#then an ending where he looses everything to remember him by would also be satisfying if he went full villain

[sohnric]

to. my first – k. sunwoo

pairing: kim sunwoo x fem! reader

genre: 90s au. twenty-five twenty-one au, friends to lovers au, exes to lovers au. fluff, slice of life, coming of age, suggestive. highschool au, football player! sunwoo, baker! sunwoo. cheerleader! reader. first love au. what we call wet cat sunwoo. meeting your ex after years and falling back in love with him kind of thing.

warnings: alcohol, throwing up, swearing, reader has hair long enough for a ponytail, a heated make out session or two that alludes to them having sex but no actual smut happens, finger sucking, the reader moping around a lot, no plot just vibes.

word count: 31k

a/n: inspired by me telling @/csenke that sunwoo is my first love. why am i so soft for this man i truly dont know... thank you best friend for betaing this monster i appreciate it a LOT! also thank you to sana @/heemingyu and izzy @/from-izzy for the help on some parts of the fic and brainstorming the ending w me, as well as beta reading small parts of this.

spin-off to my fic millennium bug because sunwoo deserves love too! the reader from eric's fic is referenced to as MB!Y/N in this. you don't have to read the first fic to understand this one, but there are a lot of references in this and i highly encourage you to do so!

they say you never forget about your first love. you guess that's true. (or– a story about reckless love, first kisses, growing up, ambition, and inevitably, failure.)

August 2007

The laughter all around is electric. The music playing in the background makes you sway and hum to the melody, the familiar tunes making your insides light up with a different sense of nostalgia when you remember the times in which these songs were popular. Your tired limbs make you cut your way through the room and sit down on a vacant chair, not really caring about where your designated seat was anymore, just needing to rest for a second before you either throw up from exhaustion or faint from how tired your legs are from all the dancing. Paying a quick goodbye to Juyeon on the dance floor, you heave out a satisfied sigh when your bottom meets the cushioned seat of the chair, eyes zeroing on the filled dance floor.

Feeling a cramp in your foot, you scowl and lean down, ready to do the thing you’ve been desiring for at least the last three hours– if not the whole day. Hands playing with the strap on your heel, you make the shoe come undone before you slip the uncomfortable footwear off your feet, relaxing when your naked limbs meet with the cold tile on the floor. 

You don’t really know who in their right mind would have a wedding in the middle of the summer heat, but you guess there are people that are out of their mind like that– and those people are your friends from high school. 

Everything about coming back to your hometown has made you feel unpleasantly nostalgic so far– the streets haven’t changed a bit, your childhood home still looks just the same, furniture unmoved, and the air is still as crisp, yet humid as it always was during late August. It’s only tonight that finally makes the weird bittersweetness turn into joy. You’re back home with everyone you’ve ever known, with everyone who’s made you into who you are today. You’re seeing all their faces for the first time in ages– and frankly, it does feel good. 

The satisfaction in your veins stays for a bit until a figure dressed in a suit comes into your point of view. It’s not like you’re seeing him for the first time tonight– he’s a big character, even when it comes to this wedding, so it’s hard to not notice him– but as his legs take him towards you in a wobbly nature, it dawns on you that now is maybe finally the time you get to talk to him. Don’t get me wrong– there are no hard feelings between the two of you (or at least you don’t have any, you’re not so sure about his side of the story). It’s just that seeing him dressed in a tux, tie now a little loose around his neck, the twinkle in his eye still present as back when you were both a lot younger, there’s still a strong aftertaste of your feelings towards him somewhere on the tip of your tongue. 

His walk is a little lopsided as he grins at you and takes a seat on the vacant chair next to yours, a huff of air escaping his lungs as his body relaxes, limbs falling freely down the sides of his chair. His cheeks are a little red and his hair a little messy– there’s only so much to explain his composure apart from all the dancing he’s done.

“So I see that you still can’t handle your liquor well even after all those years?” you joke, making the boy turn his head to face you, an amused twinkle appearing in his smile. 

His eyes are still the same chocolate orbs you know, still the same soft look adorning them whenever he feels particularly ecstatic. He shrugs, jolting his bottom lip out before he sighs to himself. “Well, it’s not every day you are the best man at your best friend’s and your sister’s wedding,” he muses, shrugging. 

Laughing at his remark, once again taking in the state of the room– Juyeon, Hyunjae and Haknyeon each dancing somewhere in the middle of the dance floor, MB!Y/N’s friends from university twirling her around in the right corner, Eric staring at the bride with a warm gaze in his eyes, sipping on a drink while resting against one of the tables, clearly taking a mental image to look at every time he feels the need to– it all feels kind of surreal. Who would’ve thought all those years ago that it would end like this?

Well, Eric Sohn, for starters. He confessed to everyone in his wedding speech that he knew he wanted to marry MB!Y/N the moment she kissed him on New Year’s Eve of 1999– him being this cheesy was only acceptable because it was his own wedding. In any other circumstance, Sunwoo wouldn’t be able to let his best friend live this down.

It’s not like you ever expected those two to break up– it just makes you a little in awe at how fast time is passing. “It’s kinda crazy, isn’t it?” you hum, squinting at the flood of people on the dance floor.

“It is,” Sunwoo hums, tonguing the inside of his cheek, “still can’t believe they’re dating. Hell, they’re getting married right now…” 

“You can’t believe your sister is dating your best friend?” you laugh, wiping the sweat that’s accumulated off your forehead, the mist appearing there both because of your reckless dancing and because of the unbearable heat of the August night.

“That, and also the other way around,” he hisses, “but I guess they’re both so insufferable that they go well together, so I don’t know why I’m still so surprised.”

Chuckling at his comment– you guess the bond he has with his sister is never to be changed, no matter how many years have passed– you watch as he shrugs off his suit jacket and throws it over the back of his chair, starting to roll up his sleeves to expose his forearms. Eyes following his motions, you clear your throat and force yourself to look back into his eyes when he asks you a question. “What about you, though? Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am,” you nod, no hesitation, “it’s really nice to see all of you after so long. Plus, I’m having a lot of fun, so that’s a nice bonus." 

“I can see that,” he grins, “by the way you sat on my seat just now, and all–” 

“Oh god– I’m sorry,” you gasp, suddenly feeling a little silly. And here you thought he went up to you because he wanted to catch up… “I’ll move, if–”

The sound of Sunwoo’s hearty laugh lands into your ear– it’s just the same as it was back when you were both high schoolers, making your heart soar– before he shakes his head and urges you to stay with a motion of his hand, putting his large palm on your thigh to keep you from moving. “No, no, don’t be stupid,” he says, “I don’t mind. I was looking for you anyway, so you just made it easier for me by sitting here, actually.”

He was looking for you, resonates in your head, the familiar buzzing in your fingertips alerting you of the effect he has on you even tonight. God, maybe you were the one that had too much to drink…

“You were?” you ask, tone of voice light– not at all suspicious. 

Sunwoo nods, shrugging. “Well, I guess we have a lot of catching up to do,” he smiles, “don’t we?” 

Eyes meeting his, the contact feels electrifying to the point it makes your head spin when you look at him, taking in his glossy eyes and the flush of his cheeks. They’re less round than when you two were young, but his eyes still stay the same– big, round and tender.

He reminds you a lot of the time when you saw him drunk for the first time.

to. my first time getting drunk

April 1999

Havoc rings in his ears like jingle bells, the world around him spinning like he’s on a rollercoaster. His head feels like someone is installing a nail to the middle of his skull and when he looks around, Lee Donghyuck is staring at him with a glass bottle of soju in his hand, urging him to drink more.

Sunwoo doesn’t have it in him to do much else other than shake his head. It feels like he forgot all his vocabulary, not a single word coming out of his mouth or to the awake parts of his brain, watery eyes begging his classmate to not make him drink any more. 

What seemed like a good idea just a few moments ago– see, it’s prohibited to drink on school trips, but Kim Sunwoo is infamous for loving to break the rules– now seems like the worst idea of his whole entire life. He feels so sick he thinks he’s going to die of alcohol poisoning, but the laughter around keeps painfully reminding him that he hasn’t even had that much to drink in the first place. The amount of times he’s been called a lightweight this night is making his pride severely hurt, and even graciously intoxicated, he can’t bear the sting this is putting on his already hurt ego. 

“Come on, birthday boy! I’m sure you can handle one more,” Donghyuck urges, uncurling Sunwoo’s fist and placing the bottle into his grasp, making the poor boy wince and battle back tears. 

He knows he’s being embarrassing. The choice between not dying and not humiliating himself is rather a difficult one, but the moment he finally finishes the crossword puzzle in his brain and puts the glass opening against his lips, the bottle is thankfully taken out of his grasp and discarded somewhere where his eyes can’t reach.

“You’re done for the night, Kim Sunwoo,” you haul at him, shaking your head at the poor boy, “you’re done.”

Sunwoo wants to open his mouth and protest, maybe ask you what you mean, but the moment his lips unseal, he gets a sniff of the alcohol in the air and suddenly, he feels like throwing up. Your eyes lock with his, a pleading– maybe a warning– mirrors in Sunwoo’s gaze, and even though he’s so drunk he feels like he crossed dimensions, he applauds your ability to know just what he means by a single look into his eyes.

“Oh, Christ–” you curse, hurried steps moving to the corner of the room, swiftly grabbing the trash can and running back towards your friend sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor. 

You make it just in time to catch the contains of Sunwoo’s stomach into the trash can, making the boy insanely grateful– he’s wearing the new shoes his mum got him for his birthday, and god knows he’d hate it if he ruined them the very first day he can show them off to his football friends.

The whole world disappears into the background as he throws up while making a mental promise to himself to never drink again. The only thing keeping him from losing it all is the feeling of your hand on his back, comforting rubs grounding him back to earth. Giggles fill his ears and he’s sure everyone’s laughing at him– even in his drunken state, he can recognise the shame filling his veins– but before he can open his mouth to argue with his classmates, the sound of your angry voice makes him seal his lips close and listen to the scolding you offer to his teammates for making him drink so much.

“You know he has a weak stomach, Donghyuck!” you huff and puff, your hand still drawing comforting circles to Sunwoo’s back as his head stays stuck in the bucket, not having enough energy to even straighten his spine. 

“It’s his birthday! Come on, don’t be so tight-arsed.”

“Well, do you want him to die on his day of birth? That’s not very cool of you,” you growl, the shuffle of your clothing and a pained “ow” escaping his friend’s lips hinting to Sunwoo that you just kicked the right wing to his shin. 

Deserved, Sunwoo thinks.

“Can somebody get Eric? I’m pretty sure he’s in Daehwi’s room with MB!Y/N, Minjeong and Jihoon,” you hum, waiting for anyone to follow your orders. 

Sunwoo blinks in and out of it, his consciousness giving up on him with the incredible pain in his temples. He feels incredibly grateful to have someone like you by his side not only now, but all the time. The two of you have gotten incredibly closer ever since he joined the football team– and with you being one of the cheerleaders, you’re always somehow around. Not that he’s complaining, of course. It seems like you are one of the more responsible ones in this room right now, and god knows Sunwoo needs a bit of guidance on his day to day ventures.

“Do you think you’ll be sick again?” you ask, voice soft in his ear. “Or can I take the trash can off you now?”

Sunwoo thinks for a bit, then he nods and lets go of the plastic bucket. He doesn’t know what happens to it after and nor does he care– it seems like the alcohol in his veins took away all his sense of object permanence. He can barely see anything in the yellow lights of the room (which makes him believe he is going blind from all the alcohol he’s had– don’t tell him it’s just his eyes getting hazy and confused with how much his head is spinning), but he’s sure he can feel you wiping his tear-stained cheeks (he wasn’t crying– his eyes were just watering) and pulling him closer to you when he threatens to fall over even in his seated position. Your hand comes up to play with his hair when you let him rest his head against your shoulder, your actions making him sleepy, eyes closing on themselves like a threat for him to fall asleep any second.

Something about the care, the loyal protectiveness you take over the boy makes his heart soften. He breaths in your scent, trying his hardest to focus on your presence and not the weird feeling in his stomach– although it’s settled a bit since he threw up, it’s still a little uneasy– and before he knows it, there’s a tap on his shoulder waking him up from the haze.

Sunwoo mourns, not really wanting to move from his position, too comfortable with your fingers threading through his hair– but much to his dismay, your soft voice appears in his ear, telling him he has to get up. “Can you walk on your own? We’re gonna get you back to your room,” you hum, your lips accidentally brushing against the shell of his ear, making everything in him light on fire. He’s not really sure if this is the effect alcohol has on you, but if it is, he’s certain he never wants to drink again.

“Sunwoo?” you call, the way you say his name suddenly all too angelic in his ears– but still not enough for him to answer. “Alright,” you sigh after the dreadful silence, taking charge of the situation, moving away from the boy and offering him your hands to hold on to as you try to get him on his feet, “I guess we’re gonna find out.”

His fingers intertwine with yours as he stares up at you, his vision blurry, but still sharp enough to make out your tired face. The sight is enough to make Sunwoo worry– is he being too much? Are you mad at him? Do you not want to be his friend anymore? – but before he has a chance to address any of those concerns, he’s being tugged up to his feet. Not ready for the weight of his own body, his knees buckle and refuse to work. There is a pair of hands clutching his arm automatically– yours– as another pair holds him up from behind by his waist. 

He’s not really sure who was his other savior, but by the silent curse heard from behind, he thinks he recognises Eric’s voice. 

“I know I shouldn’t have left him alone,” he hears his best friend say, voice full of frustration.

“You really shouldn’t have,” he hears you sigh, making the poor boy scowl.

It still feels like he can’t really speak, exhaustion taking a toll on him, but he follows the orders as you tell him to get on his best friend’s back– Eric’s crouching figure ready for the impact, waiting for the taller one to clutch onto him so he can carry him into the safety of their shared room. The operation has to be quick if they don’t want to be caught by their teachers while walking through the hall, and somehow, in the distant crevices of his brain, Sunwoo recognises that and he makes no battle to resist, doing exactly as he’s told.

“Man, you’re heavy,” he hears Eric huff under him as the poor boy carries him through the hall. “You’re gonna have a killer hangover tomorrow, dude…”

Sunwoo’s head rests against his friend’s shoulder, hands carelessly hanging around Eric’s neck. He tries to blink away the sleep, desiring to stay awake, when your concerned face appears in his vision and suddenly, he feels insanely guilty.

“I’m sorry,” the two words escape his mouth with no trouble– the first words to appear in his vocabulary after the few minutes of him being surprisingly mute– only to hear his friend chuckle.

“Well, you’re going to be dying from a headache tomorrow, not us,” Eric hums, “so I think you have to apologize to future you first.”

Sunwoo pouts, bangs falling into his eyes making him blink in a desperate try to get the stray hairs away, attempting to make eye contact with your side profile. “Are you mad at me?” he asks, voice a little groggy from all the screaming and drinking.

“What?” you ask, genuinely surprised to hear his question. Your face morphs into a confused expression, the one where a wrinkle appears in between your brows– and it takes everything in Sunwoo not to poke the little line with his pointer finger in utter endearance.

“Are you… mad…?” he asks again, watching as your face morphs into amusement.

“No,” you shake your head, a hint of a laugh in your tone. “Why?”

“You look grumpy.”

“I’m just worried,” you note.

“About?” Sunwoo asks, his intelligence morphing into a one of a 10-year old with the influence the alcohol has on him. 

“You,” you say, sighing and shaking your head as you move two steps in front of Eric and open the door to their room, closing it swiftly behind you and following the duo towards Sunwoo’s bed. 

The younger one drops the boy into the cushions of his bed with an exaggerated sigh (that might as well be real, for all we know– god knows you wouldn’t be able to carry Sunwoo on your own), and the comfort of the pillow around his head is enough to make Sunwoo’s eyes start closing again, sleep threatening to take over his consciousness.

There’s some noise interrupting his sleep, though, making the boy tear his tired eyes open to notice you walking through the room. Sunwoo finds Eric putting a glass of water onto his bedside table and watches as you put a trash can beside his bed, hushed whispers sent Eric’s way resonating in the quiet room. “Make sure that he sleeps on his side so if he throws up again, he doesn’t choke–”

“Y/N?” he calls your name, watching as you look at him with careful eyes.

“Hm?”

“Are you leaving?” he asks, maybe a little foolishly.

“Yes.”

The boy nods at your reaction, showing his acknowledgement. In the drunken state of his mind, he knows he doesn’t particularly want you to leave, but he’s also fairly certain, finding the rational thought in the sober part of his brain, that you have to leave, and so he lets it go. The drunken state of his mind wins, though, when the next sentence foolishly escapes his lips.

“Please don’t stop liking me after this,” he mumbles, words slurring.

“What?” you ask– confused because you either don’t fully comprehend what he’s trying to say, or because you truly just couldn’t hear what words escaped his mouth– but when you don’t get a clarification, you just nod at the boy, seemingly desperate to keep him happy tonight. “Okay, I won’t.”

“You won’t stop liking me?” he asks, a big pout playing with his features.

“No.”

“Okay.”

That seems to put his mind at ease– enough to make his brain finally turn off and lead him to sleep. He doesn’t really remember what he dreamt of that night, but the last memory he has of the night of his 18th birthday is that you promised to not stop liking him after seeing him a drunken mess, and how he so deeply wished you’ll continue to like him forever.

It hits him only a few months later that the thing he so desperately hoped for that night was that you’ll keep liking him even at his worst– that he didn’t drive you away and one day, maybe, you’ll like him more than just a friend.

to. my first detention

September 1999

Sunwoo was never the one to break the rules. 

Well, if you don’t count that one time he skipped class just because he got too bored of it in the middle of the lecture. And it wasn’t even that hard either– he just asked if he could go to the bathroom, and when he got the approval, he stood up and left, never returning. 

Or if you don’t count that one time he climbed up the ladder on the side of the school building with his friend Juyeon and had his lunch there. Or that one time he cheated on an exam and made a scene about it when accused of the act, leading the professor into letting him off just that one time. 

Sunwoo is usually too lazy to break the rules. Some days, paradoxically, his laziness is what leads him to break the rules. He can’t really help it, even if he tried.

The one time he does break the rules, expecting to be punished by his teacher for coming late to class, it’s not even his fault in the first place. Morning football practice ran late and he didn’t feel like rushing to change out of his practice clothing– see, the laziness is playing a part in this as well– so when he arrived into his Physics lecture, the clock was already 15 minutes after the bell rang for the first period.

Much to his surprise, his teacher didn’t even punish him. “Well, you’re an athlete, so it’s understandable,” he heard, making his lips stretch out into a subtle smile. If he knew that joining the football club would lead him to have such privileges, he would’ve done it a long time ago. 

How did he still end up in detention, you may ask? Well, that’s a funny question.

Your flushed face appears in the doorway of the classroom exactly 2 minutes after Sunwoo does, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Your hair tied up in a ponytail is loose now, stray hairs falling out to frame your face, your school uniform wrinkly, shirt not tucked in properly, as you spit out endless apologies to your teacher about being late for lecture.

“I’m really, really sorry about being late,” you bow, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you look around the classroom with apologetic eyes, “I had cheerleading practice and it ran a bit late, so I didn’t have enough time to–”

“Sit, Ms Y/L/N,” the teacher hums, “if you have time to do any other activities other than being in class, I’m sure you’ll have time to stay after class for detention, am I right?”

“Sir, I really–”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Now, are you seeing the difference in the way you and Sunwoo were treated? That’s right. It may not look like it, because the young football player rarely puts effort into anything (other than the game), but when something angers him, it’s quite difficult for him to keep it in. 

And that’s exactly why his ass is currently sitting in one of the chairs of his classroom, legs spread wide as he looks around the silent room in boredom. Accusing his teacher for being sexist and holding to double standards wasn’t the best idea, but it was enough to get him into detention alongside you. 

His eyes get caught up with something– someone– sitting two desks in front of him, one to the right, scribbling their homework into their notebook. At least you are using up the detention time for important and useful things, he thinks. That won’t stop him from interrupting you in your task, though. Even better– it encourages him.

Tearing out a piece of paper from his notebook, Sunwoo fishes for a pen in one of his pockets, writing a short note that says: Wanna get ramen after this? before he crumbles the paper into a small ball. After watching the teacher for a few seconds, making sure that he’s not going to get caught, he throws the ball in your direction, aiming straight for your head.

He misses. Well, that’s why he plays football and not volleyball– he doesn’t have good aim when it comes to his hands– but nonetheless, the note ends up hitting your shoulder before it bounces off and falls to the ground.

Confused, you look around before you find Sunwoo staring at you, pointing towards the paper on the ground with a grin on his face. You sigh, sending a telepathic signal of ‘you’re acting like a child again,’ straight into his brain before you reach for the paper ball and take it into your hands, fingers uncurling the thin material and reading out the words he’s sent to you.

Only a few seconds pass before you throw the ball back to him– he catches it in his hands, earning an approving look from you at his strangely fast reflexes, making a sense of victory flow gracefully through his veins. A frown settles on his face when he reads out your reply, though.

can’t. I promised Aeri I’ll hang out with her later. we’re going for frozen yogurt.

Sunwoo furrows his brows. Oh how he hates to be denied. 

I can join!! i could use some froyo

You send a tired look to him over your shoulder when you receive the message, rolling your eyes at his comment. It’s obvious that Sunwoo can’t join– he knows it by the look in your eyes. Hell, he knew he wasn’t invited even before he asked– he just likes to see your frustration. Something about the way your face scrunches up, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth, amuses him in a way he can’t really describe.

you could’ve gotten yours instead of staying in detention. what was that about, by the way?? I’ve never seen anyone willingly do detention… you must be out of your mind

The message makes him chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. His motives are clear– well, at least in his brain. If he stays in detention, he can see you for some more. Which means he can hang out with you more (or look at the back of your head from afar, whichever you grace him with on that particular day). And he wants to spend as much time with you as he can, well, because… because he just likes to do so. Why?

Don’t ask. He hasn’t thought it out that far yet.

I just like things to be fair. I came late too :(( 

He writes back instead. Fairness is the last thing he cares about if the world is in his favor. If the world is unfair to you, though– that’s another thing. 

weirdo.

