.”

Something clicked in her mind, clearing all desire to sleep for a moment.

“Is that why you’re staying up so late?”

He didn’t say anything back. She rolled back to face him, his hands now resting on her lower back.

“George, you’re not the reason why I couldn’t avoid running into a dresser.”

He laughed, but he avoided her eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault. Now please get some sleep.”

He looked back at her with intensity. His eyes looked dark in the dim light, almost black.

“On one condition.”

Before she could ask what he needed from her, he took it. His lips crashed against hers with a hunger she didn’t know he had. She was still in shock when he drew back, looking back at her hesitantly. He didn’t seem to know that she loved this unsuspected bold side of him. She tangled her fingers in his hair to pull him back in. He seemed surprised at first, but his hands quickly ran up her back to draw her nearer. She could have expected to feel anything from kissing George. Awkwardness, shyness, a few days ago she would have completely rejected the idea. She certainly wouldn’t have expected it to feel so right. His hands seemed to fit the small of her back like puzzle pieces locking perfectly in place. She was surprised at how quickly she had come to wanting more. She needed him, all of him, impossibly closer. She circled his hips with her leg while her hands roamed down his back. He smiled into each kiss, leaving her lips every now and then to trail her cheeks and down her neck. She looked back at him with sparkling eyes.

“So, one condition?”

“Don’t leave. Please.”

Her smile grew bigger.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

[justaboutsnapped]

tumblr whites who haven’t listened to a lick of rap before not like us talking about a hugely influential black rapper who weaves politically poignant narratives about his own lived experience as a black person in america, systematic racism, etc: haha he’s so quirky he’s so petty he’s like a trickster god an old god a fae god oooooh he’s a dragon slayer get it cause drake-

[gingermintpepper]

Why did Apollo favor the trojans in the Illiad?

So, dear Anon, I've been thinking about how to answer this question since I got it a couple days ago and I think I kind of want to make something clear before I get into it.

The Iliad by itself as a poem only covers some of the events that occur in the final year of a long protracted conflict that had been brewing for at least two decades and was an active war for ten. Within the space of the Iliad itself, the motivations and affairs of the major players are often referenced but there are many, many parts of the story that are not there because they belong to a different story cycle that has been since lost or was never recorded with words. In the space of the Iliad Apollo's motivations are questioned a lot - his pride is questioned by Poseidon who thinks Apollo should be just as angry at the Trojans as he considering Apollo was treated equally as poorly by Laomedon while they worked together. His honour is questioned by Hera who chastises him for taking the Trojans' side when he'd proclaimed that Achilles would live a long life and prosper at Thetis and Peleus' wedding. His own sister calls him a coward for refusing to fight when Zeus gives permission for the gods to go wild on the battlefield. For all that there's this image of Apollo in the Iliad as some staunch and unwavering protector of the Trojans, believe it or not, I largely think of Apollo as neutral in the war.

Which, I suppose, comes back to the question - why did Apollo favour the Trojans? The truthful answer is that I don't know. The Iliad and all its connected stories isn't something I've done enough research on to have an answer or a reference to an answer off the top of my head. The reasoning I'm aware of is that Apollo was a Patron God of Troy and really a god doesn't need any reason besides that to protect his people but it's not like Apollo abandoned the Greeks either. Calchas is the biggest example of that I can point to - descended directly from a priest of Apollo and one who attributed his mantic power to the god, Calchas was pivotal in ensuring the Greeks even got to Troy in the first place.