You write back. The pen is already in his hand, ink getting hotter as he masters up a reply, when the loud voice of his teacher cuts through the classroom and announces that detention is over and they’re all dismissed. Something in Sunwoo’s stomach drops. 

Sighing, he puts the note back into his pocket (and will forget to throw it out. Then, he’ll find it there after a few days, unravel the ball and read over the letters with a smile. He won’t throw it out then either– he’ll crumble it back and keep it there until the paper wears out and forms into litter in the pocket of his pants). Gathering his things into his bag, he swings the backpack over one of his shoulders before catching up with you, already halfway out of the classroom. You seem to be in a rush to meet Aeri– he understands– but there’s still one more thing he needs to do.

Clearing his throat, Sunwoo approaches you from the back. “Hey!”

“Hi,” you hum, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. “Aeri’s waiting for me outside, so I gotta–”

“Wait, I– I have something for you,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. Why does he suddenly feel so nervous? The words his sister said to him yesterday keep resonating in his head, and although he knows it’s not true and he doesn’t see you in that way, his stomach churns and he clutches his hand into a fist by his side, a desperate act to ground himself.

“What?” you look at him, eyebrows furrowed, all confused. Sunwoo’s not the one to give gifts– sure, he pays for your meals sometimes, but that’s only because you share them and he comes to the logical conclusion that he eats more of the portion than you do anyways, so it’s only fair.

“Um… well, my sister… she was making those bracelets yesterday and she made me do it with her, because she’s really annoying when she wants to be,” he mumbles, fishing for the bracelet in the front pocket of his backpack, lying straight through his teeth. 

You stare at him with wide eyes, completely unreadable to Sunwoo. Well, he already said it, so he may as well just dig his hole even deeper. The yarn is soft under his touch when he twirls the bracelet in his fingertips, eyes focusing on the shades of red and pink, suddenly too afraid to face you and look you in the eyes. “And, uh… we made too many, so I brought you one, because… you’re my friend, and all,” he mumbles, chewing the inside of his cheek.

His sneakers are oh so interesting to look at in the few seconds he spends waiting for your reply. He feels like he’s in court, waiting for his ordeal– anxiety making him bounce on the tips of his feet, his other hand clutching the strap of his backpack for dear life. 

“Did you make that?” you ask, tone of voice genuinely appreciative.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. 

He did not.

“That’s– that’s really cute,” you gasp, making the boy finally look up. When he finds that the words are addressed to the bracelet his sister made, not his act of kindness, something inside of him gets irritated, but the little devil in his chest leaves just as fast when you meet his eye and take the yarn from his hands, examining the red and pink knots from a closer distance.

“Yeah,” he hums, not really knowing what to say.

“Can you tie it for me?” you ask, offering the bracelet back to the boy and smiling at him, waiting for him to circle it around your wrist and secure it to place with a knot. It’s a bit long, the ends sticking out to different directions, but Sunwoo admits that it does look quite nice against your skin, and that if he forgets about the fact that it was his sister who actually made the bracelet (even though he begged her to teach him for approximately two hours, going as far as bribing her with his snacks), he does feel quite proud of the gesture.

There’s something possessive about the bracelet, he thinks. It's like a sign to everyone that you have someone who cares about you enough to tie it around your wrist. It’s like saying hey, this is my best friend! No one else enjoys their company enough to make a bracelet to prove it, but me. It’s like a silent translation of the heart’s calling: this person is mine. They’re not allowed to take this off until I die.

Sunwoo feels a bit giddy as he watches you admire the yarn around your wrist. You sport the same expression as Eric did when he forced a bracelet out of his sister yesterday– eyes glimmering, the widest grin on your features. While he may be sure what the face meant when it came to his best friend (although he tries to close his eyes from the obvious crush he has on his sister), he’s not quite certain when it comes to you.

In his mind, you smile like this at everyone. You’re just that kind of person.

But oh does he wish you mirror Eric’s feelings on the matter. Oh does he hope you tell everyone he is the one who gave the bracelet to you– he hopes you boost in front of your friends, tell them just how much you like it.

…maybe his sister was right. 

Maybe the bracelet had a deeper intention.

August 2007

“So,” Sunwoo hums, taking a salty chip from the bowl settled in the middle of the table, looking over at you with a curious gaze, “how have you been?” he asks, chewing as he waits for you to answer.

It’s an easy question, one would think– and it’s true, it’s not the most difficult thing to answer. But considering the circumstances, the fact that you and Kim Sunwoo haven’t seen each other since you both graduated from high school, despite telling each other you’ll stay in contact and see each other whenever you have the chance to– it gets a little bit more difficult. It’s been 6 years, many things have changed, you had your fair share of good things happening to you as well as the bad. 

What do you tell Sunwoo, though– a friend you lost somewhere along the way, much like everyone? Well, you can’t really blame him for growing distant with you– although to this day, you don’t really know the reasoning. He was the first one to leave, and although you always wished him the best, nobody can really blame you for doing your part at flying out of your nest. Everyone has to experience the outside world before they can find their place in it, no? 

It’s not your fault that you weren’t as successful as you wanted to be… 

“Well, you know,” you shrug, “so and so. Many things happened, but I guess I’m doing fine,” you conclude, nodding to yourself.

The face Sunwoo offers you is one of concern. You recognise that this is not really what he wanted to hear– not really what he expected you to say. The both of you were always ambitious, shooting for the stars, so it would be nice to know that at least one of you finally chased down the dreams you’ve had since you were young.

“What about you?” you ask quickly, shielding yourself from more interrogation. “How did football go?” 

That has Sunwoo chuckling, averting his gaze. He takes a sip of the soda placed on his table before he turns to you again and answers the question, shrugging to himself. “Didn’t really go as I planned,” he says, nodding to himself. “Guess I lost many years on it, but oh well. Can’t really take it back now.”

“Don’t say that,” you hum, chewing on the inside of your cheek. The answer he offered you was not surprising to you– not that you didn’t believe in his abilities, not at all. It’s just that by now, if Sunwoo’s dreams came true, you’d be aware. You’d hear about him everywhere. You’d see him on the news, in the paper… It seems like your friend has disappeared out of the spotlight he always wanted even sooner than he could walk straight into the stardom. You wouldn’t say you were keeping tabs on him, no– you just cared enough to try to look for him in every place you could. “It wasn’t lost years. You did what you loved, and you tried your best.”

“I know,” he says, scrunching up his nose in an adorable manner before he sighs, “I’m just moping around. Besides, I quite like the life I’ve had since coming back home,” he admits.

“You do?” you ask, eyes glimmering in the lights. Something in you shifts– moves to a more comfortable place at the information. It’s strange that hearing that he’s doing fine still makes you feel at peace. It’s been years– you really shouldn’t care by now.

“I do,” he nods, “I work at Juyeon’s father’s bakery now. I didn’t really expect to like it, but there’s something charming about it, I’ll have you know,” Sunwoo says, taking another handful of chips into his hand before feeding them to himself, seemingly trying to chase down the tipsiness in his bloodstream.

That drags out a giggle out of you, shaking your head at the news. “I wouldn’t take you for a bakery kind of guy,” you say, “I can’t really imagine you in the kitchen.”

“Well, times change, Y/N-ie,” the nickname slips out between his lips like a punch to your gut, his teasing tone dragging nails to you in a weird sense of nostalgia, “I’m the best baker in town right now. People go crazy over my cinnamon rolls,” he nods, pointing a finger to you as if to prove his point.

“I find that hard to believe,” you squint at him, shaking your head in disbelief.

“You’ll have to come and find out,” he says, the sentence so casual that the contrast of his following statement has your heart drop a little, “well, if you’re… staying around for a bit, of course…”

Humming, watching as his eyes soften at the shift in your composure, you nod in agreement. “I’ll make sure to add that to my plan.”

Sunwoo nods in acknowledgement. Swallowing down the chips that were in his mouth, he dusts off his hands off the excess salt and licks his lips before speaking up again, seemingly collecting his thoughts. “So you’re staying around for a while?” he asks, a little bit cautious. 

He doesn’t really know how sensitive this topic is for you– you don’t even know if he’s aware of your previous whereabouts, if he knows where you left off to and why– but Sunwoo stays caring, no matter the amount of time you spent not talking, no matter the big canyon that slowly formed in between the two of you in the years of no contact. It’s something you’ve always appreciated about him. He liked joking around, but he always knew where the boundaries laid, always knew when the joke went too far. He tried hard to avoid poking around too much, but he always made sure to apologize if he realized he hurt someone’s feelings. He’s a spark of violent fire, but he’s also tamed like a fireplace when he wants to be– warm, comfortable. It’s easy to feel like it’s back in the old times when you’re around him. It’s easy to pretend neither of you ever really left.

“I am,” you nod. “Things… didn’t really work out for me either, y’know,” you chuckle, the dry kind that shows just how bitter you are about the matter. “I went to New York with the internship my aunt arranged for me in KBS, but I guess I just… wasn’t really good enough to keep full-time.”

“Don’t say that,” Sunwoo mirrors your previous statement, an honest attempt at comforting you.

“No, it’s okay,” you laugh, “I stayed abroad for a while, tried hard, but sometimes, it’s just not meant to be, y’know? So after I realized my jobs weren’t making me enough money for a decent living in the States, I came back home,” you say, mouth forming a pout as you speak– the kind that shows you’re lost in thought, making up a plan as you go, “I’ll help my parents out for a while and then look for something to do here, I think.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad,” Sunwoo says, offering you a soft smile. “I… I guess I’d say it’s good to have you back,” he admits, averting his gaze as he says the words, “ever since I came home, it felt like something was missing, so… anyways, you’ll figure it out, so don’t worry too much.”

“Thanks, Sunwoo,” you hum, pressing your lips into a tight smile, heart squeezing a little at his sincerity. It’s strange– it’s been years, having lived through countless different situations that were supposed to change the both of you, shift you into two completely different people– but somehow, Sunwoo still feels the same. Almost as if you two never left. Almost as if you two never drifted apart and instead spent your early twenties side-by-side, just like you always planned on doing.

The boy looks at you from the corner of his eye, a content smile spreading on his lips. You feel the atmosphere shifting, the situation tensing up a bit, and with the discomfort the image of him leaving you alone brings you, the words slip out of your lips with a bit too much ease.

“Would you want to… dance with me? I wanna see if you still remember what I taught you,” you grin, watching as the playful expression mirrors on your friend’s face, a nod eliciting from him that makes you quickly put your shoes back on and get ready for the dancefloor.

“Of course,” he hums, standing up swiftly and wiping his hands on the fabric of his pants before outstretching a hand for you, tone of voice sweet like honey, “my lady?”

to. my first dance

November 1999

“Who are you asking to the dance?” you question one afternoon, the two of you behind the closed doors of his room. There aren’t many times where Sunwoo gets to invite you over– mostly because he’s too shy to have someone around when his sister is home, and his sister isn’t known to have that many friends to hang out with– so the times where he finds you settled on top of the sheets of his bed, he treasures deeply.

“I dunno,” he mumbles, looking up at you from the comfort of his rug, shrugging, “I don’t really think I’m going, actually.”

“Oh?” you gasp, pouting at the boy. “Why not?”

“I don’t really have anyone to go with,” he says. What he really means is– you’re going with someone else. Sunwoo doesn’t really see himself dancing with anyone else but you– that’s just that kind of bond you two have in his mind. Your friendship is dear to Sunwoo, and the boy can’t think of anyone else he’d like to spend the evening with. 

When his sister argued with him with logical words, telling him that he treasures his friendship with Eric just the same, but wouldn’t invite him to the prom, he just scoffed at her. MB!Y/N doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t treasure Eric in the same way, no matter the fact that they pretty much grew up together. Some things just don’t feel the same way with Eric as they do with you. He feels closer to you, in a way.

“Well, that’s bullshit,” you scoff, shaking your head at your friend, “you’re handsome. And you play football, which is every girl’s dream. I bet anyone would go with you if you just asked,” you propose, pointing a finger at the boy, not really noticing the way he blinks at hearing the words ‘you’re handsome’ coming out of your mouth in regards to him. 

Do you find him handsome? Is that your subjective opinion or are you just objectively saying what you’ve heard in the cheerleader changing rooms? 

He’d like to know. Just out of curiosity.

Sunwoo scratches the back of his neck in nerves, now fully seated and facing you. It’s hard to meet your eye when he talks, his words coming out muffled. “I can’t dance anyway, so it would be no fun for everyone involved.”

And watching you dance with his classmate Shotaro would be no fun either. See, it would be easy for Sunwoo to be okay with the fact that you were going to the prom with someone older (which is practically impossible, since you’re both seniors, just for the record…). He would understand your point, then. It’s easy to be okay with defeat when your opponent has the upper hand, but when you put two men against each other that are hierarchically equal to each other, much like Sunwoo and Shotaro, the poor boy finds it hard to not feel as insecure in his position. 

But with Shotaro being the same age as him and the same amount of popular as him, Sunwoo can’t help but compare himself to his classmate. What does Shotaro have that Sunwoo doesn’t? Is it his smile? Should Sunwoo smile more…? 

It doesn’t really help his case that you’re going to the prom with the head of the dance team. Sunwoo can’t dance… Is it the fact that he can’t dance?

Or are you just going to the prom with Shotaro because he was the one to ask you to go? Sunwoo can’t help but wonder– would you have gone with him, had he the balls and asked you first? 

“What do you mean, you can’t dance?” you say, eyeing the male. 

“Just… never learned to, I guess,” Sunwoo shrugs, “but it doesn’t really matter, since I’m not going, so…”

“But you have to go,” you pout, putting the boy in a difficult position. He doesn’t know if you’re aware of the fact, but your pleading look does wonders to his decision making. He’d commit arson if you asked him to with those glimmers in your eyes. He’d kill for you. Or die for you. Both, depending on the situation. He’d do anything.

“Why?”

“It won’t be fun if you’re not there,” you say, sighing. Your face looks so genuine Sunwoo almost believes it. It makes his heart squeeze and contemplate his decision. “I know Donghyuck is gonna spike the punch, and there are gonna be fireworks,” you hum, chewing on the inside of your cheek, “and this is our senior prom, Sunwoo… you have to come.”

The words resonate in his brain, making him even more hesitant about his decision. This is your senior prom– the last dance of your high school years. The last opportunity for Sunwoo to enjoy this time with you and his friends, the last chance he gets at seeing you in a pretty gown, all dolled up and smiling from the sneaky sips of alcohol you’ll get with everyone outside of the school gym. The last opportunity for Sunwoo to dance with you, his best friend, and possibly the last time he’ll ever enjoy his evening with the rest of his football team before all of them have to study in order for them to take their CSAT.

Maybe you’re right. Maybe he should go. 

“I’ll think about it, I guess…” he mumbles, watching as your face morphs.

“You guess?” you scoff, glaring at him. “You’ll go or I’ll personally come to your house and drag you there by your hair, you get me, Kim Sunwoo?” you threaten him, having the boy laugh at your outburst. You’re really adorable when you tease him, Sunwoo thinks. 

“Got it, chief,” he says, offering you a playful look as he salutes and lays back down onto the carpet, eyes pressed to the ceiling. “Don’t expect me to dance, though, because I refuse to embarrass myself. I have quite the reputation to uphold, you see.”

Sunwoo hears you chuckle, the noise of his sheets tousling landing into his ears. Before he has a chance to look at you and see what you’re doing, his view of the white wall above is shielded with the sight of your face, hair framing your cheeks as you stare down at him and put out your hands, waiting for him to take them and get up to a seated position. 

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“I’m gonna teach you, come on,” you call him with a motion of your hand, arms still outstretched and waiting.

“Huh?” he squints, watching as you roll your eyes in frustration.

“I’ll teach you how to dance, Sunwoo,” you snicker, watching as the boy slowly takes your hands and lets you drag him up from where he’s laying on his electric blue rug, “so you don’t embarrass yourself.”

That has Sunwoo stuttering, his figure freezing even when you manage to somehow make him stand up in the middle of his room. A million different exclamation marks appear all over his brain, warning him from the upcoming events, but he has no way of denying your proposition now, no matter how hard he tries. “No- it’s- you don’t have to, I’ll just-”

“Okay, so,” you say, dismissing all his previous attempts at stopping you from your quest, “first, you put your hand here,” you order.

The skin of your fingertips touches Sunwoo’s hand, making the boy’s heart stummer in his chest. You drag his palm towards your waist, placing it on the curve of your body. He swears he feels electricity flowing through the contact, warmth radiating off your skin even though it’s shielded by the fabric of your favorite shirt. He gulps as you put your hand on his shoulder, his eyes carefully following your movements, examining every slightest shift of your composure. 

“And then you hold my hand with your other hand,” you instruct, but move to do it yourself when the boy doesn’t seem to have it in him to reach for your palm himself. 

Your fingers interlock with his, making the boy chew on his bottom lip in a sudden flash of nerves. You’re standing so close he can smell your perfume, the scent making his head spin and feel lightheaded. If you made him turn in this moment, he’s sure he’d fall over, weak legs barely holding him up in your close proximity. 

“Sunwoo?” you ask, making the boy gulp before he hums in acknowledgement.

“You have to look into my eyes when you slow dance,” you laugh, the sound soft and airy, but enough to have his stomach feel all weird, like he’s about to throw up. Still, he forces himself to look into your eyes, instantly feeling like you’re hypnotizing him. (He’s convinced he’d jump out of his window right in this moment if you asked him to.)

“Okay,” he nods, standing still, maintaining eye contact. His body is stiff, muscles tense as you just stand there for a moment. Sunwoo battles his inner fight and doesn’t look at any other features of your face– he has a weird obsession with staring at your lips whenever you talk to him lately. He feels like a weirdo every time he catches himself doing it, so he tries to get rid of the bad habit as much as he can.

“Now, you just… kind of sway to the beat,” you say. The boy nods, but his body stays unmoving.

“There’s… there’s no music playing,” he gets out, watching as you chuckle, your lips stretching out into an adorable grin.

“Right,” you nod, sighing, “well, I’ll just… let me just…” you mumble before you start humming a tune– one that makes Sunwoo laugh from how ridiculous it sounds, the notes so unfamiliar to him he’s sure you’re making it up as you go. Before he knows it, you start moving, making him mirror your actions. 

It’s not as difficult as he thought it was, he thinks. You stare at him, all encouraging, as you sway from one foot to the other, nodding at him when you see that he’s following your lead well. Dancing with you suddenly feels like the easiest thing in the world, it feels like he was born to have you in his arms, in the middle of his room as you hum an unfamiliar song to him. He thinks going to the dance won’t be so bad– not if he gets to dance with you there for at least one more time.

“Doing well,” you smile, making the boy feel all warm on the inside. A feeling of victory flashes over him for a mere second. He beams in your considerate words, feels fuzzy under your warm gaze. He feels like he just won the lottery. It’s kind of silly, if he really thinks about it.

A boyish grin appears on his face, having Sunwoo shaking his head at how both ridiculous and over the moon he feels right now. The stream of hums coming out of your throat cuts off for a second as you talk to him with an instructing tone, a warm gaze pressed into his features. “So you can either do this, or you can…” the hand that was holding his suddenly untangles itself from between his fingertips (and Sunwoo’s momentarily glad, because his palm was getting quite sweaty– although he admits that it does feel empty now that you’re not holding it), before you place his other hand on your waist as well. 

Something about the pose makes Sunwoo feel strangely intimate, a little bit bashful under your gaze. It only intensifies when your hands go up and entangle behind his neck, bringing you two even closer than before. The proximity has him blushing, red cheeks bringing heat to his face. He prays you don’t mention it– he really doesn’t know if he would be able to talk himself out of this one.

“Or you can do it like this,” you say before you lead the boy again, bodies swaying to an imaginary rhythm. You’re not even humming this time, having Sunwoo follow your movements in complete silence, his aimless movements mirroring your own. He’s surprised he hasn’t stepped on your foot yet when you decide to quickly teach him how to waltz (while also mumbling something about this dance being performed with the previous hand placement). He follows your orders– step forward, close, then another step backwards– and before he knows it, you’re leading him into a gentle turn, rising and falling in a ¾ count.

He’s getting lost in your voice– the softest “1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3,” helping him to stay in rhythm– before he’s pulled out of his trance as he feels your fingers playing with the hair on his nape, entangling yourself into his black locks. The motion has him look back up to your eyes (that have been previously glued to your feet, making sure he’s not stepping on your socked limbs), surprised when he sees you staring at him with a sweet smile playing with your lips.

Halting your movements for a bit, you let out a giggle and take him by surprise when your hand reaches up towards his bangs, ruffling his hair as he still holds you around your waist, the two of you almost hugging in his room. “See? Not that hard. You’re a born natural.”

His heart feels like it skipped a beat, a weird sense of panic enclosing around his chest. He doesn’t know what it is, not really knowing how to name the feeling, but it has him nervously smiling and urging him to escape you– escape your touch, escape your scent, your voice and the way you smile at him like you may feel the slightest ounce of the things he does for you, but refuses to accept on most days.

Rushed movements make him break apart from your grasp, quick breathing making him feel like he might spiral. 

“Hey! We weren’t done yet!” you call after him when he runs towards the door of his room. 

Not looking around, the boy gulps and nervously calls back to you, facing the door. “I’ll be back! I just have to pee!”

The door to his bathroom closes behind him with a loud shut. The boy doesn’t aim for the toilet– instead, he walks over to the sink, turning on the tap and splashing his face with ice cold water. When he’s done, feeling a bit less heated up, he looks up and stares at his face in the mirror. He gives himself some time to collect his thoughts, to hopefully let go of his foolishness.

How many more times will he have to remind himself that he only sees you as a friend?

to. my first date

January 2000

The snow crunches under his sneakers and makes Sunwoo slip on the cold surface– no wonder his mother screamed at him for not wearing his winter shoes before he went out with his friends. He bets it would be way less difficult to walk in the whiteness of the ground if he had more grip in the soles of his shoes, but oh well– he’s not really good at making clever decisions half the time. Nobody can really be surprised.

Somewhere along the way between the moment he’s interrogated his sister about the reason for her bad mood and the moment where he purposefully let her with his best friend at the top of the hill with no way out (he had a hunch the two of them had some things to talk about, from both of their uneasy demeanours for the last day), he realizes he lost both his sister and his best friend, and while he’s quite certain Eric can find his way home just fine, Sunwoo shivers at the thought of not bringing his sister home to his mother. He’s not quite sure he’d survive that. 

The quest of finding you both begins the moment the friend group reaches the top of the hill. Given his sister’s impulsiveness, she could’ve ran away from home, and that’s not what he wants to deal with on such a pretty winter day.

Sunwoo finds his plan being successful the moment he reaches the hot chocolate stand. The victory he feels after finding his younger sister alive and healthy is quickly overshadowed with the sight of his best friend’s face close to hers, very clearly going in for a kiss. He thinks he has to do something before he is permanently scarred with the image of them two making out right in front of his eyes as he gathers some of the icy texture into his hands and makes a ball, aiming straight at the head of his best friend.

The snow hits the both of them, right in the middle where their faces are supposed to meet. It’s not quite where Sunwoo was aiming, but he figures it’s good enough– it stopped his sister and his friend in the act, and that’s all he really cares about at this moment.

“Eric Sohn, what the fuck do you think you’re doing with my sister?” Sunwoo hollers, watching as his childhood friend takes off and leaves his sister alone on the bench to watch the conflict. The rest of the group follows with laughter as Sunwoo gathers more snow, tailing Eric and making sure the boy is punished for whatever he’s been doing.

It’s not like he disapproves. Not at all, actually. He just thinks it’s fun to mess with him a little.

“I didn’t mean to! Hey!” Eric cries out over his shoulder, trying his best to escape the frostbite. Karma is not on his side as he trips over something and falls to the ground, efficiently helping Sunwoo and the rest of their circle to corner the poor youngest, snow hailed on his limp figure. 

One would think the group of them were making a snowman with how they’re rolling the poor boy around in the snow. Juyeon and Donghyuck make sure there’s not a hint of skin unhidden by the ice, making Eric mourn and kick around– he’s left helpless, though, outpowered and outnumbered by his peers. If anyone unknowing was watching the scene, Sunwoo is sure he’d be framed for bullying.

He thinks it’s quite deserved. Why? He’s not really sure why. He just has a hunch.

“Okay! Enough!” Eric mumbles, shaking his head when Donghyuck tries to fit snow into his mouth. “I’m sorry! It won’t happen again!” he says, eyes opening wide as MB!Y/N appears somewhere behind her older brother, a teasing pout settled on her face.

“It won’t?”

“MB!Y/N– I– Just help me..?” the boy pleads, making the rest of the group laugh and finally relax, easing the attack. Juyeon hums something about young love, making the rest of the guys roll their eyes on his unusual cheesiness, before Donghyuck taps his teammate’s shoulder, making sure he’s paying attention to him.

Sunwoo raises his eyebrows at him, waiting for what he has to say. “Look, isn’t that Y/N?”

There are a few ways to catch Sunwoo’s attention. First– you have to mention football. He could spend hours on the topic of who’s the best player– Ko Jongsoo or Ahn Junghwan? If anyone asked him to write an essay on it, he’s quite certain he’d do a great job explaining their techniques and goal statistics for numerous pages. Second– you have to mention food. He’s a big fan of junk food, but ever since his friend Juyeon introduced him to their family bakery, he’s been a big cinnamon roll enthusiast. And third– you have to mention Y/N. 

Just the mention of your name is enough for the boy to stand alert, suddenly all too knowing of his surroundings. He turns his head to look for you, catching sight of your figure dressed in your long coat, standing all alone at the bottom of the hill. There’s an almost bored-looking expression on your face, although Sunwoo thinks there’s a bit of disappointment behind your eyes, making a cloud shade your them and make them lose their usual glimmer. That alone has the boy frowning, and before Donghyuck can say anything more or try to gossip about your sudden arrival, Sunwoo takes off– trying his hardest not to slip on the snow in his sneakers as he runs down the hill and tries his hardest to get to you quickly.

“Y/N!” he calls for you, getting your attention. You turn to him with expecting eyes, watching as the boy runs towards you and does, indeed, slip on the snow.

He manages to save it. Doesn’t mean you didn’t see him falter, though. “Careful there,” you grin, making the boy mentally kick himself in the shin at being uncool in front of you.

Sunwoo glosses over the comment, ignoring the previous two seconds of his life. If he acts like he’s not embarrassed, it might as well come true. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you’re hanging out with someone else when I invited you on the phone today,” he says, curious to know why you changed your plans so suddenly.

There’s a hint of bitterness in your composure when you shrug, averting your gaze. “That fell through, and I didn’t wanna… I figured you’d be here, so I came…” you trail off, your half-assed explanation enough to bring the boy into an inner conflict– one part of him feels bad for you, his heart clenching when he takes notice of your stern gaze and the disappointed expression on your face, the other one foolishly happy that he got to see you today, that you went here looking for him.

“Oh,” he nods, not really sure if he should pray more information out of you. He tried to ask you about it when he called you this morning, twirling the landline on his finger nervously when he asked you if you wanted to go sledding with him and his friends. He even mentioned his sister tagging along to make sure you didn’t feel as awkward going– you wouldn’t be the only girl there! You’d get along with her well, he said, not really sure if he was lying or not. Either way, his sister does need her own friends… “Well–” he starts, not really sure where his own sentence is going, before you cut him off with a rushed out sentence, spoken so quickly Sunwoo barely registers it in that confused brain of his.

“Would you wanna go on a date with me?” you ask, eyes big as you stare into his. 

The question takes a few seconds to register in Sunwoo’s brain. He can physically feel the auditory waves entering his ears and converting themselves into electrical signals by the auditory system. The signals enter his left hemisphere– maybe he could point towards the area with his finger if you asked him to, the impact of the question so present in his mind– and then it decodes in the Wernicke’s area, slowly, but surely making more and more sense to him. The boy gulps at the invitation. He understands the question theoretically now, he’s registered it in his brain, but the practical implication of your preposition is still unclear– why in the hell would you ask him to go on a date with you?

“I…” he stutters, feeling heat rushing to his cheeks. He feels like a fool– he should’ve said yes a few seconds ago, when you first asked the question– but something inside of him is telling him that maybe his reaction is valid. No one expects their friend to randomly ask them out on the bottom of a snowy hill. Certainly not when he was 99% sure you liked someone else.

“Look, it’s- it’s good if you don’t want to, really, I just… I was supposed to go on a date with Shotaro today, but he never arrived, and I…” you nervously scratch your neck, once again averting your gaze from him, “I guess I was hoping you were in the mood to go out with me, since I got all ready and stuff…” you mumble, your tone of voice breaking something inside of him.

Oh. So you weren’t really asking him out. You just didn’t want to feel like a fool that got stood up. How stupid of Sunwoo to think you wanted to go on a date with him. The two of you were just friends, after all. Best friends.

And best friends are for cheering each other up. So despite feeling absolutely defeated, Sunwoo battles the weird feeling in his chest and puts on his best smile. “Of course! Don’t even mention it. Where… where did you wanna go?” he asks, watching as your face relaxes, shoulders falling back to their natural position.

“Are you in the mood for some ramen?” you ask, eyebrows rising in question.

“I’m always in the mood for some ramen,” he nods. He’s always in the mood for whatever you are.

“Great,” you nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Great.”

“So… let’s go,” you say, nodding to yourself as you walk away from the hill, having your best friend tailing you, following you towards the ramen place in the center of the town.

There’s a bit of an awkward silence hanging over you as the two of you escape the sledding area. Sunwoo doesn’t even pay his goodbyes to his friends and his sister, but he trusts that Eric can get her home safely when the time comes to head back. The boy mentally curses out Shotaro for standing you up– how does he dare to ask you out and never arrive? He doesn’t care about the possible circumstances of his classmate’s absence. All he cares about is the saddened look on your face and the unusual quietness enveloping your aura. 

“Should I go kick his ass?” he asks, trying his hardest to make you feel better.

“It’s okay, Sunwoo,” you shake your head in disapproval, eyes pressed to the ground.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, not satisfied with your answer. “I’m quite good at fighting, contrary to popular belief, but if things go wrong, I know my friends would have my back,” he says, playfully punching the air.

The little play consisting of him kicking and punching an imaginary figure goes on for a while until he’s satisfied– meaning: until you’re left laughing at his overly exaggerated movements and grunts, shaking your head in disbelief at his boyish antics. Taking his hand in yours to make him stop with the play-fighting, you drag your now interlocked fingers towards your coat pocket, hiding his cold hand in the thick fabric.

Sunwoo’s heart beats fast at that, making him believe it’s going to run out of his chest any minute now– or make him go into cardiac arrest, either or– as he grows speechless, looking at you with big, surprised eyes. You don’t seem to put much meaning to your gesture, going as far as gently caressing your thumb over the back of his palm, his frozen skin growing hot at the contact. 

He’s never held hands with you before– if he doesn’t count the amount of times you dragged him around when the both of you were late for the shared cheerleading and football practice on Tuesday afternoons– and so the intimacy of the act makes him feel strangely weak in his knees. It’s hard for him to take his eyes off you, almost looking like a deer in the headlights to anyone watching you two right now. Sniffling from the cold, you shrug.

“It’s okay,” you smile, sending him a quick glance, “I didn’t really like him like that anyway. It just… feels a bit disappointing to get stood up, that’s all,” you nod.

Sunwoo nods at that too, something in him shifting. You don’t like Shotaro like that? When was this piece of information when he really needed it? (For like the last month, every time he couldn’t fall asleep because the thought of you marrying his classmate at one point in the future haunted him too much and made him want to poke the dance club leader’s eyes out?)

“I get it,” he says, walking along with you. Every time he feels the eyes of someone on you two, he feels his chest filling up with an unfamiliar sense of pride. Something about being seen with you as you’re all dolled up and holding his hand in your coat pocket makes him all giddy on the inside– no matter if this is a real date or not.

Because screw it, Kim Sunwoo is tired of reminding himself that he’s supposed to only see you as a friend. Because he doesn’t.

“I’ve never been on a date before, though, so you have to teach me all about that too,” he hums, tonguing the inside of his cheek. 

That has a giggle escaping your throat, another shake of your head in disbelief at his words. He doesn’t know what’s so funny, but he decides that as long as you’re laughing, he’s fine with feeling the tiniest bit of humiliation. He’d do anything to make you happy, he thinks. It’s a feeling stronger than him and he doesn’t know how to make it go away– he decided to stop battling it a long time ago.

“Just be yourself, Sunwoo,” you say, “that’s already perfect enough.”

Perfect. Sunwoo’s cheeks grow hot at that. He’s happy that it’s cold out– maybe he could blame his blushing on the weather. The boy isn’t so sure you know about the effect your words have on him. He’s always thought of you as perfect– flawless, funny, friendly, smart, kind and… and beautiful– but the adjective doesn’t quite seem fitting when he looks at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t believe you could hold him to such standards. He’s nothing special. God, he knows he’s not good enough for you– still, he keeps wishing he could be. 

“You look really pretty, by the way,” he hears himself say, the words escaping his mouth before he has the chance to stop them. The tone of his voice is quite unnatural in his ears, softer than it usually is, and somehow, the comment makes you roll your eyes, which he finds to be an unnatural reaction.

“You don’t have to say that just because you’re on a date with me,” you hum, eyes not meeting his. (Which might be a good thing. Sunwoo would like to keep his feelings hidden for a bit longer, and he’s not so sure you wouldn’t recognise the tender inkling he has towards you in his longing gaze.)

“I’m not saying it because of that,” he mutters, voice quiet, yet honest. 

Watching the side of your face, eyes still glued at every feature of your profile, he knows he’s not lying. He finds you oh so pretty even in the faint hue of the winter sun, with your scarf pulled up to the middle of your chin and hair pinned up with a pretty, silky bow. He finds you nothing short of angelic. Perfect. It’s kind of silly, if he really thinks about it.

Still, he can’t help himself. To this day, he counts the afternoon he spent with you, eating ramen at your favorite place, to be the first date he’s ever gone on.

Somewhere in the corner of his soul, he begs you count it as real too.

August 2007

It’s only a couple of days later when you find yourself in front of Juyeon’s father’s bakery, nervously chewing on your bottom lip and gazing at the glass door. The sun is shining strongly down on your skin, making you feel like you’re going to get a sun stroke if you keep standing in the direct light for any longer, and with the pressure of both the weather and your own thoughts, you decide to stop wasting time and push the door open, entering the establishment.

Not really sure if you’re welcome– who knows, Sunwoo might have just been acting nice and civil for the sake of not ruining his sister’s wedding– you prepared a mental shopping list of things you wanted to get at the bakery. You hadn’t seen your parents in a long time, so you thought a few donuts might make them happy. If Sunwoo just treats you like any regular customer when you walk in, you’ll take it as your sign to act like one and let this whole thing go. 

Truth be told, you don’t even know why you’re so nervous. It’s not like you’re promising yourself something more from this… right? 

It’s not like you suddenly felt younger again when seeing him at the wedding. It’s not like the memories choked you up when you went to sleep that night, it’s not like the feelings you had for the young boy suddenly waved at you in greeting, reminding you of just how close the two of you were all those years ago. 

Not at all. Why would anyone even think that?

The ring above the door makes a sound as you walk in, your insides clenching in a weird mix of nerves and anxiety at encountering Kim Sunwoo again. The store is empty when you reach the counter, but you’re soon greeted by the sound of the staff door opening, a tall figure stumbling in with a tray of pastries, yelling out a quick: “I’ll be right there!”

And as you watch Sunwoo with his bangs sticking to his forehead, an apron tied tightly around his thin waist, you feel like he hasn’t aged a single day and you two are still the same teenagers that ran around your school in order to not miss practice. The boy looks up at you from below his eyelashes, a boyish grin taking over his features as he puts the hot tray down on the counter and throws the kitchen towel he’s been using to shield his skin from the heat to the side, greeting you.

“Y/N! It’s nice seeing you again,” he beams, wiping his hands on his apron, gaze gluing to yours and never leaving, capturing you in a sincere eye contact that you don’t have the heart to break.

“Hi, Sunwoo,” you chuckle, pressing your lips into an honest, yet a little bit awkward smile. “How’s it going?” you ask, desperate to keep the conversation going– afraid that if it dies down, you won’t be able to revive it ever again and you’ll just regret it forever. There’s a weird sense of urgency in you, like you have a time limit to figure everything out– like you have to act now, or everything you ever wanted might slip from between your fingertips– yet, the more you watch Sunwoo in the serene atmosphere of the sweet-smelling bakery, you notice yourself relaxing.

“Good! Better now that you’re here, actually, it’s been a slow day,” he muses, nodding to himself. “What about you? Can I get you anything?” he asks, eyebrows raising, round cheeks on full display as he stares at you with an expecting smile.

“I’m doing well,” you nod, humming, “really well… catching up with my parents, settling in and stuff… You know the deal,” you laugh. “I actually came to get some donuts for my parents, sort-of like a thank you gift for letting me stay until I figure out my own place and stuff,” you say, watching as Sunwoo urgently nods with acknowledgement.

“Say less, darling,” the nickname slips out from him a little too easily, a little too casually for the way it captures your heart. It has you nervously shifting from one foot to another, insides warming up with the impact of his fleeting gaze as he moves to get a box from under the counter, moving closer to the glass vitrine filled with the sweet pastry. “Your mum loves these ones,” he points towards the donuts coated with the pink glazing.

It’s kind of weird– how Sunwoo knows exactly what your mother likes, despite him not being around your house every other day like when the two of you were teenagers. It makes you realize that even though you moved away for years, the time here didn’t stop. Everyone moved on with their lives, everyone continued on as if nothing happened. And you can’t hold it against them– you guess you just hate the weird pit in your stomach that opens up with the realization that while Sunwoo knows which pastries your mum likes (most likely because she stops by to buy bread often, taking some treats with her for her and dad while she’s at it), you don’t.

You try hard not to show it on your face, though. Sunwoo continues to pack more donuts into the box, not really attempting to ask you for what you’d like– he just chooses himself, making sure you bring home the best ones of the bunch, the most delicious ones they carry. Letting him do his work, merely watching as he carefully moves the donuts from the vitrine to the box, you hear him continue on with the conversation.

“You came in on the right day,” Sunwoo hums, “Juyeon works tomorrow, so you wouldn’t be able to catch me if you went.”

Ignoring the fact that he sees right through you– sees that your intention was to see him, to have a way to visit him and attempt to rekindle whatever bond you had when you were young– you just chuckle. You can’t blame him for knowing you so well, despite not being around each other for so many years. When you were young and in love, you used to call him your soulmate, after all. You guess there’s always a hint of truth, even in the most lovesick fantasies. “Well, then I’m glad I went in today,” you admit.

Sunwoo smiles at that– the kind of smile you always loved at him, the one where he shows his teeth and his eyes crinkle up into moon crescents. Once he’s done packing your donuts, he puts the box on the counter, showing you his back just as fast when he turns around, seemingly grabbing something else as well. When he’s facing you again, there’s a sweet pastry in his hand, still warm.

“What’s that?” you ask when you notice him offering it to you, eyes peering into his.

“A cinnamon roll,” he says, waiting for you to take it into your hands, “I told you everyone goes crazy over my cinnamon rolls, so I wanna see if their magic works on you too.”

“Is this how you flirt with girls over here?” you chuckle, but take the bun into your hand nonetheless, taking a hesitant bite of the treat. The sweetness melts on your tongue, the warmth of the freshly-baked pastry enchanting you with its taste, something about its essence weirdly reminding you of home. 

“Haven’t tried it before,” he shrugs, “so tell me if it’s working,” he jokes, watching as you chew on the roll. 

“Well, is it any good?”

Humming in satisfaction, delight on the tip of your tongue as you swallow down the heavenly dough, you nod. “It’s to die for, Sunwoo.”

“Told you,” he shoots you a cheesy finger-gun, reminding you so much of your best friend from high school, before he turns and takes a paper bag from somewhere, talking to you as his back faces you again, “I’ll get you some more to take home with you. I bet they didn’t have those in the Big Apple.”

“If I knew I was missing out on these, I would have come back quicker,” you joke, watching as Sunwoo turns to you with an amused look on his face, seemingly enjoying the praise.

The eye contact unarms you again, your composure falling just the slightest. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you clear your throat and reach for your wallet, ready to pay and leave so you can think about the interaction on your way home (and overthink every slightest detail, just like teenage you would after every fleeting touch young Sunwoo would send your way). “How much do I owe you?” you ask.

“Oh, it’s on the house,” he says, licking his lips, “consider it a… welcome gift, if you will,” he hums, offering you the box full of donuts and the paper bag consisting his infamous cinnamon rolls, your skin touching just the slightest when you take them from him, but still making electricity jolt through the nerve endings of your fingertips.

“No, Sunwoo, I really can’t-” you shake your head, but get caught off by him.

“Take them, please. You can pay me back some… other time?” he cautiously says, seemingly not really knowing if he’s still within your desired boundaries. 

“O-okay, then,” you nod, agreeing to the subtle invitation– the subtle promise to meet again, the hopeful question leading into something more. “Thank you, Sunwoo,” you hum, smiling as you turn towards the door and get prepared to walk out, giving both of you some time to think about what happened in the last few minutes.

As you open your mouth to say goodbye to him, hand landing on the doorknob, you hear him call after you once more.

“Oh and Y/N?” he says, a confident look suddenly overtaking his features. “I end here at 5, if you’d like to hang out after.”

Unknowingly, a grin appears on your features, the one that’s so strong you can’t really mask it no matter how hard you try– as you nod at him, the victorious feeling flowing through your veins maybe even a bit dangerous. Still, you don’t have it in you to turn the invitation down– you wouldn’t be able to even in your wildest dreams.

This is what you came here for, after all, isn’t it?

“Okay,” you agree. “So… I’ll see you later?”

“See you later,” he nods, teeth capturing his bottom lip. It’s kind of adorable. He couldn’t battle the smile threatening to pull at the corners of his mouth, no matter how hard he tried.

Maybe coming here– coming back home– was the best thing you could’ve done.

“Wanna come in?” Sunwoo asks. It’s a few hours later– you followed through with his invitation and waited for him in front of the bakery at 5:05 sharp, catching him after his shift. You two took a walk through the whole town, waltzing slowly through his neighborhood until you reached his childhood house. You remember far too many afternoons spent in the comfort of the walls, and although you think it would be nice to revisit those memories, you notice his mother’s car (is it still hers? You have no way of knowing.) in the driveway, and suddenly, you’re too shy to join him as he drops his stuff off in his house.

It’s like you’re a teenager again– except, you never had any problems meeting his mother before. She was a nice woman, although a little busy (you only heard Sunwoo complain about the fact a few times– mainly when he was feeling sentimental or particularly under the weather about something), and she always treated you very nicely. Almost like you were supposed to join the family one day. His sister once asked you if you’re gonna marry him, and you laughed at her back then– you were so young, you didn’t even think of having a wedding with Kim Sunwoo. The funniest thing was the timing: you weren’t even dating him at the time. Or planning to, really. Sure, you always imagined somehow spending the rest of your life with him, in one way or another, but the thought of marriage didn’t often cross your mind. Life is ironic, you think– MB!Y/N was the first one to have a wedding and here you are, retangling your life paths with her brother again. 

So no, you were never really scared or shy in front of his mother. Back then, things were different though. Simpler? You’d say they were definitely easier. You were more extroverted and open, more ambitious and less embarrassed of how your life turned out to be.

Also, you didn’t want to give her any ideas. It’s far too soon for that, you think. 

“No,” you shake your head, hesitating a little bit, “I’ll wait for you here,” you say, watching as he smiles at you and nods, walking inside of the house to drop off his things and change.