From a personal perspective however, I think Apollo was more dedicated to the house of Priam than he was the city of Troy itself. Apollo's affection for that house and all its members ran deep - from his admiration of Hecuba and Hector to his love and attempted courtship of Cassandra to his blessings given to Helenus, Deiphobos, Cassandra, Troilus and even his partnership with Paris - Apollo loved the house of Priam. When you think about the times Apollo lashes out against the Greeks, it's generally because they've done some nonsense to earn his ire. The plague was caused by Agamemnon disrespecting his priest, his aid in the slaughter of Patroclus was because he didn't respect him, his minor grudge against Diomedes too was because he tried to test Apollo's mettle and well, the less said about Achilles the better. Apart from his obvious favouring of Hector in the skirmishes, Apollo doesn't really oppose the Greeks. He has a ton of reasons to by the time the Iliad rolls around, including avenging the death of two of his sons, but he remains mostly satisfied with conducting his father's business and overseeing the war from a somewhat professional perspective. To me, it's always been less about Apollo caring about the fate of Troy as a city itself and more about him just really wanting to protect the people in the city that he's come to love and respect.

Of course, I encourage you to take my words with a big tablespoon of salt - like I said, I don't really know enough about the facts in particular to give a solid, confident answer but I can give you my interpretation of it. Maybe consult someone like @littlesparklight for a more comprehensive and grounded response 🤔

[rootbeermilktm]

finally live blogging it.

(watching @BlueberryTV on YouTube. she has MASTERFULLY cut together the dsmp streams into like episode long videos. i am a psychotic purist when it comes to watching all content in order and Blueberry TV has SAVED MY LIFE with this channel. out here doing the lords work i tell you. she’s got everything sorted into seasons, even fluff vs plot playlists if you don’t want to watch all the filler. (i’m most definitely watching all the filler.) i’m currently on what she’s got down as season 2, which starts post- manburg/pogtopia war. hog hunt just barely happened before my most recent binge under the cut.)

^fr check out this channel if you want to get into the dsmp. or honestly if you want to revisit or watch from perspectives you haven’t seen yet.

from my most recent binge:

The prison is so scary it’s giving me a sinking crimson dread feeling in my gut.

Dream calling the dsmp family when recruiting punz, saying before lmanburg there were no wars cause no one to have wars with everyone one unit one family, speaks to his motivation/values. As things have progressed he’s grown more and more alone and he’s trying to force everyone to be his family bc that’s what he craves. The way he’s trying to force things tho pushes them away more and more. He feels like azula to me in that moment, “what choice to I have? Trust is for fools. Fear is the only reliable way”. Not to compare mcyt improve to the greatest piece of media ever created but yk food for thought lol. He’s self destructing trying to force everyone to be his family bc he wants power and to feel in control but ultimately he does not want to be alone.

What tf is dream planning????!!!

Omfg dream is hunting down Tommy!!!!! Ahhhhh!!!!

Omg that is so scary dream was only an HOUR behind Tommy when he left exile!! Imagine that in an animated show. A few episodes ago we have Tommy leaving, trekking his way through the forest. Maybe we see how his trail gets messed up but we don’t really know that it matters yet. And then he finds technoblade. Then in this episode dream tells punz he had come back an hour later and we see short flashbacks to dream finding the place in a distorted dark/yellowy lighting with a quick, deep, minor string instrument sound all horror movie like and the music is all scary. And as Dream keeps describing it we see him talking and keep flashing back to the previous episode with Tommy leaving and flashes of dream tracking him like a hound. Shots of Tommy are from behind, further away and shots of dream tracking are close up on his hands/what he’s tracking and also his face/mask. Until we get to where the trail is lost. Fucking terrifying.

Techno and Tommy are so brothers. They bicker relentlessly but immediately when he logs on techno says “let’s go check on Tommy” and I’m delusional and am saying it’s not just check that he’s not causing trouble but also check on him emotionally and shit. <3

Again I am delusional but hear me out. Tommy and techno go back to logstedshire to get dogs and bamboo. Tommy is disassociating wandering off, sometimes he comes to and calls out for technoblade who is looking for dogs. We know techno is more hands off. He’s not great at comforting, my hc emotions make him uncomfy but he still cares yk. Tommy says “I’m alone” SOMEBODY SAVE ME GOOD GODS HES ALONE AGAIN NOOOOOOO. Okay but then techno spots dream (I hc he’s like actively looking for clues as to where Tommy’s gone), Tommy is still all confused and fucked up about his dependent relationship with dream and is like do I go see him do I stay away, and here’s where I’m (more) delusional. Techno knows dream is looking for Tommy. He. Does. Not. Want. Him. To. Find. Him. He knows he’s an abuser but Tommy is lost and having a panic attack so canonically techno is asking Tommy what he sees to try and find him before dream gets to him but I hc that he’s also doing the grounding thing where you name things you see/hear/feel/etc. Techno is intentionally calming Tommy down from a panic attack by helping him ground himself. Im crying.