You two didn’t really have any plans for the rest of the evening. You told Sunwoo he could show you around town, tell you what changed and what stayed exactly the same, since he came home earlier than you– you bet it could be two or three years ago. He eagerly nodded, although noted that not much is different in your hometown and your walk could turn out pretty uneventful. No plans were set in stone, though.

Nervously shuffling from one foot to another, you decide to walk around the yard. Sunwoo’s house was always big– although it seemed more giant to you when you were a teenager. It’s a strange observation, since you didn’t really grow any more inches since you hit puberty. Your eyes study the flowers in front of the gate, the mowed grass, the big tree in the backyard. If you focus hard enough, you could almost see the two of you laying under it, letting the leaves shield you from the sun, both much younger and carefree than now. Sunwoo would show you pages of his favorite comic books and you’d play on your Tamagochi, making sure it doesn’t die in two days like his did when he first got it. When you turn to your right, you see the garden house you two– sometimes with his sister, sometimes with Eric, sometimes with both of them at once– spent many afternoons in.

There used to be an old, red sofa inside. There wasn’t much space, since it was filled with gardening supplies, Sunwoo’s and MB!Y/N’s old bikes, flower pots, packs of soil and all other things you could need for gardening, but it was fun to hide away from the sun in there and drink iced tea, talking about whatever came to your minds or solving nanogram puzzles in comfortable silence (or occasional sigh from Eric when he got stuck somewhere in the middle of his crosswords).

Your curiosity gets the best of you when you open the door, deciding to see if it’s still the same inside. Your eyes widen when you notice the garden house a little less packed than before– mainly because Sunwoo’s mother no longer does gardening in her free time and buys her vegetables on the market like your mum does, you presume– but instead, it’s full of all the things the childhood you knew so well.

Sunwoo’s old bike– red and a little rusty, but you bet it could still work. The rug they used to have in their dining room is now in the middle of the little garden house, stained with dirt. Next to the usual red sofa is a leather armchair that they used to have in their living room for a while, the dark brown fabric now worn out, chapped and peeling off. In the corner of the room, you find a box filled with various sports equipment– tennis rackets, a yellow tennis ball, a jumping rope, and lastly, a half-deflated football. The sight of it has you sighing a little, reminding you of Sunwoo’s composure when he told you about how he never got to pursue his childhood dream fully. 

Your eyes glaze towards his old skateboard, having you chuckle, the memories of him riding it down the hill in front of his house appearing in your mind. Sometimes, he would be there with his sister and his childhood friend Eric as well (that more often than not let MB!Y/N borrow the board, watching her with lovesick eyes instead of riding it himself), the young boy trying to teach himself tricks he saw on the TV.

“Do you think I still got it?” you suddenly hear Sunwoo ask from behind your shoulder, making you jump in surprise. The male laughs at your shocked face, shaking his head in disbelief at your easily shaken composure. 

“You scared me,” you breathe out, clutching your chest for good measure, to show him how much you really mean it– your heart was racing, and contrary to popular belief, the sight of him in casual attire (a gray hoodie, so similar to the one he used to wear in high school, baggy Adidas sweatpants covering his legs) wasn’t the reason for the little heart attack.

“So did you!” he exclaims. “I got outside and didn’t see you there, I thought you ran away for a second,” he hums.

“As if,” you mumble, “I walked all the way here, why would I leave so suddenly?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs, “you could’ve changed your mind, or something,” he says, his composure suddenly as boyish as when he was just a teenager, something in your heart softening. You guess he sometimes still carries some of the same insecurities he tried so hard to mask when he was young. Some things don’t really change, but you really wish at least this would’ve.

Smiling at him, you shake your head. “I don’t think you still got it, though,” you go back to reply to his initial question, pointing towards the skateboard.

“Well, who knows,” he peeps, “maybe I could do an Ollie, or something.”

“I really don’t think you could, Sunwoo,” you laugh softly, watching him regain his statement competitiveness.

“Wanna bet?”

“No,” you shake your head, “I don’t want you to break your bones, so let’s just say I believe you,” you giggle, watching as the boy mirrors your expression, his gaze softening. 

A short moment of silence overtakes you two as you sigh and look around the garden house, instinctively taking a seat on the red sofa covered in dust. You bet it’s been years since anyone’s sat on it, and you’re glad to be the one revisiting its comfort. It’s like solidifying your return– like the old piece of forgotten furniture in Sunwoo’s garden house is the spawn point of your childhood. “Doesn’t this make you nostalgic?” you ask, eyeing your companion.

“Well, I live here,” he shrugs, “so not as much as it makes you, I suppose. Having you here again makes it more nostalgic, though, I’ll give you that.”

His words have you overcome with something bittersweet. Seeing the town you love so much makes you almost regret you ever left. The rational side of your brain reminds you that you gained a lot of experience abroad, though, and so you settle with being just a little bit remorseful of your past self for being so overly-ambitious. 

“It’s weird,” you allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of him, the essence of him being your best friend– your first love, the first person you ever felt safe with– overtaking you in the moment of weakness, “it’s like everybody moved on, but I stayed here.”

“Well, not everybody moved on,” Sunwoo hums, referring to himself. “Juyeon stayed, too. Eric and MB!Y/N are moving only a few hours away… Haknyeon lives down the street now,” he points out, a poor attempt at making you feel better.

“Yeah… it’s just… I hoped I would do big things. I hoped we would both do big things,” you say, tone of voice quiet, your eyes avoiding him. It’s hard to keep eye contact with him when you share your struggles– at least that’s the way it always was when you were young. The look he offered you always made you feel so tender, so cared for that you wanted to burst out crying. In your age and state, you can’t afford to tear up in front of your ex-boyfriend anymore.

“Sometimes, things don’t work out the way we want them to,” Sunwoo says, tone of voice considerate. “And that’s fine. I wanted to be a star, and I’m not, but that’s okay, because hey… I’m happy anyway. I’m content. And I know that one day, you’ll be too. It just takes a bit of time.”

Snickering, you play with your fingers in your lap, legs plopping up and crossed, striking an almost defensive pose. “Were you… were you embarrassed when you came back?” you ask.

Sunwoo laughs, the sound so heartfelt it makes your insides squeeze. “Terribly. I mean, look at me in my mid-twenties, still living with my mother. Even back then, I felt like a failure. I felt like a disappointment, but… then I realized not everyone had the opportunities I had. Not everyone almost made it professional, you know, and that’s still something to be proud of.”

“I’m still living with my mother, but hey– she’s getting older and the house is big. MB!Y/N moved out, and I wouldn’t want my mum to get lonely… so I think I’m doing pretty well, given the circumstances,” he says. Pausing for a heartbeat, as if collecting his thoughts, he continues. “I think you should find the positives in your situation too. Not everyone got to live in New York... Work for the national TV… That’s still a huge achievement, and I think you should be proud of yourself for that.”

Rolling your eyes– although grateful to hear the words– you snicker. “It’s hard to do that right now…”

“I know,” he nods, smiling when you finally look at him. “It takes time. And until then, well, for what it’s worth, I’m really proud of you. And maybe… maybe you coming back home is how life’s supposed to go anyways.”

Biting down on your lower lip to stop yourself from tearing up– see, you knew you shouldn’t have looked the boy in the eyes during his little pep talk– there’s suddenly a weight leaving your shoulders, heart softening and growing more tender. Your wounds seem to sting a little less. It’s strange– even after so many years, he still knows just the words you need to hear.

“Yeah,” you nod, voice barely louder than a whisper, a soft smile playing with your lips, “maybe.”

to. my first kiss

March 2000

His eyes stay glued to the TV in your living room, the boy almost looking hypnotized as he focuses on the program running, furrowed brows and all, showing his utmost concentration. A sigh lands into his ears, but goes unnoticed when you enter the room, a scowl sitting on your face. “Sunwoo! I told you to watch the oven! What if the cookies burn?”

“Yeah…” he mumbles, not a single word coming out of your mouth truly registering in his brain.

“Sunwoo!” you grunt, but when you get no reply, you just choose to roll your eyes and walk into your kitchen yourself, opening the oven and making sure the cookies you two have been baking haven’t burned down into coal yet. Not long after, you plop on the sofa next to your best friend, tone of voice still showing a bit of frustration at his carelessness.

“You shit on Eric for watching those, but you’re just as bad,” you hum as you notice the kdrama going on in the TV. It’s one of the ones that hardly make any sense and each scene is overly-exaggerated and repeated at least twice to create impact, but Sunwoo finds himself living for the drama. Each argument has him examining the scene, mentally rooting for his favorite characters– and although he is busy with football practice nowadays, he doesn’t skip a single episode of Happy Together. 

It’s not as entertaining as the manga comics he borrows from Hyunjae’s father’s comic shop, but he figures that it’s good enough to pass some time… and indulge over.

“I think they’re gonna kiss,” he notes, pointing towards the screen.

“Oh, good point, Sherlock Holmes,” you sigh, shaking your head in disbelief. If there was something you’d expect out of your friend, it seemingly wasn’t his enjoyance of cheesy dramas that air in the afternoon hours of the week. 

And Sunwoo admits, he was never the one to enjoy romance. Hell, it was something he always made fun of when it came to his friend Eric– he was not the one to watch romantic comedies, he wasn’t the one to tell girls cheesy lines or bring them flowers on Valentine’s day. He does seem to be enjoying the laughable scenes rolling on the TV a little too much lately, though.

Maybe he should start hanging out with Eric less.

The scene slowly transforms into close-ups of the two main characters, showing them instinctively closing their eyes and leaning towards each other, eyes trained on each other’s lips. It doesn’t take much to predict the next actions, but Sunwoo still finds himself restless in his seat when they finally kiss, legs kicking up and a gasp escaping his mouth. One would think he won the lottery or was just greeted with the greatest surprise ever, with how he’s reacting. None of the two are true, though.

“Oh, wow,” you hum next to him, seemingly not really interested in the drama as much as your best friend is.

“You’re ruining it,” Sunwoo sighs, looking at you as you roll your eyes and settle deeper into the couch cushions. 

“Oh, sorry,” you note, but your composure stays a bit annoyed. 

Sunwoo watches the TV for some more– the scene of the two characters kissing stays on the screen, slowed-down and repeated, in the true 90s TV show fashion– before his eyes trail off the device and move towards you, glazing your side profile. He takes notice of your casual attire– you changed out of your school uniform in the time he was supposed to watch the cookies baking in the oven, and something in his stomach churns, making him blurt out the random question that so suddenly appears on the tip of his tongue.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” he asks, genuinely curious. He doesn’t even know why the response matters to him so much– he also doesn’t really know what reply he’d like to hear better, if he’s being honest– but now it’s out in the open and he can’t take it back.

“Hm?” you hum, snapping your head towards him. “Oh. Yeah, I guess…”

“You guess..?” Sunwoo repeats, furrowing his brows. How can one not be sure? 

“Well– yeah. It only happened once, though,” you shrug. It takes everything in Sunwoo to not ask who you kissed and when, or under what circumstances, and decide to despise that person until the day he dies. It’s not his business and he shouldn’t even care in the first place… He can’t say he’s disappointed in your answer– it’s your life and your decisions– but something inside of him screams that now, he can’t be your first no matter how hard he’d try. (It’s not like you’d want to kiss Sunwoo anyway, so he really doesn’t know why he’s making such a big deal about it.)

“What about you?” you ask, the question catching the poor boy off guard. He didn’t necessarily expect you to ask him back– so much to his title of Sherlock Holmes– and the reality that he can’t lie to you takes him out in full force as he bashfully stares out of the window.

“No,” he peeps, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

There’s something embarrassing about admitting to the girl you like that even at the ripe age of 19, you’ve never kissed anyone before. Shame creeps up his neck and adorns his cheeks after the simple word slips out of his mouth, eyes refusing to meet yours.

“Really?” you ask, and you sound genuinely surprised– there’s a hint of Sunwoo’s ego recovering, but he thinks the hit was too hard for him to ever recover.

“Yup,” he says, a popping sound heard as his lips voice out the last consonant, the view of him playing with his own fingers suddenly more interesting than anything else happening in your living room right at this moment.

“I thought– nevermind,” you hum, scratching the back of your neck, “why are you asking?”

“Just… just curious, I guess…?” he stummers, shrugging. 

A moment of silence overtakes you two– enough to make the boy instantly hate everything he’s ever said on the matter. If there could open up a hole in the ground right now to swallow him, he’d jump in with much enthusiasm. Why did he have to ask?

“Do you wanna try?” you suddenly propose, making the boy’s heart feel like it burst and threw him into a cardiac arrest. His hands start sweating, his cheeks tint red and it feels like all oxygen was suddenly sucked out of the living room, his lungs collapsing on themselves.

You seem to try to save the situation, noticing the utter shock on his face. “I mean– you don’t have to, but I… I wouldn’t mind, and it’s– I don’t know… if you wanted to practice with me, or something, I’d be down to…” you stutter, chewing on your bottom lip as you finish the little tangent, terror evident in your eyes.

Sunwoo feels like a little boy that just found his favorite gift under the Christmas tree. Like he found the most pricey toy there, the one he always wanted, and now that it’s there, he’s scared to actually play with it, because he doesn’t want to break it. Much like your friendship, he thinks. There’s too much to lose if he crosses this line, and he’s very much aware. 

But the offer seems tempting. Almost too tempting. God, he doesn’t think he could say no.

He may not be your first kiss, but you’re asking to be his. This sounds like a dream, if he really thinks about it.

“You know what? Just forget–”

“I’d– I’d like that…” he mumbles, trying really hard not to avert his gaze from you.

Your gaze softens, nodding your head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“Okay,” you nod again, moving a little closer to him. Your knees knock into the side of his thigh, your whole figure now facing him on the sofa as his legs still point forward to the TV. He keeps staring at you, a little nervous, but expectant. “Are you sure? You don’t have to do it just because–”

“I’m sure,” he cuts you off, watching as your face relaxes, a smile appearing on your lips at the next addition. “I want to.”

“Okay.”

You move impossibly closer, your crossed legs in contact with his clothed skin. He curses the thin fabric of the pants of his school uniform for making him feel every slightest flex of your muscles when you move, making his skin flare up and burn. He keeps staring at you, watching you as you lean closer to him, your faces now inches away from each other. Sunwoo finds himself focusing on every feature of your face, counting the eyelashes framing your eyes, glazing over the sparkles in your orbs. You stay close for a minute, unmoving. 

Eyes locking, Sunwoo finds himself gasping a little, breathing shuddering when he notices your gaze falling to his lips. Your breathing mixes, air meeting his face when you breathe out a minty breeze. His heart is already racing and you’re not even doing anything.

When he finds you finally moving towards him and notices your eyes shutting close, he mirrors your actions, but stays unmoving. After what feels like eternity, he feels something soft pressing to his lips, warmth spreading from that part of his face to the rest of his body. The contact of your lips with his is gentle, like you’re testing the waters, and although the feeling is unfamiliar, Sunwoo decides he doesn’t hate it.

The weird firework show in his stomach actually suggests that he’s quite enjoying it. Your lips break away from his for a bit, rewarding him with only a peck, and before the boy has the chance to think this is it and it’s over, you dive in for more and kiss him again, this time longer, more firmer.

Your hands come up to cradle his cheeks, holding him close. He feels himself burning up, his composure completely crumbling when he feels you smile against his lips. 

“You know you can kiss back, right?”

“Mhm,” he hums, opening his eyes to see you staring at him with a tender look.

“Try it,” you say, hands gently coming up to brush his bangs away from his face. If anyone was looking at the two of you now, Sunwoo thinks they’d conclude that you two were in love.

And maybe Sunwoo was, by the way he was looking up at you like you hung the stars on the sky. By the way he was staring at you with such a vulnerable look he feared you might see right through him, see right to his core and call him out on every unconfessed word hiding in his heart. He looks a little scared, a little tense, still, but his eyes don’t lie. They never do. There’s no one else that could make him feel the way you do.

“Okay,” he nods, moving in his position so he’s facing you, ready for more. 

He mirrors your previous motions, leaning towards your face. He wets his lips and closes his eyes when he’s sure he’s close enough to not miss your mouth, and after another deep breath in to calm his nerves, he presses against you. He feels you freezing under him, a momentary panic spreading all over his chest as he thinks he’s done something wrong, before he feels you kissing him back.

A whole other sensation takes over him when he feels your lips moving against his, his fingertips buzzing when he drags his hand up and moves your hair behind your shoulder, large hand resting on your jaw. He’s not sure if he’s doing this correctly– hell, he’s never done this before– but after you move a bit and entangle your hands behind his neck, pressing against him a bit more firmly, yet still tender and gentle like the first time, he recognises that somehow, it feels right, and he thinks that’s all evaluation he needs for now.

The need for oxygen makes him break away from you, breathing heavily as he opens his eyes and finds you resting your forehead against his, smiling. “Like that?” he asks, shamelessly staring at your wet lips, already yearning for more.

“Something like that,” you nod, giggling. “You still need more practice, though,” you suggest, making the boy frown.

“Was it that ba–”

Rolling your eyes at him, frustrated at the way he always needs everything spelled out for him, refusing to take a hint, you press your lips against his again, teeth clashing a little when Sunwoo picks up the pace and kisses you back. The TV is a mere white noise in the background now, everything around you two disappearing, all of Sunwoo’s senses focused on you and only you. He could get lost in the way you taste– like strawberry bubblegum you bought at the store on the corner of the street– and the way you feel against him– soft, tender, warm.

He feels like he could burst. He knows his hands are a bit sweaty, but he’s only half aware of the fact when his palms move to hold your cheeks, much like you did to him before, and your hands entangle in his hair, playing with the strands.

He could stay like this forever, blissfully unaware of the consequences of this act. He could kiss you over and over and over again, even if it meant he was still bad at it and needed more practice– he could get lost in your scent, in the tender way you hold him to you, in the way you keep smiling against his lips whenever he does something to surprise you: like get a little bolder and angle your head by your chin with his thumb, getting more comfortable.

He’s glad he’s sitting down, because he’s quite sure his knees are too weak to carry him right now. When you break away from him again, lips swollen and eyes blown-out, he thinks you might just be an angel. He’d love to engrave this image into his memories forever.

Although, he’s doubtful that he could ever forget about this. Or anything about you, really.

And even as you suddenly gasp, finally aware of the world around you, running to the kitchen and screaming: “Sunwoo! We forgot about the cookies!”,

he wonders just what more you could teach him about life. He’d follow you to the end of the world if you asked him to, holding your hand in his and not thinking twice. He’d bring you down a star, if you only so expressed you would like one. He’d do anything. 

You taught him what friendship is. You taught him what it means to care for someone. What it means to have someone special. You taught him how to drink (although by scolding him when he was hungover. He felt cared for even with your stern gaze). You taught him how to slow dance– even though you spent the prom with someone else. Just now, you taught him how to kiss.

And although you’re unaware, he’s quite certain that when he’s 19 years old, spending each of his days with you, although unaware, you taught him how to love someone too.

August 2007

You feel kind of silly, standing in front of the bakery as the sun sets over the horizon, the clock striking near 5 in the afternoon as you gnaw on your fingernails and hesitate a little before coming in. Pushing the door open and slipping inside, the male currently sweeping the floor looks over at you, a look of pleasant surprise sitting at his face and a sunny smile sent your way upon your arrival.

You don’t really know why you keep running back to him. The whole town reeks of familiarity to you, every corner and inch of each street filled with the essence of your childhood and your whole growing up. It’s not like you don’t have anything else to ground yourself back to, but somehow, your inner voice always keeps calling for Sunwoo. It’s weird– it’s been ages and you shouldn’t feel like this around someone who you haven’t even properly dated for that long, if you don’t count the few months before he left– but it’s something you can’t control, an essence you can’t hold back. 

“Y/N,” he calls for you, “what are you doing here?” he asks as he continues his routinal cleaning, putting the broom away behind the counter. 

It’s a stupid question. You bet he realizes it too, but you’re somehow glad he is taking initiative. This way, you don’t have to be the first one to spark the conversation. This way, you know you’re welcome. 

“Oh, well,” you shrug, “I’m… looking for you…?” you say, tone of voice suggesting that you’re hesitant, almost a little shy to admit it to yourself. 

Maybe you’re foolish for feeling this way. Because you know what all those things mean– you know what the lightness in your stomach is, what the giddy feeling resonating through you whenever the male smiles at you is. You know that thinking about someone constantly, more so before you sleep, isn’t an usual occurrence with someone you pay no attention to, with someone you don’t care about. You’ve been in love before– with the same man that’s standing right in front of you as well, funnily enough. You know what this all means.

But with how he’s inviting you in, letting you into his little bubble, you think it’s not as bad of a thing. He’s not pushing you away. He’s not building bridges. He’s the same way he was all those years ago, and you’d hate to find out that all of this wasn’t something more and was just him being nice.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” he chuckles, wiping his hands on the apron still tied around his waist. “I’m off in a few, though, so if you want anything from the bakery–”

“I’m not here for the food,” you laugh, dismissing him with a wave of your hand. The boldness is unusual for the present you– there’s a hint of your past shining through whenever you are with the boy, though. Maybe you like this sense of familiarity. Maybe you like to feel real again– maybe you like to feel like yourself. It’s hard to admit it, but you did lose your sense of identity after moving abroad. It’s hard to stay true to yourself with so many new people around and with so many expectations and responsibilities. The pressure changes you, and you now rely on Kim Sunwoo to bring you back to default– to where you’re supposed to be.

“Okay, then,” he nods, thankfully not making a big deal out of your desperate visit, “what would you like to do?” he asks, eyes sparkling under the lights when he looks at you. It’s like an open invitation– he gives you the chance to tell him how you’d like to spend your time with him. He did this a lot when you two were younger as well. It felt good to have someone that would make the effort to enjoy your hobbies with you– no matter how disinterested he could be in the matter.

“Hang out… I guess…?” you hum, shrugging. You didn’t really have anything planned. All you knew was that you wanted to be with him. It’s like the heart’s calling– you don’t know when your inner monologue got so cliche.

“Anything specific?” he asks.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shake your head in disapproval. You fear that you disappointed him, let him down in some way– you came all the way here, after all. You could’ve made something up on the way, couldn’t you? But still– just like the Sunwoo you once knew, so lively and full of ideas– he just purses his lips for a second before speaking the suggestion into existence.

“Well… do you want to bake with me? Like the old times?” he says, sending you a look full of warm honey.

You wouldn’t say no to that invitation. You’d be crazy to do so.

The Kim Sunwoo you used to bake cookies with in the comfort of your kitchen back home wasn’t so skilled in making the dough like he is now. He wasn’t so good at knowing the recipe from memory, nor was he gifted with the kitchen appliances he has now, all professional and shiny, reserved just for the use of the bakery. You don’t really know if he even had the love for baking in him back then– you just know you two enjoyed your time together, and when you are young, that’s all you really cared about anyway. It didn’t matter that he let the cookies burn sometimes. It didn’t really matter that they didn’t turn out well on some days– all morphing into one big block, making you cut the dough into pieces so you could eat it when you accidentally added too much butter. 

He still looks the same, though. A few years older, but with the same boyish aura to him when he wipes dirty hands on his apron. All grown up now, but still with the same glint in his eye whenever he looks up at you in between your conversations. When you’re with him, you no longer feel the distance between who you are and who you used to be, the distance between you and him. It’s like the old days, but a little better.

Maybe you have more time now.

The two of you work on the cookie dough, enveloped in a comfortable conversation. “You have to add more sugar,” Sunwoo hums from next to you, watching as you work on the mixture.

“Isn’t it funny how I was the one always giving you directions when we baked together and now you’re the one ordering me around?” you laugh, taking the sugar from the counter and sprinkling more in, listening to the opinion of a professional.

“Well, my cookies don’t turn into one big blob of dough anymore,” he jokes, laughing. “Besides, it’s my job now, so you’d kind of expect me to be good at it.”

“You can’t be so sure of that…” you hum, shaking your head.

“Why? Do you have any experience with being bad at your job?” 

“Oh you bet I do,” you laugh, nodding. “I was an intern before, Sunwoo. A colleague of mine once tried to console me by saying being an intern means being bad at the job, so it wasn’t that big of a deal, but I still cried myself to sleep multiple nights,” you conclude, thinking back to your New York endeavors.

“That bad?” Sunwoo asks empathetically.

“Yeah. Mixed up everyone’s coffee order on my first day. When I was confronted about it, I tried to play it off by saying I don’t have a good memory…” you muse.

“Well, it’s hard to remember a lot of stuff at once, to be fair–”

“I was getting coffee for three people, Sunwoo. Objectively speaking, it shouldn’t be as hard…” you say, now thinking back to the events of your internship with more humor than embarrassment.

Sunwoo laughs at your story, shaking his head in disbelief. “Not worse than my teammate back in Boston. The first match of the season, he scored a goal against our own team. His reasoning? He used to play against the goalie back in high school, so he got confused.”

The boy takes over at making the dough once it’s the turn to add in the chocolate chips, glancing at you momentarily when you laugh at his anecdote. Watching him from the side, you heave out through your laughs. “That’s actually hilarious,” you get out, washing your hands in the sink. “What about some funny stories about yourself, though?”

“Don’t have any. I’m too perfect to humiliate myself like that,” he notes, pressing his lips together and raising his eyebrows at you in an ironic expression, nodding.

“Oh, as if–”

“How is it?” he asks you suddenly in the middle of the sentence, seemingly done with kneading the mixture. Sunwoo puts the cookie dough in front of your lips, waiting for you to taste it. You’d do it all the time when you were both teenagers, but back then, the gesture didn’t feel half as intimate as the mere image of it does now.

Locking eyes with the male, you hesitantly open your mouth and let him put the dough into it, tasting the sweetness on your tongue. Sunwoo’s eyes darken, as if he’s just realized what he’s done, the weight of the situation falling down on him as your tongue comes in contact with the skin of his fingertips. Gulping, he watches as you suck the tip of his digit into your mouth, getting all last remains of the sweetness off of it, something in the air shifting towards a direction you didn’t expect from tonight.

“Good,” you nod, licking your lips, “delicious.”

Seconds turn to what feels like eternities as you stop all motion and look into each other’s eyes, finding any hint of disapproval with the so obvious turn of events. His chocolate orbs peer into yours, making you ignite with something close to an urge you can’t control, his eyes anchoring themselves to the curve of your lips when you decide to let go of all anxiety and insecurities and just go for it. The cookie dough was sweet, but you’ve never tasted anything sweeter than Sunwoo’s lips. You might just have to refresh your mind, you think.

Leaning closer to him, your breathing mixing in the few centimeters left between your mouths, you relish in the déja vu this action brings you. It feels like yesterday, yet also centuries ago since you last kissed the male, and although you’re sure you enjoyed it back then, you wish you could’ve told the younger you to kiss him more often, more firmly, with more passion, maybe even sooner. For longer. 

Pressing your lips against his first, almost like always– since Kim Sunwoo was a bit shy with his kisses when you were both just high school seniors– your eyes shut close and everything around you disappears. You guess there’s something about baking that makes the two of you want to feed off each other’s lips– except this time, it’s not practice anymore. It’s not innocent, it’s not clueless. This time, it’s real, alive and passionate. You can’t say you hate the sentiment, the weird parallel your relationship has come to. It’s like you’re reliving your life again, but this time, you know how the story ends– you know how to fix the ending. How to keep him here.

Sunwoo’s more experienced than he was when you kissed him for the first time. He’s less shy and more bold, lips firmer against yours, but still careful and gentle. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw and position you so he has the best access to your mouth as he slips his tongue in, as if chasing down the taste of cookie dough he fed you just a few seconds ago, and although you liked to battle him when you were young, you let him win this time– you let him take you home, bring your mind to where it’s supposed to be.

Hands gripping the front of his shirt, but immediately going to circle around his neck when a particular movement of his makes you moan slightly into his mouth, you play with the hair on his nape and feel him shuddering under your movements, an automatic response that makes fondness spread over your chest. Everything about him is familiar to you– he still reacts the same way to your tender ministrations, he still smiles against your lips when you tangle your fingers through his hair and want to ground yourself in the touch. 

You know him like the palm of your hand. It’s easy to get lost in something you are so familiar with, in someone that was once your everything. It’s easy to indulge too much in something that was forcefully taken from you, to get right back where you left with him, because time and circumstances were never on your side.

A touch of his hand on the side of your neck, lips trailing down your mouth towards your jaw. The boldness, the urgency of his movements is enough to have you turn your back against the counter, his body pressed tightly against yours. His palms under the backside of your knees have you sitting up on the cold marble, his lips never breaking away from your skin. 

You’re enjoying the shift in the dynamic. You’re enchanted with the way he handles you, like he’s been starved of you for years, wanting to chase down all the time you spent away from each other. Breathing heavily, feeling his plush lips sucking down on the sweet spot under your ear, then trailing down the side until he reaches the juncture of your neck, an involuntary “God…” slips past your mouth.

“I missed you,” he says, words muffling against your skin, “I missed you so much, I felt like I was going crazy.”

The confession makes you dizzy, your whole body growing weak. It’s like he knows exactly what words you wanted to hear. It’s like he knows what haunted you all those years, what you kept asking the universe on sleepless nights over and over, praying for an answer. It’s like he knows exactly how to get you close to him, to have you completely let go of the past. 

“I missed your jokes,” he says, planting a kiss on your neck. “I missed your smile,” he presses another one a little more up, “I missed your laugh,” another kiss, now on your jaw. “I missed holding your hand,” a peck planted to the corner of your lips, “and I missed kissing you…” he trails off, pointing his attention back on your mouth, locking the two of you together again, as if kissing you was his new addiction and you were the drug.

Sunwoo’s hot hand creeps up your waist, fingers slipping under the thin fabric of your tank top. The contact makes you shiver in response, your bodies still as responsive to each other as back when you were 19, and when you tug at his bottom lip with your teeth and slip your tongue back into his mouth, you feel the boy tug at the right strap of your top, sliding it down your shoulder. You’re barely registering the bowl of dough to your right, the fact that you’re in the kitchen of Juyeon’s parent’s bakery, or the fact that you only just met the boy two weeks ago for the first time in years. All you focus on is him– his touch, his taste, the way he makes you feel. All you know is longing. The desire.

Before you have the chance to take anything further, the sound of the door opening makes you jump away from each other– your head almost hitting the top cabinets, had Sunwoo not instinctively put his hand there to shield you from the impact. Before you get a chance to register what’s happening, a familiar voice calls for you, their tone a little guilty and bashful. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt, or anything–” Juyeon peeps, clearing his throat. 

Glancing at Sunwoo, you see his cheeks redden at being caught by his older friend, yet his eyes still roll in annoyance at the interruption. You can’t help but try to hide your face into his shoulder– it’s not like you’re embarrassed of being with Sunwoo, you’re just embarrassed that it had to happen here, of all places.

“Well, you just did,” Sunwoo grunts, frustration coating his words.

“I’m just here to grab something,” Juyeon hums, almost racing through the room to get to the fridge on the other side of the kitchen, taking out a carton of milk from the inside and showing it to the two of you. “This is gonna go bad soon, so I’m taking it home to use it. Uhm.. anyways, well, don’t let me stop you in anything… bye!”

Neither of you greet the male back, instead sharing a meaningful, knowing look between each other. The view of your first boyfriend with his lips puffy, cheeks flushed and hair a little disheveled makes your senses go crazy, and although you’d like to continue what you started, you don’t think now is the right time or place.

Hopping off the counter, you smile. “So… where were we with the cookies?”

to. my first girlfriend

May 2000

Eyes trained on the ball, feet restless as he runs across the field to retrieve it and pass it to one of the shooters– either Donghyuck or Jinyoung, the more capable ones of the team– Sunwoo finds himself completely focused on the game. It’s one of the last matches of the season, and since he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to play his favorite sport again– he hasn’t received a verdict on the university applications he sent yet– the boy figures he should enjoy each game like it’s the last. Because who knows– one day, it may as well be, and if he’s not prepared for it, if he has any regrets, he knows he’ll take it harder than he’s supposed to.

Kim Sunwoo’s position in football is midfielder. While Eric once told him that it’s a loser position, since he’s not the shooter and he doesn’t score many goals (which is a lie– the boy had him know he scored his fair share despite his defensive position on the field), Sunwoo’s grown to love it. He’s the one that’s supposed to counter all attacks on his teammates. He’s the one that runs after the ball and passes it to the shooters, so technically, he’s the reason why any of them even have the opportunity to score. His position is as important as any other player's, and he takes pride in the compliments he gets from his coach whenever he does particularly well at a game. 

Sunwoo loves football. He’d say his first love is football, but something inside of him keeps telling him that that’s a lie (don’t ask him why. It’s a secret.). It’s the first game he’s ever been exceptionally good at, the first thing he could do for periods longer than a few weeks. He’s been playing with the ball since he was young, and although he never had a father to kick the football around with in his backyard, his sister was always happy to be included in anything he was into at the time– when she got older, she even got better at being his designated goalie, although less interested in the play itself. Sunwoo feels like he lets go of all worries when he plays. It’s good to have an escape, something to keep his mind occupied. He doesn’t have many things to worry about, but he finds that kicking the ball around, making strategies in his brain on how to get it to his teammates the fastest, is enough for him to get out both his frustration and get something nice out of it. He enjoys the thrill. He enjoys the excitement, the shared joy of the team whenever someone scores a goal. He is addicted to the ecstasy in his veins whenever his team wins.

It was easy to determine that if Sunwoo wanted to do anything for the rest of his life, it would be football. It’s what he enjoys, what he loves. It’s what he’s good at. 

It’s strange to imagine a time when he wouldn’t play football. He doesn’t even want to imagine it in the first place– it makes a chill run down his spine and an unsettling feeling churn in his stomach. In a perfect world, he’s always a football player.

Everyone keeps telling him he could easily make it professional, if he tried. 

Football is how he met most of his friends. It’s how he met Juyeon– he was the captain of the high school team when Sunwoo was a sophomore, and he found that hanging out with the older boy was easy and fun. It’s how he met Donghyuck and Jihoon (before the latter dropped out of the team after a few months). It’s how he met you. 

His coach always warned the players about dating the cheerleaders. For his coach, it wasn’t right to do so– it would throw off the dynamic of the game. “Nobody wants their ex to stare at them during their game!” the coach had said– not even thinking of the possibility of any of those teenage romances to last. Sunwoo only laughed back then. It wasn’t something he should be afraid of– he never liked anyone on the cheer team.

Until… until he did. Sunwoo met you on one sunny day, at your joint cheer-slash-football practice. You pointed out that the number on his jersey– 03– was your favorite, and the boy felt himself smile. Ever since then, he never wore any other number. He considered it to be his lucky charm. What started as friendship blossomed into something much more for the boy, and somehow, he can’t even remember when the feelings he had for you morphed into adoration. He doesn’t know when they shifted Into absolute enchantment, or Into a silly crush– he doesn’t know when he started seeing you in a light that was more romantic.

Wearing your favorite number on his back, Sunwoo runs towards the opposing player. There’s something akin to an angry face playing with the man’s features, and Sunwoo imagines it’s because of the very clear lead his team has on them. Sunwoo makes sure he doesn’t slip as he tackles the opposing player– he swears he heard someone call the shooter Jaechan– and as soon as he secures the ball, Sunwoo aims to forward it to his teammate.

The screams resonating all around him– although he tries hard to filter them out to focus on the game completely– suggest that it’s only a few moments before the game is over. It wouldn’t matter even if they didn’t score the goal, but something inside of Sunwoo’s heart leaps at the thought of winning with such a lead. The boyish excitement only grows when he watches Donghyuck retrieve the goal and run towards the goalpost, neon-orange sneakers shining through the green grass.

“Come on!” Sunwoo cheers, a hopeful spark lighting within him as the boy prepares to shoot, eyes quickly scanning the field.

And Lee Donghyuck almost never lets him down. Maybe that’s why he liked the boy so much in the first place– Sunwoo didn’t like players that dismissed the chance he won for them. He liked the skillful ones. The ones that knew what they were doing. (He also liked Donghyuck’s humor. He found himself grateful to have a friend so funny. He made even losing feel like it wasn’t such a big deal.) 

Choosing the golden shooter proved to be a good idea once again– Donghyuck, number 35, shoots for the goal and the ball gets in. Seconds after, the sound of a whistle is heard across the place, the game over with Sunwoo’s team winning 4:1.

Everyone cheers– yells from the audience are heard, excitement reeking through the air. The whole football team gathers around, sweaty bodies sticking together as they perform some sort of a cliche group hug, arms patting each other’s backs and complimenting each other’s play. 

The commotion dissolves shortly after. Sunwoo finds himself trying to catch his breath, eyes looking across the space for someone in particular. His heart leaps even harder when he finds you standing at the edge of the field in your cheer uniform, a big smile plastered on your face. Your eyes are glimmering as they meet with his. Your hair is a little tousled from the routine you just finished doing and there are smears and smudges on your cheeks from the face paint you used to symbolize the team’s colors– blue and gold. Over-all, you look ecstatic.

Sunwoo finds himself running over to you before he even registers that he’s going to do it. He’s like a fast, unguided missile, the goal of getting to you as fast as possible being the only thing resonating through his excited mind.

“Good jo-” you grunt as the boy finally gets to you, words cutting off when he (maybe a little harshly) puts his arms around your middle and picks you up, twirling you around. You screech a little into his ear and he finds himself laughing at your reaction. It’s like a runner's high– he feels like right now, he is capable of everything. 

“Okay! Okay! Put me down!” you laugh when you start to get a little dizzy. The boy complies, since he’s running out of strength to carry you anyways, and puts you back to your feet. His arms stay tightly wrapped around your body, though, locking you into a secure hug. 

“We won!” he cheers, the brightest grin settling to his lips as he announces the obvious. 

You beam at him, eyes soft and crinckled into little moon crescents, a dumbfounded smile playing with your features. “I know, Sherlock,” you dismiss him again with the teasing nickname, shaking your head in disbelief, “I was here. Cheering for you,” you say.

And sure, Sunwoo knows that by you, you don’t necessarily mean him in particular– more like cheering for the whole team, the whole 11 players on the field– but something about the sentiment makes his stomach feel all light and a slight blush spread over his glowing cheeks. You were here– cheering for him (and his team) – and although you’re here out of your own will, out of your own devotion to your hobby, he somehow feels grateful for your presence. You never miss a game. You went even when you caught the flu and felt too sick to do your cheer routine– you just sat on the bench and rooted for your best friend. (The team lost that match. Sunwoo felt a little bad for tugging you out of your bed for it.)

The boy studies your face for a while. You look perfectly content in his hold. You fit perfectly into his arms, he thinks– almost like you’re supposed to be there all the time. He should hug you more often, he decides. Sunwoo foolishly finds himself focusing onto your lips– he blames the shiny lipgloss you put on today– the words coming out of your mouth not quite registering in his brain. “As I was saying, good job! The whole team, but you especially. Don’t tell anyone, but I think you really shined in this game. I’m really prou–”

A single peck is pressed to your glossy, sticky lips, cutting you off in the middle of the sentence yet again. Sunwoo surprises himself with the gesture– he was always too shy to initiate something with you, too hesitant to even touch you sometimes– but the euphoria is still playing with his senses, clouding his brain. He doesn’t think of consequences.

He can’t control himself anymore. It’s been weeks since you two kissed for the first time– exactly 4 and a half weeks since you taught him how to do so– and since that afternoon, he found himself thinking about it every single day, every single minute, all. The. Time. You two haven’t spoken about it since, making the poor boy a little disappointed, but he respected your decision. He knew that you didn’t particularly reciprocate his feelings, but he still expected your dynamic to shift. At least a little bit. 

And although he should’ve been glad nothing changed and your friendship didn’t crumble because of a simple kiss, he found himself desiring to kiss you every time he saw your face. 

You peer at him with eyes wide open, mouth a little agape. Sunwoo doesn’t really know how to read your reaction– you didn’t look particularly happy, but you also didn’t push him away– and so in the moment of panic, he begins to backtrack, his arms untangling from your sides.

“I- I’m sorry if I overstepped any boundary, or if I–”

You’re not fans of letting each other finish their sentences today, it seems. Before Sunwoo gets a chance to put a bigger distance between the two of you, he watches as you get on your tippy-toes and press a tender kiss on his lips– more firmer than the one he dared to give you, a little bit longer, yet still sweetly short. There’s something soft and gentle in your gaze when you pull away and press another peck onto his face– the tip of his nose this time– and Sunwoo almost physically feels his knees turning into jello, his own celebratory firework show erupting in the pits of his stomach.

“So, as I was saying,” you hum, hugging the boy around his neck, “you did well. You looked good out there,” you peep, the sparks in your eyes making Sunwoo’s skin burn with their contact.

That day, you teach him that to be loved is to have someone sharing your achievements with. To be loved is to be adored, to be loved is to have someone watching you and cheering you on, to have someone to run to with good news.

Kim Sunwoo’s football team won the match, but the boy thinks that perhaps, that day, he won something even greater.

to. my first lover

August 2000

The admission papers arrive at his house the morning he’s supposed to sleep over at your house. Your parents decided to take a trip to your aunt’s place for two days, so you invite the boy into the comfort of your home for the weekend– as far as Sunwoo’s mother is concerned, he’s sleeping over at Juyeon’s. He doesn’t have the boy covering him, but he’s also sure his mother won’t try to check if he’s telling her the truth. He’s not banned from having a girlfriend– he just doesn’t want his mum to get any wrong ideas.

He finds the envelope in the mailbox when he comes home from school, and something in his stomach drops when he sees the american stamp on the top right corner of the white paper. He debates on opening it, but every time he hypes himself up enough to tear the top of the envelope off, a little anxious voice on his inside tells him to wait. 

Although reluctant to admit it to himself, Sunwoo is a little scared to see the result of his university application. Before he leaves for your house, he puts the envelope into the front pocket of his backpack and tries to forget about it. It works a bit better when he sees your face, hears your laugh– when he spends time with you and you two play the new board game you got from your cousin. Still, the weight of the envelope keeps bugging him in his mind no matter how hard he tries forgetting about it, and you finally notice (or finally bring it up after hours of ignoring his weird mood) when the two of you lay together in your bed in the evening, both facing the ceiling.

“Is everything alright?” you ask. 

“Hm?” Sunwoo hums, lost in thought. “Oh, yeah,” he nods, “don’t worry.”

You don’t seem convinced. Shuffling a little in your sheets, you turn towards him and move your body closer to his, your arm suddenly draping over his middle. A tender kiss is placed on his temple, almost making him crumble under the gentle care, and your voice earns a concerned kind of timbre when you speak to him. “You can tell me,” you hum, “boyfriends and girlfriends are supposed to tell each other things.”

Boyfriends and girlfriends. Sunwoo feels himself soften under the possessive title. It has been close to 4 months of you dating– starting with the winning match in April, progressing slowly through the summer break– but the fact that you’re his partner is still a little unbelievable to him. Sometimes, when he hears you call him your boyfriend, he still gets a little bashful. He still feels like he’s been told the greatest news of his life. 

Maybe it’s the nature of this sentiment that has him slowly unraveling to you. And maybe, it’s because he’d tell you anyways– you’d be the first to know. He was just waiting for the right time to bring it up.

“The reply to my university application came in the mail this morning…” he trails off, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

You plop up on your elbow, watching the boy from above. Eyes big, you peer into his face. “And?” you ask, an expecting gaze glazing his features.

“I… I don’t know,” he shrugs, “I was too scared to open it alone.”

“O-Oh,” you nod, furrowing your brows at him, “well, it’s okay to be scared. I believe in you, but even if it doesn’t go the way you wanted it to, I’m still proud of you for trying,” you say, a gentle tone of voice cooing at him, like the nature of the way you play with his hair, wanting to make the boy relax from his anxieties.

“I have the letter here with me,” he says, swallowing, “in my bag.”

“Do you want to open it together?” you ask, watching as the boy nods.