Again delulu but techno is trying his best to help his brother but he’s way in over his head. Tommy has a hard time making his own choices without dream so techno is trying to let him decide not to see dream on his own until it’s clear Tommy can’t make that decision and techno has to take it away from him and make him hide. And also take away his armor so he’ll be invisible but the thought of being invisible/no one can see him/alone is so triggering for Tommy so he keeps his boots even tho it’s risky!!

Tommy panicking and spilling invis all over trying to hide from dream rip.

W hiding spot where Tommy could SEE dream.

And Tommy finding out lmanburg thinks he’s dead! I MUST know how he feels about that.

i am this close to live blogging my experience with the dsmp. this is my first time watching it and let me tell you avoiding spoilers whilst still engaging in fandom is harrowing. i am also this close to watching everything i’ve already seen just for the fun of it. i am having the time of my life out here with these damn mcyt role players from the year 2020. the thoughts i have, the way my brain is consumed every time i watch a new bit of lore.

[twn-pks-lis]

Listen…. I might not be a furry, but sometimes when the edible hits I start barking, so I get it

[moltengoldveins]

having. Thoughts.

[thywildwind]

oh, but Elisabeth was done dirty. we could've had such a stunning female character with snark and beliefs, but what we got was a robbed woman with no taste in clothes (Charlotte, a not plot-related character, was dressed better. I'm sorry, El).

do not proceed if my opinion might make you pick a fight with me.

instead of being defiant, she became pliant with time. I was shocked to hear her say “I was of a better opinion about you, Dr. Reid” when (or if) you confess you didn't kill her backmailer. lol, this woman literally said: you're paying out of your own wallet for that one, even if I'm responsible for things I'm accused of; finish things next time, mate.

(she got a raise out of me on this one, not gonna lie—I was starting to adore her for having opinions and being cruel.)

then, in a second, she's all “why, excuse me this, excuse me that, til we meet again, Dr. Reid, I invite you to my manor, come, my dear”. like WHAT. where's the build-up. where's your character? she turned so bland, and while the storyline tried to make her useful, they didn't make her any better than that.

ooh a Lady goes to the sewers, ooh a Lady is so valiant, ooh this and that. the fuck. did they make a big fuss out of the help she herself suggested, really?

also, her “I don't care about Ekon politics until they accept female members” is a shit stance. you raised a girl so defiant she screams about equal rights for women all around West End, but you yourself just sit and do nothing to make posh white men accept you as their equal? that's unfathomable to me. use your wit, use your knowledge. tell these men, I am William Marshall's progeny too, floor them with that statement. you might be reclusive, but don't let it become your ignorance. you don't share posh white men's beliefs? change them, then. make yourself matter, make a change for yourself so you don't rot and wail in loneliness for the rest of eternity. there are people like Reid somewhere, for you yourself are different from those you despise. it's a new dawn, it's a new day—make someone's life better, help other female Ekons or, hell, Skals?

truthfully, Old Bridget is a much better option than Elisabeth, despite her little patches of disfigured skin. at some point I wished her to be his apple of the eye, but well. the masses want pretty white women onscreen, whose only character traits are caution and interest in a hot man.

*sighs tiredly*

thank God we have a gay option.

[ahalliance]

how do i turn qantoine’s spontaneous marriage proposal to qetoiles into evidence of his early-days fear of qfrench drifing away and keeping secrets from one another