He’s getting off the bed in no time, wearing just sweatpants and a baggy shirt to sleep in, grabbing his bag from the corner of your room and unzipping the small compartment at the front. His fingers take the envelope out, legs walking him over back to your bed, your figure now sitting against the headboard. Sunwoo finds himself mirroring your position as his fingers turn the little white thing in his hold with much stumbling, preparing himself for whatever answer awaits him inside.

Glancing at you, seeing you looking at him with an encouraging expression on your face, Sunwoo takes a big breath in and out to calm his nerves before he tears the top open and takes out the expensive-feeling paper. Not stopping his actions anymore, knowing that if he takes another moment to himself, he won’t be able to read the letter, he unravels the note and lets his eyes skim over the words.

Before he even has a chance to register the sentences written down in the letter, before he can even let his mind accept the result he’s given– ‘we are pleased to announce that you were admitted to the athlete scholarship program…’– he feels a pair of arms wrapping around his shoulders, jolting him awake from his thoughts.

“You made it! Oh my god, you made it!” you cheer, excitement taking over your whole body as you shake the boy in your hold from side to side. The reality still isn’t quite settling in for him, so he just lets you do whatever you please– which includes all of the following: screaming incoherent words into his ear when you hug him closer to your chest, planting a kiss to his cheek and throwing your hands up into the air in a winning gesture. 

“You made it, Sunwoo,” you repeat, this time a little more collected.

Sunwoo finally allows himself to put the letter away and look into your eyes. “I made it,” he sighs, a soft smile playing with his features. 

“You did!” you nod, grinning back.

It’s strange. The first step towards Sunwoo’s dream is now complete. He got admitted to the university of his dreams– the one that’s good for athletes, the one that is supposed to shoot him towards stardom. He has the opportunity to take classes there and train with some of the best aspiring players in the whole world. He has the opportunity to move out of the country, live at dorms in Boston, and most importantly, he has everyone’s support. 

There’s nothing more a boy his age could want more. He has everything. His whole life ahead of him, only the brightest future waiting for him at the end– only if he keeps trying hard and improving. He’s happy. Don’t get him wrong– he really is. Somehow, though, it all feels a bit scary.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you excited?” you ask, a pout taking over your once excited features. The amount of worries you have over Sunwoo gets bigger and bigger the older the two of you are. There are only so many things that can go wrong when you are a teenager, but now that you’re adulting, the list keeps getting longer.

“I am,” he nods, forcing a smile onto his lips.

“You don’t seem excited,” you argue.

“I am! I really am,” he says, trying to battle with himself.

“What is it?” 

“What is what?” 

“Come on, Sunwoo,” you sigh, “I can tell when something’s wrong. You don’t have to hide it from me, because I’ll know anyway. What is it?” you insist, staring the boy down with an examining look.

The boy sighs, shrugging to himself. “Well,” he starts, “the school is in America.”

“And?” you start, furrowing your eyebrows. “We knew that when you applied. Why is it such a problem now?” you ask, genuinely not grasping the whole situation.

Sunwoo chews on his cheek for a little while, plays with his fingers in his lap. A part of him is telling him that he both looks and seems foolish– because you’re right. It was his dream, he is excited, and this is good news. But still, there’s something he didn’t really think of when applying. Well, he did. He just thinks that the fact that him being accepted wasn’t really a realistic idea, no matter how hard he wished and prayed for it, so he didn’t have the need to think about it so seriously back then. Now it’s here, all real, and it’s a struggle he didn’t really grasp that he was going to have to go through.

“Well,” he starts again, still avoiding your eyes, “that means I have to move. And we won’t see each other for a while.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence following his confession– one in which he contemplates all possible reactions you might give him, some with truly catastrophic endings– but after what seems like eternities, he hears your soft, gentle voice. “Is that what’s making you so worried?” you ask.

“Kind of,” he nods, feeling his cheeks redden. You handle him with so much care– sometimes, he doesn’t know how to react.

“Awh,” you coo, taking his hand into yours, preventing him from picking at the skin of his cuticles until they bleed– an action he always does and you keep scolding him for. “Sunwoo, we knew about this when you applied. I am okay with you going away. Sure, it will suck, but it’s only for a little time, and I can come visit you there and you’ll show me around and stuff…”

Sunwoo presses a tight-lipped, hesitant smile to his lips. He feels reassured.

“And we’ll call, and it’s going to be fine, because this is good. This is good news, Sunwoo, and you’re gonna do great, and you’re gonna be a star, and I’ll be so, so proud of you,” you hum, voice tender and caring, doing your best at consoling the boy.

“I’m already so proud of you now, y’know?” you hum, squeezing his hand. “Everything will be alright, so don’t you worry.”

Sunwoo’s arms reach out to envelop you into a hug. He once again recognises how easily you fit into his arms, how perfectly you shape into his skin, and when he burrows his nose into your neck, breathing in your scent, he feels your lips reach into his hair, planting a soft kiss into it. Your words did more to the boy than only consult him– they gave him hope, they gave him joy, they made him feel like perhaps, this is not such a terrifying occurrence. And it really isn’t– it’s quite possibly the best thing that he’s ever achieved, and the circumstances of him leaving don’t seem as horrifying to him now. 

As long as he knows that you have his back, he thinks he can do anything. And what’s 3 years abroad against the 4 years he’s known you?

When you pull away, you press your lips against his, the contact making his muscles finally relax and his mind let go of all the worries. There’s suddenly nothing in the world that could make him falter, nothing that could make him worry or stress or fret or change his mind, because he has your support, and you’re here with him, promising him that you’ll always be right by his side, wherever he is.

Your mouth molds against his, the familiar motion of your lips against his still surprising him sometimes, still making him curious even after those months. He’s been dating you for some while, but he still likes to explore what makes you crumble under him, what makes you hum into the kiss, what makes you tug him closer to you– it’s a fun game to him, trying to figure you out completely. 

He still has some time, but it’s like he is trying to engrave those moments into his memory before he no longer can experience them first-hand as easily.

He goes out to explore again– his tongue gently inviting itself into your mouth with a swipe of your lower lip, relishing in the way your composure falters a little bit, letting him be in charge. You were always the more experienced one out of you two, so Sunwoo often shied away from being the one dominating intimate situations– afraid he’s not good enough, too inexperienced, too immature for you– but in the rare moments he does take the lead, your reactions give him a new source of confidence. 

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, nose pressing against your cheek as he angles you so he has more access to your lips. Something about his ministrations makes you forget to breathe, breaking away from him in a search for much needed oxygen, but Sunwoo acts like he’s been starved of you, latching his lips to the trail from your mouth towards your neck, planting open-mouthed kisses to your soft skin. He faintly remembers the time you gave him a lovebite that one time you came over to his house to work on homework together, sucking and biting at his neck (and although he enjoyed seeing the possessive bruise on his skin whenever he saw himself in the mirror, he wore the strings of his hoodies tightly tied to his neck, shielding him from being teased by everyone– but mostly Eric). He tries to mirror your motions, recreating the action to the best of his abilities.

He hears you grunt, making him fear that he’s doing it wrong– a momentarily panic settling in his chest screaming at him that he hurt you– but the worries are quickly dismissed as you move impossibly closer to the boy, straddling his lap and threading your fingers through his hair, keeping him close. 

Humming under his touch, Sunwoo gets a kick from hearing the sounds coming out of your mouth. It’s like a reward– it’s like the praise he goes after his whole life, like validation of his actions being satisfactory for you. The pressure of your body against his lap makes him feel hot all over, sweaty hands holding you by your sides. Every slightest shift of your figure against his makes him shudder, composure faltering when you move in a way that has his breathing particularly quicken, a bundle of nerves forming in his stomach from the newly found hypersensitivity. There’s only so much fabric shielding the two of you from each other, and just the thought of it is slowly driving the boy crazy.

Pulling away from your neck, admiring the artwork he managed to portray on your skin, he feels you pulling him up to meet your lips again, heated, firm kisses shared in the silence of the room. He feels your hands resting on his abdomen, feeling him up for a moment before you sneak them under the hem of his shirt, dragging your nails against his skin. 

Sunwoo hears a sound escape his throat at the contact, making him instantly feel foolish– until he feels you smile against his lips, following your ministrations by mirroring his previous actions and kissing down his neck, finding all the spots that make him the most reactive– like the place under his ear, the juncture of his shoulder. You revisit all the places you’ve tested before and perfected your aim to make him efficiently crumble under you. Sunwoo finds himself losing the initial control he had over the situation, instead letting you take over and lead him, much like you’ve done in most areas of his life. He likes to be your follower. He likes to see where you want him, where you need him, he likes to comply. It’s more comfortable for him this way. It makes him swell with pride when he makes you happy.

Another shift of your hips against him has Sunwoo digging his fingers to your side, whole body feeling like it’s electrified under your touch. Placing a soft peck to the spot you’ve had your attention on, you mumble into his skin. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Sunwoo swallows, noticing you leaning your forehead against his tenderly, eyes meeting. 

“Are you sure?”

He nods. He’s never been more sure about anything in his life– he enjoys your company, he loves your touch, the way you make his every sense heighten, his heart beat quicker. Still, he feels a bit nervous at the prospected events. “I just– I’ve never done this before,” Sunwoo whispers the obvious, watching as you carefully observe him.

“Sweetheart,” you tenderly call, placing a soft peck to his lips. “That’s okay. Me neither, but we could… we could try and see where this leads us, if you’d like?”

The sweet pet name alone makes the boy let go of all his worries, of the stress and nerves he’s been holding on to for the past few weeks. You hold him like he’s going to break, and Sunwoo’s never felt so loved before. You reassure him that it’s going to be okay. You are there to remind him that life isn’t so hard, as long as you’re by his side.

“Okay,” he nods, smiling at you. 

“Okay,” you repeat, holding his face in your hands as you kiss him again– it may as well be for the thousandth time. Truth is, while he tried to keep up at first, Sunwoo lost count a long time ago.

Everything there is to know about love, Kim Sunwoo learned from you. You showed him the childlike playfulness during your dates. You taught him how to kiss, only to take advantage of his newly found skills and keep them all for yourself. You showed him what it is to share joys, dreams, but also worries together. You were his first crush, date, relationship– and now, his first lover.

In the comfort of your childhood bedroom, holding you closer than ever, Sunwoo dreams of eternity with you. He doesn’t realize what a foolish thought it might be. Somehow, he’s got a feeling that no matter what it is, you two will figure it out. You always do.

to. my first love

September 2000

Muscles sore and whole body heaving in pain, Sunwoo trails inside the small bungalow the university gave him as student accommodation, dropping his duffel bag to the floor. His face is pulled into a small frown as he enters the house and his roommate can’t help but notice. “Everything alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Sunwoo hums, nodding at the question. He has 3 assigned roommates– all male, all around his age. Sunwoo’s english isn’t bad, but it also isn’t that great either. He knew that this was going to be one of the main concerns of him moving out abroad, but he figured that the more you encounter the language, the more comfortable you get with it. Due to this, though, the two American boys he rooms with– their names are Josh and Sam– aren’t as close with him. Sunwoo doesn’t really blame them. It’s not like he tried to get close with them anyway. He talks much more with Mark, the one year older boy that’s also Korean, but has been living in the States for years now. The language barrier is nearly nonexistent there, and so he feels much more comfortable.

Not comfortable enough to vent to him about his problems, though. It’s good to share a laugh with Mark when they eat breakfast together in the kitchen, but he won’t go on and talk his ear off about his homesickness, for example. Sunwoo wouldn’t talk to him about the weird, unsettling feeling in his gut whenever he takes the bus or walks down the street, not recognising every face he encounters like he did back home, in his small town. He won’t tell Mark Lee about how much he misses Korea– he’s sure the boy has his own things to worry about. Besides, it’s not like Mark talks about personal stuff with him either. After four days of living here, he can’t say their relationship got to the level of going deep with their personal lives.

And so, Sunwoo walks up the stairs in silence, not giving Mark more information about his mood. Each step up hurts, since the training is twice as demanding as it used to be at home, making his muscles sore and his back hurt terribly from the stone hard mattress in the bed of his new home. He is willing to endure it, but he also has the terrific need to complain about it to anyone that would be willing to listen.

He should start writing a diary, he thinks as he stares up on the ceiling, chewing on the inside of his cheek. It sounds good enough to channel his feelings out into while also not being a bother to anyone else. Besides, he doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s having a hard time here in Boston. This was all his decision, his dream, and sometimes, things are going to get difficult. And that’s okay. Sunwoo just… feels like he lacks the support system he once had back home in Korea. Like someone took it from between his fingertips, forcefully kept it away from him, locked somewhere miles away. Maybe the person who did that to him was himself all along…

Which is why he doesn’t deserve to whine about the fact that he feels terribly lonely. He did this to himself. All him.

If he had a diary, he’d write about the terrible mattress first, he thinks. Then, the weird weather around here– it’s always hot, but not humid. It doesn’t rain as much. He kind of misses the rain. 

If he had a diary, he’d write about how he misses his old coach. The high school coach that always made sure the game was fun, yet productive. He misses his teammates as well. Their team never did big things, but he felt like they were some sort of a family. They knew each other well on the field. They had chemistry. They had fun.

He’d write about how he misses his annoying little sister. How he wishes she would appear in the doorway of his room and talked to him about the stickers she still collects, or dragged him to make another friendship bracelet together. How he feels bad for leaving her all alone back home, even though he was never the one to share his brotherly love for her so outwardly growing up. He feels a sort of appreciation for her that he didn’t quite understand when they were little. They are right when they say your sibling is your first best friend after all. 

He’d write about the second best friend he’s ever made, Eric. He’d write about how he longs for his presence, his encouraging words. His funny remarks, the pranks he’d pull on him. How he always appreciated him being just across the street, how he enjoyed growing up with him by his side.

He’d write about how much he misses you– perhaps the most out of everyone. There aren’t many words he could use to describe how much he wishes for your presence, and so he thinks the pages filled with sentences directed to you would be rather sparse, and it makes him kind of sad to think about. In his mind, you deserve novels written about you. You deserve love letters and poems and essays filled with every little detail of your existence. Maybe if Sunwoo loved you less, he would be able to talk about it more.

When his eyes go out of focus staring at the ceiling, Sunwoo decides to call you. It’s been 4 days since he arrived and he hasn’t spoken to you since you waved him off to the airport. His mother drove him and you couldn’t go to send him off at the gate, but Sunwoo almost thinks he prefers the fact that you only said goodbye to him in front of his house. It would be that much harder if he saw your face the last thing before boarding the plane. 

For the last four days, he’s been slowly settling in, taking in the new country and the new environment. He’d say he was just too busy to call, but that would be a lie.

He was just scared to hear your voice. Terribly.

What if you changed your mind? What if you no longer want to stay with him? What if it’s too hard to handle? And Sunwoo knows it’s hard– hell, it’s the most difficult thing he’s ever done– but all he wishes is for you to keep handling it well. To keep his heart in your hands gently, like you always have, sending him your energy.

He figures that if there’s one thing that can help his growing homesickness, it is to hear your voice. 

Sitting up from his bed and walking over to the bag he carried with him through the airport and kept with him on the plane, he scrambles through the item to find the piece of paper you forced into his hand on the driveway of his house. 

“We changed our landline yesterday, so call me on this number when you get there,” you said, pressing a kiss towards his cheek before you let him get into his mother’s car. Sunwoo promised to call back then– he hopes you don’t mind the delay. Maybe he could blame the timezones…

Hand thrusting into the front pocket of the bag, Sunwoo feels around and tries to fish out the little piece of paper. He’s 100% certain he put it there after he got into the car with his mum, making sure it’s safe and sound. He would hate to lose it– it was some sort of safety net for him. Something to fall back to, something to keep him above the water.

Panic settles in his chest when he doesn’t feel the soft piece of paper anywhere. The boy unzips all other compartments of the bag, turning it around, shaking out everything that’s inside. The phone number to your new landline has to be there somewhere in there. It needs to be.

When he doesn’t find it in his bag, he opens his closet. He throws everything out to the ground– his clothing, his shoes, the notebooks he bought for university– all in the search of the stupid, little, yet so important piece of paper. He searches through all his other bags. All pockets of his jeans, every centimeter of his folded clothing. All drawers of his desk, the whole floor, hell, he even crouches to check under his bed, blowing the dust bunnies out of reach, desperately hoping he could wish the paper into existence. He searches his bed. All possible parts where the landline number could be– some more unreasonable than others. Sunwoo feels like he is losing his mind.

The paper is nowhere in his room. It’s like it vanished. Was it really there at all? Did he dream that moment up?

Running down the stairs towards the landline, he takes the phone off the wall and punches in the numbers to your old landline, the pattern so familiar in his fingertips he couldn’t tell you the number if you asked, but he could recreate it with punching in the buttons in on any other phone in the world. He clenches his fist together, breathing more heavily as he listens in, praying for the universe to stop playing tricks on him and make you magically answer on the other side.

When the phone makes a dismissive sound, signaling that the number he called no longer exists, Sunwoo shuts the phone against the wall and takes it again, putting in your old number once more, like a summoning ritual. Maybe he put the numbers in wrong the first time… Maybe he made a mistake somewhere along the way…

When he gets the same response, he tries again. And again. And again. 

He can’t believe it. Tension settles into his shoulders, making him twirl the cord of the landline in between his fingers as a way to calm himself down, listening in to the dull noise on the other side telling him there’s nothing that can be done, nothing more that he can do. He doesn’t have the number, and somehow, although it sounds foolish, it feels like he lost you alongside it too. 

“Everything alright, man? You look–” Mark enters the room, peering at the boy with curious, worried eyes. It’s only now that Sunwoo realizes he is breathing heavily, fingers clammy on the cord, heart begging to run out of his chest to get all across the ocean to you. It’s only now that he realizes his cheeks are wet with tears, the solidification of his inner turmoil taking a physical form and appearing on his face, making him feel pathetic in front of the older boy.

Sunwoo once again puts the phone back to its original place, but this time, he doesn’t take it back and tries the useless old phone number again. Simply turning away from his roommate, he accepts his fate as he quickly puts on his shoes and slams the door shut after him, going out for a run.

Is this his punishment for waiting too long? Did the paper vanish out of his possession because he was deemed unworthy of hearing your voice? Should he have tried to look for the number earlier? Would this have prevented it?

It’s hard to run when your nose is stuffed and your breathing hitches with silenced sobs, he learns. Sunwoo doesn’t get as far as he would have liked, crumbling on a bench somewhere next to a playground, picking at the dry skin of his lips until they bleed and the irony taste on his tongue snaps him back into reality.

What was once his dream is starting to feel more like a nightmare. When he calls Eric two days after to ask him to get him your new landline number, he gets the news that you abruptly moved out to New York. 

September 2007

“If you really think about it, Y/N,” Sunwoo hums, making you shift your attention towards his serious-looking face, “we never really broke up in the first place.”

The boy is holding a bottle of cider in his hand, one of the four you got on your way to your tonight’s destination. Sunwoo rang the bell to your house a few minutes before 10 PM, and although you weren’t expecting to see him that day and you weren’t even looking as presentable as you’d like, you agreed to take a walk with him. Somehow, the two of you found yourselves climbing over the fence of your old high school, sneaking into the football field, figures settling on one of the benches of the tribune.

“Oh yeah,” you hum, lightness evident in your tone, “you just never called. What’s up with that, by the way?” you ask, snickering when you watch the male avert his gaze in a bashful manner, as if he was embarrassed to tell you his reasoning.

You take a sip of the apple cider, enjoying the sweet, fruity taste on your tongue, watching as the male contemplates his next response for a bit, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I lost your new landline number,” he peeps, voice barely louder than a whisper.

His answer doesn’t register immediately in your brain. The words take a moment to string themselves together into a sentence, taking another few seconds before you understand the meaning of his confession. A soft laugh drags out of your throat, disbelief coating your very essence. “What?”

“Yeah,” he nods, scratching the back of his neck before looking back at you, eyes full of guilt and shame, “I… I lost the number you gave me, and when I called Eric to try to make him get me your new number, he told me you moved to New York, and I guess… I guess I took it as a sign…?” he says, shrugging.

“A sign of what?” you ask, genuinely surprised to hear his answer.

All this time, you thought he didn’t call because he didn’t want to. You thought he didn’t call because he was too busy, too tired to deal with anything else other than his career at the moment. He was trying his hardest and training every day, so you understood that he wouldn’t have time for you every day. When he didn’t call for so long, even after you moved to the States as well– you hoped he’d somehow try searching for your number even then, because in your mind, everything was possible– one day, you just… stopped waiting for him to call. You stopped hoping you would hear his voice on the other side of the line.

And you accepted it. He realized long distance relationships were too difficult to maintain, especially in that time and age, and he had too many of his own worries to take care of before focusing his attention somewhere else. You didn’t resent him, no. You longed for him, you missed him, but you never once hated him for the decision he made. You wished him well, all this time. 

“A sign that… that maybe we weren’t meant to be,” he hums, shrugging. “It sounds stupid, really, but…” he trails off, cutting himself off in the middle of the sentence.

Something about his confession makes you feel a bit lighter. Your shoulders feel like there’s no longer anything weighing them down. It’s not like you waited for an explanation all those years and when you finally got one, something in you shifted into a more comfortable position.

“For me, back then, you were the right person, wrong time. And I didn’t want to let you go, I really didn’t, it’s just… everything was already so hard and the world seemed to put so many obstacles in my way of contacting you, that I thought it was the universe telling me to drop it and let you go. So you could… so you could find someone else, I guess…” he finishes explaining. He averts his gaze from you, pointing it towards the empty field, as if scared to see your reaction to his blabbering. He takes another few sips of his cider, snickering. “It wasn’t fair of me to want you to wait for me either.”

So you could find someone else… You think back to all the times you went on dates after you concluded that your relationship with Sunwoo was over. You try to remember their faces, their mannerisms in such detail that you could only make up one of your previous lovers– the one sitting next to you right now– and you chuckle at your foolishness. Remembering how you kept comparing every new person in your life to the one that stole your heart first, remembering how you thought about him late at night, wondering where he is right now and how he’s doing. You used to look through the sports parts of newspapers, looking for his name somewhere, looking for his team name, but never seeing a glance of how he was doing. You wore the stupid friendship bracelet he gave you in your junior year around in New York, having people point it out and ask about it, all until it broke off by itself  one day and you reluctantly said goodbye to the sentiment. 

You dated around after losing contact with Sunwoo. You don’t really think you found someone else, though. 

“I wanted to wait for you, though,” you say, shuffling closer to the male on the bench, voice sincere. “It was my decision.”

“Well,” he chuckles, “life had other plans for us two.”

His sentence makes you think. A few days ago, it would make you sad. Embarrassed, even. Life had other plans for you two and they didn’t align with what you two have calculated during the summer break after your senior year. Sunwoo didn’t become a star. His football career never took off. He finished his degree and came back home, bitter and heartbroken. 

Your plans ended just as fast as you came up with them. Not going to university after high school, you were left with nothing to do. When the opportunity to take an internship for a news company in New York came to you so suddenly, you took it without thinking, trying to find your place in the big world ahead of you. You had no plan, but you think that maybe, some part of you wanted to get away from your hometown all along. You wanted to do big things, make everyone proud. Being a news anchor wasn’t even something you dreamed of when you were little, so you guess you weren't supposed to really feel that let down, but the defeat still stings.

Or, at least, it used to. You find that the failure doesn’t hurt as much anymore. 

Looking at the male next to you, you think you know the reason why. “It’s okay,” you say, shrugging, “we figured it out anyways, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” Sunwoo sighs, looking at you with a soft smile playing with his lips. “I guess we did.”

The sound of cicadas hits your ears when you two fall into a comfortable silence. Healing old wounds was surely one of the items on your check list when you came back home, but you didn’t expect to get over things so quickly. You don’t think you would have been able to get over everything alone, though– and this makes you twice as grateful to still have Sunwoo by your side. A sense of nostalgia takes over you at the fact, but this time, it hits you with more fondness than longing for the old times.

“Remember how young we were? It’s like I still see you chasing the ball around the field when I focus hard enough,” you say, pointing ahead of you.

Sunwoo laughs, shaking his head at your antics. “Yeah. I almost see you leading the cheer practice in the back there,” he points, “in your cute cheer uniform, with the ridiculous pom poms in your hands–”

“Hey, don’t call them ridiculous,” you gasp, “they were my favorite part of the whole routine!”

“Oh, I could tell,” he laughs, poking fun at you. 

“Well, you must have liked the pom poms enough to stare at me during practice all the time,” you shrug, teasing the male back. The fact that Sunwoo had a crush on you long before you reciprocated the feelings wasn’t something you two explicitly talked about before, but you always deemed as clear as day. Or, at least, it was to everyone back then.

“I did not–” he gasps, making you gently shove him with your elbow.

“Come on, everybody used to say you had a crush on me back then,” you hum, “you were pretty obvious with it too.”

“You knew?” he looks at you, eyes big and surprised. Gears clearly running in his head, he tries to piece the information together, running through the memories now so distant, but still so clear.

“Girls always know,” you point out, shrugging. You take another sip of your cider, licking your lips after and speaking up again, tone of voice almost confidential. “I just acted like I didn’t. But then I realized I liked you back, so I was trying everything in my power to make you confess to me first. Which… took you long enough, young man,” you giggle, seeing the male shake his head at you in disapproval.

“You could’ve confessed first, if you were so confident,” he mutters, obviously a little gutted by the revelation.

“That would be below my level,” you nod, pressing your lips together into a straight line, “besides, it was fun watching you act all cute and clueless.”

“Don’t call me cute and clueless–”

“That’s what you were, though! Like the time when you got super drunk on your birthday and begged me not to leave–”

“I didn’t even like you back then!”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“I was in denial,” he furrows his brows theatrically, putting the empty glass bottle to the grass, “but I see that you had a lot of fun watching me suffer.”

“Fine, pretty boy,” you say, catching a glimpse of the boy momentarily shying away, presumably at the endearing nickname, his cheeks tinting pink even in the faint moonlight. “Would it make you feel better if I confessed first this time?”

“Huh?” the boy asks, lips parted, eyes a big, honest pool of honey.

Cute and clueless, you think.

The story comes full circle when you realize that this football field is perhaps what started it all. This is where you ran up to the new addition to the team, saying that your favorite number was on the back of his jersey. As the leader of the cheerleading team, you took it as your job to make every newbie feel welcomed– no matter if they were a fellow cheerleader or a football player. You didn’t expect for the boy to never stop wearing the number– although it was your favorite, it didn’t seem to be so important back then. (One day, you learned that Sunwoo kept the number on his jersey even after moving abroad. You read it in one of the sports magazines you foolishly flipped through in every kiosk you encountered and almost teared up in the busy store after.) 

This field is where you watched him play football every week. It’s where you both practiced, sending each other funny faces after the coach was mean to either of you for not being focused on your training. 

This is where Sunwoo found his passion– where he found his dream. This is the place that shifted the next couple of years of your life towards all sorts of directions. This is where he kissed you after winning a match, a gleeful confession slipping past his lips. This is where your relationship started, and metaphorically, also ended. The field that kept you apart is now a thousand miles away, but the one that brought you together is now right in front of you.

You guess it’s only right to use it for new beginnings.

“I think… I think I’m still in love with you, Sunwoo,” you start slowly, playing with your fingers in your lap, “well, I don’t know if my feelings for you ever ended… they could’ve, I mean, we were apart for so long… I just… all I know is that I don’t want us to be apart anymore, and I–”

Your words die on your tongue when the boy cuts you off with a kiss, the taste of apple cider mixing on your lips. The way he kisses you didn’t really change even after so many years, still swaying you with the familiarity of his loving. Still, even though you know the way he angles your jaw, the way he presses against you, the way he takes his sweet time, truly showing you how much he enjoys the act, you never grow tired of it. Something in you reacts the same way as when you were young. There’s still excitement, there’s still tender softness in your heart every time you kiss him.

His lips break apart from yours, a playful tint in his words when he speaks to you again. “Don’t try to take credit for it now,” he says, “because the last time I checked, we never really broke up in the first place, so you could say we were dating all along, all because I confessed back in–”

“God, you’re unbelievable,” you grunt.

“But you love me,” the boy says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it is.

“Always have,” you say, pressing a quick peck to his plush lips, “always will.”

The starlight glazes your cheekbones when you rest your forehead against his, as if to send him a telepathic message that is worth more than a thousand words. It’s hard to find the words to explain the mixture of your emotions right now, but when your memory washes up the encouraging monologue Sunwoo offered to you when you first arrived, you finally agree with his sentiment. Perhaps, one word could summarize it all– you feel truly content. 

They say you never forget about your first love. At 25 and still counting, you guess you could say that’s true.

#deoboyznet #sunwoo #the boyz #sunwoo fluff #sunwoo x reader #sunwoo angst #the boyz angst #the boyz fluff #the boyz x reader #the boyz scenario #the boyz imagine #sunwoo scenario #sunwoo imagine

[not-goldy]

Shout out to young JM who wanted Jk so bad it had him looking like a stage 3 clinger & shout out to Jk who has done everything in his power to keep that beautiful man once he had him & now a stage 6 clinger. Congrats. I keep thinking about when they were in NY the Megan BTB & how all those bags are sitting there & Jk instinctively grabs 2 and you see JM realizing Jk has his & doesn't have to get one, when the other members are holding theirs. SNIFFS. Its Jj carrying JM's bags & his shoes when they come off his feet. Rubbing his shoulders at any given point, cause one he wants to touch JM, but also knows JM is in pain all the time. Its him cooking the biggest pancake for JM & telling JM of course, you know I'll do it, when JM asked him to cook for him. Or only buying birthday presents for JM. Its him telling JM in front of the world, I'm your fan & hyping everything he does. Its him wanting to cut something cause he doesn't want JM's hand to get hurt or when Vmin were playing with a yoyo, it was JM who was given a lecture on Safety by Jk, about his fingers hurting & this is how accidents happen. Not a word when Tae was playing with it, but the minute JM gets it, his anxiety & boyfriending kicked in, just like when Tae was gonna flip his food & Jk said don't fling it at JM. Jk Coming after Suga with a Frying pan. Bulldozing RM out the way messing with JM. Physically moving Suga away from JM. Bulldozing past Tae to stand directly in front of JM & stare directly at him, when he was thanking Army for an award. Damn, he's just giving a TY speech, not accepting a nobel peace prize, Calm down. The way he guides JM walking up the steps or lets him walk ahead of him. The way he could hear the nervousness in JM's tone & he turns & nods and stares JM down giving his UN speech. Just reassuring JM with his little head nod, I'm here, beside you, you got this & if you notice it was when Jk turned to him when JM let out that deep breath/shudder & said sorry & had to shake it off. Just seeing JK's reassurance almost caused him to loose it. The way the others teased JM over it & Jk jumped to his defense, ready to take on all his Hyungs, but it was him in the end, who couldn't remember when he took a picture with Tae & said it was the day JM said sorry, it was all that stuck in his head. Every little detail he remembers. Even Jimin's grandma's birthday. There within 1 minute when JM called him on his bday live, dropping everyone. Even When he's missing JM he takes it public in front of millions and shows where his heart lies. Who owns his heart. Who he loves & doesn't care if he looks like a fool, as long as people know he's a fool in love. Look at how he chose the buddy system with JM, when he knew he had options & he & JM are complete opposites when it comes to thrill seeking. And how he has made himself look even more sus & clingy, by even saying anything about other branches (BTW his wants are valid and its very much okay if he wanted to do other things) but he still didn't go through with it & instead went through a timely process and enlisted with JM instead. Didn't even enlist on your own that would give you independence and thrills and instead followed JM with the buddy system to hell.

The things we do for love. And If he hasn't told JM yet that he is in love with him, which I am sure he has and or JM at least feels it, but if he hasn't, I hope he gets the courage too one day, cause doing all this, plus following someone to depths of hell, is an awful lot of loving on one person, for it to be for nothing. To do all this for someone, then go home empty handed. What a hell you have to live in that you created for yourself. FYI, I think JM is just as in love with Jk and he appreciates everything, because Letter says it & that he plans to give it all back, what he's received, and I know JM is a man of his word. In fact, I'd say Jk is pretty damn satisfied & gets it back, cause he's still there, standing next to JM, just like he promised. I've never rooted so hard in my life for two people, but these two, I hope it all works out for them and Whatever kind of love it is that they have for one another. I hope it lasts forever.

Damn the onions got my eyes😭😭😭😭🤧

[b0ther]

baby, no attachment

toji has nothing to do on a friday night.

pairing : fushiguro toji x reader (feminine pronouns. afab) rating : explicit, not safe for work (sexual content) type : short one-shot???? bro idk tags : deadbeat situationship toji, vaginal fingering, a bit of dubcon, the usage of the word “baby” and “sweetheart” word count : 870

author's note : title from 'casual' by chappell roan. idk what this is it's just hot... also send requests and i'll see what i can do cuz i'm stuck doing this commission and i need a breather lmfao. toji is so obviously an ass dude it's almost painful to me.

( masterlist │ ask/request │ ao3 )

Your not-boyfriend boyfriend who somehow always ends up spending the weekend in your apartment, bending you over in ways you never thought was possible is there once again on your queen size bed, one hand on the back of your thigh as you type away on your laptop, revising some stupid report due at midnight.

Swinging your legs, you tune out the sound of obnoxious ads playing from the television—and everything is going well until you feel Toji squeezing your flesh, rubbing the skin of your thigh up and down, occasionally tugging on the hem of your shorts.

“Don’t you have a fucking job to go to?” You say, irritated, propping your upper body to look back at him.

Toji shrugs, his hand behind his head against the wall. “No,” he continues massaging the inner part of your thigh, “Besides, it’s a Friday night. What kinda dork works on a Friday night?”

You slant your eyes, knowing damn well that he is probing on your buttons the same way his fingers are trying to probe on your clenching opening. You huff. He’s too easy to read—you can smell his excitement from where you are lying on your stomach.

“Not my fault Masuda’s a greedy bitch,” you mutter, turning your torso around once again, ignoring the obvious hardening bulge under his pants.

“Mhm,” Toji says in a concurring tone, despite not knowing your boss at all. He continues his touch, kneading on your thigh before slipping his hand under the loose opening of your shorts, his wide fingers palming the entirety of your ass cheek. “See, that’s something Masuda and I have in common.”

“Right,” you close your eyes, burying your face in your hands for a moment, taking in a deep breath as to not give him the satisfaction of hearing you moan. “And I so totally would let Masuda bend me over in my free time.”

Toji lets out a low chuckle, his point finger circling the jiggly surface of your ass. “You seem like the type of girl to let an old man have his way with you like that.”

He tugs on the band of your panties before letting it go, letting the rubber sound ring through the room.

With your eyes shut, you tell yourself to calm down. But you end up jerking back to him a little, seeking the heat emitting from his electric touch.

“Ohh…” Toji breathes, shifting on his seat when his middle finger slips in between your ass cheeks and is immediately greeted with how wet you are.”Masuda gotcha this wet?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you groan, pressing your face harder on the mattress, raising your hips to ease his access, now ignoring the impending deadline before you.

His thick digit is lubed up with just your juice—he wastes no time in prodding around the opening of your cunt while massaging your lips before pushing one finger in. Just as good as you remember it: thick, rough, spreading you open with a sudden thrust as he shoves another finger in.

“Fuck—” You gasp, freeing your face from the bed sheets, damp from your slobber. “God, Toji—”

He only hums, curling the top of his two fingers inside of you, feeling the way your walls mould to the shape of his fingers. You can never fill yourself up the way he does with just his fingers—anything else you’ve slipped inside of your soaked cunt, any other cock can’t satisfy you the way he does.

As he tugs your shorts and panties aside, you can feel the cold air of the air conditioner hitting your sopping pussy lips. 

“Hurry,” you cry—urge—for him, wiggling your ass. “Finger my wet cunt with your fingers, fuck me haard—”

“Patient,” Toji grabs your ass cheek, squeezing before landing a sharp slap on its jiggly flesh. He slowly drags his fingers out, also taking his sweet, sweet time in pushing them back inside.

“I don’t have all night, Toji,” you hiss, and he chuckles.

“Well,” he lands another slap on you, “I do.”

He curls his fingers again as you open your mouth, ready to launch another string of curses at him, and your mind is suddenly filled yet again with fogs. You feel drowsy with his fingers inside of you, like he’s able to dumb you down with two fucking fingers.

“Fuuuck…” You push yourself off your position, sitting on your two knees.

“Hmm?” Toji tilts his head at your newly found position, adorning his stupid face with a look meant to be innocent.

You snake your arm around his head and pull him in for a kiss, sinking down on his fingers. 

“Ohh, shit,” you mutter against his chapped lips, pressing your forehead against each other. You bite your lips, lifting your body before slamming yourself down yet again on him. “My baby’s sooo big,” you quietly praise with a laugh under a sluggish smile.

“My baby’s sooo tight,” he chuckles, mocking the way your words slur.

You roll your hips, running your hand amongst the strands of his hair. “You better finish what you started, you asshole.”

Toji licks his lips, pressing a firm kiss upon your lips. “I’m gonna be workin’ hard tonight, sweetheart.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #fushiguro toji #toji smut #jjk smut #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #toji x reader smut #fushiguro toji x reader smut #fushiguro toji smut

[liminsendhelp]

Hobie × Stranger. Part One

Where she appears as an inexorable omen

I translate with the help of a translator and my meager knowledge of English, all the marks are not on purpose and I am already ashamed of them. Have a good read.

Final warning. If you don't like anilingus on men, don't read!

Chest heaving with excitement. The wheezing and moaning. Head spinning, empty of thoughts and full of chemistry.

At every concert, Hobie is sober - to do otherwise would be disrespectful. He honestly hasn't been drinking this time either, he just can't escape the intoxicating pressure. The weight and warmth on his skin, on his tongue, on his voice.

They're in a place awfully small to be a full dressing room. Yet quite spacious enough to accommodate a couch.

Hobie feels a terrible heat at every point where their bodies touch. She's wearing a loose T-shirt and wide, rough fabric jeans.

He's not sure if she's wearing panties. Hobie has never once seen them. Or her face.

A month ago she just showed up at one of the concerts. Came up afterward, when he was signing autographs in the pattern of kissing cheeks, foreheads, noses with a dark lipstick imprint to anyone who wanted one.

She wore a mask that hid everything but the lower part of her face. Her mouth was filled with that sly contentment that only beasts of prey have. Seeing her among those wanting an autograph, Hobie joked back, hinting that a kiss on the lips was for a second date. A sharp smirk hiding equally sharp teeth settled heavily on the bottom of his stomach as she licked, throwing back her head and pointing to her neck. His weak spot. If ever Hobie had to fight against a Neck Supervillain, he'd go over to the side of evil.

To the hooting of his band, who were also 'signing' their lipstick autographs, and the fans who froze in anticipation, Hobie leaned into her neck. Her hands were immediately on his shoulders, pulling him in with a nudge. To leave a good mark without ducking his lips, Hobie had to place his hand gently on the back of her neck.

When he pulled away, looking at her satisfied smile, she patted Hobie's shoulders patronizingly and touched the bottom of his chin with a bent finger. Her action provoked another wave of satisfied humming.

She grinned unhappily as she watched their reaction, pulling Hobie's face to hers.

"I didn't mean it like that, sorry, dear," she hissed in his ear, "I didn't mean to embarrass you"

Hobie nodded, straightening up. His band really was, to downplay the reality of the obviously overexcited.

"Perverts," he threw at the roaring faces, curving his lips.

"Come on, Hobbs," someone in the crowd barked.

When he turned back around, the girl was gone. They dragged him off to sign autographs and then to the nearest underground club to get drunk. By the end of the night, Hobie had relaxed and seemed to let go of what had happened.

But lying on the couch in the dressing room, he remembered her over and over again. Fickleness, directness, imperturbability, unwantedness - he was spinning the words in his head, thinking how quickly he had fallen for the charisma and tangible authority of this girl. How quickly he'd gone over to the waves of her displeasure. It wasn't in his principles. He didn't take direct edicts. Nor did he perceive indirect ones.

Hobie Brown listened to no one.

"Louder, Hobie, louder for me," A husky whisper into his ear and his cock pressed against the hard denim of her pants.

He feels so vulnerable, so he moans out loud.

Her satisfied throat humming makes him want to cum on the spot. She swings slowly between his legs, pressing her weight against him. Her teeth scratch his neck. She runs her fingers through Hobie's hair, digging her nails into his scalp and pressing his head down. Her right cheek kisses the soft padding while his balls tighten as hot fingers lie just below his scrotum, teasing.

She lifts Hobie's leg in the air, throwing it over her shoulder. Kissing the bare dark skin, stroking her thighs, biting. The head burns when her hand rests on his cock. Hobie slides his hand under her t-shirt, scratching her back with desire to fight back.

But this tenderness in controlling touches. This craving for him. Not lust, pure waves of adoration. He feels ennobled and idolized, watching growing toothy smile on her face.

The next day, Hobie spotted her as he came out of the dressing room - actually an old converted staff room. Her gloved hand was clutching a mug of coffee, their old bartender Stan laughing squeakily at her joke.

Was she following him?

"What's up, America?" Hobie tossed in their direction. Stan turned to him, smiling.

"Still crawling, Hobie. Finally got your ass to us," Stan turned to her, tilting his head, "Long, but thin..."

"I understand. Windblown thing," she hissed. Hobie missed the old joke, taking a seat next to her.

Stan retreated to the kitchen for a second mug of coffee. Hobie watched her twirling hers in her hands without looking away.

She'd never once removed her mask in front of him. Hobie could feel the evaporation on her bare skin, much less her face under the tight fabric. But, shit, she was sweating so beautifully.

Hobie stared at the droplets running down her exposed neck as he gasped at the sensation of the clenching spring of arousal. Calloused palms traveled over ribs and belly, back to hips, ankles, stopping at his cock. She didn't touch fully, leaving a promise of power.

Oh, Hobie knew what those hands could do.

Every morning she appeared at the bar. Every morning of the week, no matter who he fought, no matter how much or where he slept, Hobie kept her company.

He asked her name, but the answer "Jane Doe" did not satisfy him in any way. She asked him not to call her "Mask," "Hey, you," not to label her, not to give her nicknames.

Not to label her. Hobie respected that.

Her hands were gloved. Leather and scuffed or thick black cloth. Either way, she took them off when she ate. Hobie pretended not to notice the scars on her knuckles.

One day she came in wearing work gloves, with a bloody face and hands. Her sharp pinkish teeth, bared when she smiled, imprinted somewhere behind his ribs. She wouldn't let Hobie or Stan treat her wounds, but agreed to wash herself in the staff bathroom.

When Hobie went outside, there was no one there. The closed trash can confused him, obeying his instincts he removed the lid, meeting his gaze with the guys beaten into mush.

Naked and bound, they lay curled up in bags of garbage. Hobie pulled a ball of cloth out of one boy's mouth.

"Please," he said weakly.

"What happened?" Hobi asked with a look of disinterest on his face.

"We were attacked," the shaky voice and general look would have relieved Hobie on any other day. But now he felt the lie in his words, "robbed and...You see it yourself," the guy bent down and coughed, spitting up blood. Hobie unfolded the piece of cloth, thinking of giving it to him, but stopped, examining the embroidered emblem. "Oscorp."

What a clever girl she is.

Hobie crumpled the cloth in his hand, shoving it back into the boy's mouth. He punched the jaw gently, only to knock out the battered meat. Hobie tilted his head back, checking both his pulse and the presence of the chip in the back of his head. Both bodies lacked hard seals, but a wound the width of one bloody finger was present. Due to the general condition of the holey sieve, it was difficult to find them at once, even assuming their presence. But she'd left a clue. Wanted Hobie to understand. He closed the lid, covered the tank with webs, and headed back to Stan.

Now Hobie saw the picture of what had happened.

And was betting his head that She was an escaped experiment.

He tweaks his toes and pulls her harder against him. Hobie shakes in the endless rocking rhythm with which the strong thigh in the rough fabric massages his crotch. She's still pressing and sliding her teeth over his neck and collarbones. Hobie is still trying not to scream or gasp. If she doesn't stop he'll go crazy.

But tonight, Hobie has lost the urge. He has to cum without touching his cock.

Sadist.

Hobie reaches for her belt, scratching her sweaty back in passing, and she stops for a second, watching.

He pushes the belt into her hands, presses his wrists against each other, and reaches forward. A sharp smile and moist lips open to whisper mockingly.

"You're so pretty like that"

She begins to straddle his wrists, never stopping talking about how good and beautiful and delicious he is. How beautiful his skin is, how softly his moans flow, how she's ready to keep torturing him until she hears the pleading. With each word, she growls harder and harder. Hobie only whimpers and raises his eyes to the ceiling.

When his hands are firmly bound, she bites his calf, runs her nose over it, and kisses his knee.

"Hobie?"

He can only shift his gaze expectantly to her.

"You can call me Mania."

She lifts him into the air, gently flipping him onto his stomach, kneels down and lies on top of him. The first bite comes on the scruff of his neck, and Hobie's voice trails off as she feels her palm on the base of his cock. She methodically brings them into a past rhythm, causing Hobie to leave pre-ejaculate on the upholstery of the couch. Her tongue becomes thick and long. Hobie can't hold back a whimper as he realizes what follows.

This is the second time in his life he's cleaned his gut and the first one didn't put him in at all. But shit, she, Mania, pushes her knee between his thighs, rubs her denim against the sensitive skin of his balls.

He shaves his scrotum for her! He shaved his legs! Completely out of his mind. Hobie's known her for a fucking month. Desperate idiot.

Mania licks, bites the back of his neck, back, shoulders and pulls lightly on the earring. Her right thumb circles his tip. Her left hand guides Hobie's ass, holding him close to her knee on each thrust.

He moozes and sobs. Resting his face in his hands, he bites the leather of his belt.

Hobie feels that fiery tongue all over his body, and freezes in painful anticipation as Mania descends to his pelvis. She sits back on her heels, pulling his hips toward her. Her heated tongue licks his legs and wraps around his cock, squeezing, sliding up to his anus and pressing lightly.

Hobie chokes out a groan, swallowing viscous saliva as Mania laughs quietly at his reaction.

"So good," she hisses.

Hobi opens his mouth to finally force her into action.

"Mania!" he moans as her tongue slips inside, immediately starting the motion.

Liquid fire slides inside him nonstop. Hobi feels wide palms on his thighs. The claws on Mania's fingers lightly graze his skin.

Hobie is sputtering from the inside out, but he wants more. He's weak. The thought of her claws on his neck makes Hobie start to pitch backward.

Mania's behind growls in unison with his increasing moans.

She picks up his rhythm, holding on even as Hobie starts to buck. Mania increases the amplitude of her tongue movements time after time, hitting his prostate. Hobie doesn't remember himself, doesn't know the moment he started repeating her name over and over again.

Claws dig into dark sweaty skin as she hears this mantra. Mania clutches his legs, speeding up. Her tongue vibrates, pressing precisely on his prostate.

Saliva drips down it. Her right hand collects it from the inside of his thighs, and wraps around his cock. Mania's movements don't feel like anything gentle or sexual. She is consuming him, reveling in the reaction. She literally wants his whole body. All of him.

Hobie is ready to give it to her.

The sharp claw barely touches him, moving down his shaft to his stomach as Hobi gives in. Mania moves her left palm flat on his buttock, squeezing. The other hand leaves light scratches on his back, more forcing him to sag, to submit to her tongue harder.

He clenches at an incredible rate, shuddering and screaming through his teeth as she continues to devouring him.

The tongue leaves his body, and a second later he's on his back again, beneath the dark and willing creature. Mania closes her hand around his throat, almost pressing her forehead against Hobie's. He's still cumming. There is no semen, but his orgasm holds him in its grip, left knotted in Mania's fist. She jerks him off at a furious pace, watching his open mouth and watery eyes.

"Louder, my love, louder."

He seems to be turning into a string, putting the last of his strength into his scream. Perhaps Hobie is still screaming her name.

The dark shroud of arousal before his eyes turns to the blackness of blackout.

At the other end of consciousness, Hobie feels Mania shuddering above him, finding her orgasm in his pleasure.

He sleeps until noon the next day.

#hobie #hobie brown #hobie smut #atsv hobie #limin

[know-the-way]

Miss Fisher and the Crypt of Tears Discourse(?)(maybe idk?)

So… at this point I’ve watched the entire 3 series and film. Twice. I was going to post episode reactions for series 2 and 3, but I really need to skip ahead to Crypt of Tears because I have… questions. If anyone knows the answer or potential answer to any of them, please weigh in because I am just… struggling to understand some of the narrative decisions they made here.

(Btw, overall I enjoyed it, so I don’t want it to seem like I’m coming from a solely negative perspective - obviously, the last 5 minutes in particular… talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, etc etc. I may do a separate ‘things I enjoyed’ post. I just needed to talk this out. lol)

****Full warning, this is a very long post, I am so sorry in advance.****

1. Alright, first things first - wtf do you mean it’s been a YEAR since she left Melbourne?! What was she doing that whole time? Like obviously, you could infer that she got caught up in local shenanigans and hadn’t seen everything to a satisfactory end yet, but I feel it would’ve taken maybe 1-2 minutes to just briefly explain that for the audience’s sake.

I also totally understand that they were attempting to make a stand alone project that could be independent of the series, so referencing where the series left off would be antithetical to that. HOWEVER, I think at the point where fans of the series invested $1 million… that should have maybe made tying up loose ends from the series a bit more of a priority?

I also saw that they hoped to garner new audiences from the film. And maybe it’s just me, idk, but - I’m a new audience and the only thing that brought me to the film was the knowledge that I had 3 seasons worth of backstory to immerse myself in beforehand. There are very few scenarios in my mind that would’ve had me watching just the film and nothing else. So… help.

2. Similar to question 1 - SIX WEEKS?! Where was she for six whole weeks? How did she escape the train? Was it like a Bear Grylls situation out in the desert for a while or did she have to barter with local villages or something? Just again… 1-2 lines of dialogue and I’d be good. Instead, I’m just sitting here confused like, “okay cool, I’m super glad you’re alive and stuff, but um… HOW?!”**

(**acutely aware that this is how Jack must feel all the time) (and he deserves a pint from the pub for his troubles ‘cause omg)

3. SPEAKING OF JACK - *r2d2 screech* This poor man. Jesus. How many times does he have to grieve the love of his life? It’s kinda rude at this point.

I’ve read articles with the writers where they talked about wanting Phryne to be strong and independent without emasculating Jack as a character. And I remember thinking, “Yes! They do such an excellent job of finding that balance in the show and it’s really satisfying. It’s one of the things I love most about their dynamic - the freedom to be themselves while still having this very strong collaborative connection.”

^These scenes, though? Whaaaatttt happened? 🫠 I don’t think it emasculated him, but Phryne’s almost non-reaction to him being there… grieving her... it comes off kind of insensitive and perplexing at its bare bones, to me.

Upon a few rewatches of that scene, I’ve been able to slowly formulate potential justifications for her behavior - i.e. she did tell him to come after her and he didn’t, so maybe she lost hope on her end and dove into the first perilous mystery she could find to help herself get over him. Thus, when she finds out he’s there for her memorial service, I could see her inwardly going, “Okay wow, it took me dying for you to make any moves whatsoever. Cool. Good to know I’m only worth the trip if I’m not here anymore. (Hence, the ‘And I’m very sorry that I’m not dead!’ line later.)”

Which would be a fair point, imo, and they do have a track record of just… infuriating miscommunication, but ultimately… it’s all still hypothetical. We aren’t given any actual, spoken insight into her motivations or feelings in regards to Jack (the smallest glimpse we get is her teary eyes outside the door at his guesthouse along with the “damn it, Jack” line). So, without any further follow-up clarification in the film - at face value, that scene is harsh and almost callous imo. And, despite their many conflicts in the show, there was never once where I felt they weren’t at least making an effort to understand each other. Like there is never a point in the film where they take a moment to acknowledge the time lost between them. They don’t get to have that (necessary) release of emotion and mutual understanding (there’s no nightcap moment), so it just feels incomplete.

4. I promise not to make all of these redundant, but the quicksand scene. Obviously, I love it ~*for reasons*~, but I found myself once again choosing a side (Jack’s)???? Which, throughout the entirety of the tv series, I never chose a side between them ‘cause I could always understand both of their perspectives. In this scene and the reunion scene, I’m left confused both times about Phryne’s perspective. Maybe because Mac isn’t there to pull the full truth out of her just afterwards? That’s probably it.

But her lumping Jack in with “any other man” she doesn’t need to explain herself to - either that was a fear response or a flat out dishonest one. Girl quit playin’… we all know he’s not just any other man and we all know he has never tried to change you or take charge of you. Please, the bottom-leaning switch vibes that come off that man… he LIVES for you telling him what to do. He doesn’t want to control you, he just wANTS TO BE BESIDE YOU. GOD.

I so didn’t want to be frustrated with Phryne (I love her**) and I was honestly upset that I was, but there was just something… missing in both these instances for me (vulnerability maybe? idk) and I can’t quite get it to add up. It really probably was a lack of Mac, though.

(**again, Me 🤝 Jack, complicated feelings for a complex modern woman, we’ll both be at the bar if you need us)

5. Last one - “Is this your idea of sweet nothings?” “I thought they were out of the question?” “They are. Continue.”

Did I miss a scene where they laid ground rules for their partnership going forward in Shirin’s case? Or was that something that was cut/not included? Because… if there was a scene of them discussing that before Jack agreed to stay… that would have taken care of most of what I said above in and of itself.

(But no fr… did I miss a scene? Is my copy broken? Help?)

Gonna Leave on a Positive Note, because if you asked me if the below scene made it all worth it, I’d have to say yes:

#mfmm #if i come off too heated - i promise i’m not taking it that serious #rant vibes but not an actual rant #just talking out loud

[tenebrius-excellium]

Okay I need to get one (1) more Avatar post out there because it really bothered me that I couldn’t quite place the movie in the “Good” or “Bad” category (for me that meant “Rewatch in theaters or not”). I have now decided that it is bad.

James Cameron strikes me as too intelligent a guy to ruin this movie this much. His neglect of characters & storytelling is outright malicious, ill intent at a point where he had 13 years to make it work. To betray your audience like that. Dude.

Nevertheless, there were some positives, and I’m gonna make a list of the goods and bads that made it so hard to decide and ultimately struck the deal for me:

~ Good ~

- The beginning. It wasn’t rushed, it was given some time to adjust to the universe again. It was smart enough, too. Like, the Songcord, the eclipse, the explanation as to how the switch to English happened and how Quaritch came back. The introduction of Kiri and Spider kept me on the edge of my seat, that was suuuuper creative!!!

- visuals, obviously

- I loved every Kiri/Spider interaction on screen, they clearly like each other

- Neytiri’s struggle. Neytiri’s grief, Neytiri’s wrath, everything about Neytiri. Her Ikran-riding is a spectacle each and every time. The movie knew that as a strength, and deliciously played to it. 

- the scene where Jake and Neytiri (and Neteyam) first rescue the kids was EPIC TO THE CORE. Remember the animal sound Neytiri made and that subtle, knowing exchange of looks between the boys as they recognized it was them coming to save them. The silence and tension of their guerilla stealth tactic approach. The anger. The brutality. The hatchet. Look, I’m not usually a fan of these jokes but Lo’ak giving Quaritch two middle fingers was so satisfying and so trademark Jake that I couldn’t help but enjoy it. 

- Metkayina village and Lo’ak’s bonding with Payakan. Also the underwater breathing butterflies hnnnnnnghhh so beautiful!

- Quaritch’s Ikran

- Spider having nothing to do but me understanding that well. Him retracing the history of the human/Navi conflict for himself before making his move is actually thoughtful and essential to me.

- the fact that the action picked up at the exact right moment after the prolonged, fairly dreamy middle part.

- that moment where everyone was getting off the ship and *just* peacefully trying to get away and then Quaritch provokes Jake and he’s like: “Well, then let’s get it over with.” Like, at this point, Jake didn’t even want to fight anymore. It was because Quaritch insisted on being inevitable, not because Jake had a personal vendetta against him anymore. That’s when Jake really became the heroic martyr Dad, not when he was riding towards the boat on his Skimwing because Quaritch had Tuk or whatever. Jake was not willing enough at first. He was going to surrender himself for all the wrong reasons. It was when Quaritch made it about a personal showdown that Jake realized he was doing it for his family and not for his pride anymore. So that moment - where Jake turns around on that ship and faces Quaritch, that moment was fantastic.

- the ship going upside down was a great development as well and far more cool than flying aircrafts crashing into random collateral trees. I may have thought of Titanic shortly, but ended up not caring because the context was different enough. 

- Kiri’s moment and her explosion in warm yellow. It was perfect. I wish I could have been her in that moment so badly. Just to be strange and beautiful and calming and helpful.

- Jake and Neytiri being able to visit Neteyam’s memory. I didn’t know I needed that kind of comfort at the end of the movie, but I did and I’m glad it happened.

~ Bad ~

- welp. Things got repetitive real fast and I was catching on to the fact that this movie would not become any more original the longer it took. How many times did Quaritch kidnap the kids? Three, four times? Come on.

- Soundtrack was nonexistent-boring. I expected far more.

- too many loose ends. Ronal’s behavior wasn’t explained, the Tulkun raid did not build up healthily and therefore randomly took up space that was meant to get us emotionally invested but didn’t, the brain amber thing was thrown in without further mention, Jake didn’t have an arc, Kiri’s seizure, and so on and so forth.

- the overall absence of character development, characters in certain situations, and logical plot. Oof. 

- Tsireya got a hotgirl moment like it was Baywatch and I found it very off-putting.

- Neteyam’s death was (almost) effectively pointless because we weren’t rooting for him. He did not have a personality or an established arc. I’ve seen people saying that Tsireya’s love story with Lo’ak should have been given to him, and I agree. Lo’ak had his hands full with arcs while Neteyam seemed like a ghost.

- Jake was inactive, ineffective, passive, absent, ugh I know I’m ranting. I expected him to form some kind of counterattack but he just...didn’t? Why?

- Final point: The bullying. That was by far the worst part for me and the reason I deem Avatar The Way Of Water ‘bad’. The Navi people were supposed to be somewhat better than humans. They were supposed to “see” each other on a deeper level and treat each other with more respect. Not to say they can’t have quarrels, but not like this. I can’t really believe there supposedly hasn’t been any previous exchange between the Navi races to the point where the differences of their appearance would be this alienating. They of all people were supposed to appreciate each other’s vast uniqueness. Bullying seemed to be Aonung’s entire personality - he deserved better. On a side note, the kind of bullying displayed was so 2010 and I was so over it. So done. So boring and unimaginative. Weak and unnecessary. 

Anyway, this was the deciding element that made me go “nope, I actually don’t want to see this movie again because I will have to sit through that scene and I will loathe the entire experience because of it.” Yup. Sorry.

If I see the movie again on DVD or something, I will always end up skipping that scene because it’s just too stupid for my taste. Du-dum. 

All in all, great start, wonderful creative elements. Progressed poorly. Ending okay and hopeful. That’s it, now that I got this off my chest, I can hopefully stop talking about this movie.

#avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #wherethekiteflies #avatar 2 analysis #avatar the way of water analysis #analysis

[rovoii]

Twst oc: Loiere

Meet Loiere!

Here is some information for you guys to know him better

He is from Zombie island [I haven't thought of a name yet but it's where zombies live at and he's a zombie : D] .

I decided to put him in octavinelle, I was thinking if I should put him in savanclaw or octavinelle but I decided to put him in octavinelle.

His unique magic is called "keep your eyes on me"

This is how it works -> When "Keep your eyes on me" is used on to their target, the target movements, mind, and everything else that they use to do anything would be removed, they won't have control over their actions. They would be unconscious, and the user would be able to possess the target to their use. Which is completely theirs

The main effect of "Keep your eyes on me" is that when it's used on their desired target, the target won't be able to take their eyes off the user, they will follow the user, give them whatever that they need until they're satisfied just basically like a doll. After it's used on them they won't remember <- end.

He has been attending Nrc for about 2 years now ✌.

In the island of zombies they are extremely wary of humans from their past experiences they had with them which I will tell you guys in another blog

Since they are wary of humans and most of them are prejudice towards the humans while Loiere is the least violent towards the humans

Loiere pretends to be a human at Nrc, he has this specific makeup that covers his stitches which is handmade, perfume to hide his smell, and also wears gloves.

He does these things to protect himself and a must do, no exceptions [It was an order from the King of zombies ^0^]

A downside about trying to disguise himself as a a zombie is that when magic is being used on him for example : Off with your head

When it's cast on him, there is a stitch on his neck [it's vulnerable/weak spot] which causes his head to fall off to the ground and he would loose consciousness until the magic is broken

Another downside is that non-human would smell a weird smell of Loiere immediately

Loiere goes by any pronouns

Loiere is naturally pretty, he has a magicam and has a few thousands of followers [my favoritism is showing]

There is another zombie that will be attending Nrc very soon! I hope everyone will look forward to them ^0^

That will be all! I hope everyone will look forward to my other twst ocs!

#twst original character #oc #twisted wonderland

[kai-1412]

Shelter

[Disclaimer: This Oneshot is inspired from the short film 'Shelter' by Porter Robinson. There are some parts where I changed it so don't expect it to be exactly the same as the short film~]

Word Count: 3522

Date Published: July 19, 2021

Kaito has been living his life in this world as far as he could remember. A world where he can control everything with the use of a tablet and a pen, drawing the type of world he desires but as good as it might sound like, the feeling of loneliness can never be replaced with the power to control this world he didn't want. He doesn't know if there is also someone like him, someone who can accompany him and build a world where it's only for the two of them. But no matter where he looks, there's nothing but only him and the world he created.

Watching the empty message on the tablet, the only thing he's certain is the day everything came into existence in this little world of his. 

3255 Days.

It's been more than 8 years since his existence here came to life. Kaito doesn't have any memories of how he got here, only the tablet, a small room and the vast white canvas of an empty world, waiting for its creator to form a beautiful art with his hands. Kaito can draw anything that he desires however there was an exception, he couldn't draw another being like him. If he did, this world will only make out a shaped of it from a rock or a plant based from what the world he created is all about. 

The first time he opened his eyes in the small room which provided a bed, bathtub, and other necessary things like his clothes and the tablet, nothing else was there except for him. It took him about 3 days to learn that the tablet he possessed controls the empty world around him, which he greatly regretted as a child when he drew a not so entertaining and disturbing world he once saw in his dreams.

Letting out a sighed, he sat up from his bed and let out a yawned while stretching his arms up in the air. His daily life begins with taking a bath, changing into some fresh clothes and then, the magic begins. After taking a bath and changing into a plain loose blue shirt and grey pants, he sat crossed leg on the blue sheet covered bed and grabbed the silver tablet and pen. After thinking for awhile, he starts drawing causing the world around him to changed. 

From a plain white world, everything changed into a vast meadow with a field of different types of flowers, a river, a giant tree and finally, a cliff beside a high waterfall. The giant tree is placed by the end of the cliff with a blanket placed underneath it and a bunch of pillows.

Satisfied with his creation, Kaito stepped out of the small room and walk towards the tree with the tablet in hand and lied down on the blanket covered ground. Sleeping would only be a waste of time which is why he sat right up and grinned widely as he starts drawing something. 

After its done, a group of white flying creature (dove) starts appearing around him where they're happy to see their master again. This is one of the few things he discovered upon having a strange dream in his sleep. He may not create another being like him but he could make the ones who are a bit different from him, animals from the book he found in the room he's confined in.

It's only been a few hours before he started getting sleepy with the doves resting on his shoulder and head, yawning as he finally lied down on the soft pillows surrounding him and then, right before he could close his eyes and let the tiredness take over him, he hears a voice.

"Kaito."

A gentle whisper of his name was what he heard causing him to sit up straight, looking around to find the source of the voice but despite circling around the tree and peeking down to the cliff, he didn't find anyone. Strange, was he hallucinating? Or was it caused by the world he created? No, for the passed 8 years of being here, it never once created any sound that will form words, moreover a name he only knew from the tablet he's holding.

"Ugh, just who said my name? I swear if I find them I'll- ACKK!!"

Suddenly, he was crashed by something heavy causing him to face plant to the grass with the heavy thing still atop of him, who surprisingly let out a groaned. Kaito shoot his eyes opened upon hearing this, with his heart beating abnormally fast to the possibility of what crashing him right now being what he thinks it is.

"Could it be?.."

Slowly, he lift his head up and turned his head to see a person who looks exactly like him, staring back while equally surprised as him. Azure eyes, dark cowlick hair, pale skin and a confused expression on his face. The bright sky above which cast a shadow from the tree hitting his face and the falling feathers of the dove above resting on a branch made the unknown person crashing Kaito seem... breathtaking. 

"Another... me??"

"... Strange, I didn't drew a moving puppet who looks like me."

After the person said that, he stood up and dusted himself with the indigo eyed guy still excited and surprised to the appearance of what seems to be the same being as his. The azure eyed person started looking around and then looked down to the white tablet he's holding which, Kaito only saw causing him to look at the one he's holding as well. Is it possible that there is actually two creator in the vast world they're in? Due to it's seemingly infinite space and wideness, they failed to crossed path due to the great distance up until now? That-

"Who are you?"

With a threatening and curious gazed presence in those captivating azure eyes, the person back away while preparing to draw a weapon that can defend him from the unknown person before him. Kaito immediately started talking before anything bad happens to him, while carefully and cautiously approaching the azure eyed person.

"I'm Kaito and I've been here for 3255 days now. Is it safe to assumed that you're also like me, Mr...?"

"Shinichi. Just call me Shinichi. So there's actually another being like me here huh? Strange, I've been in this world with the same number of days as you but I never crossed path with you, nor this world you currently created."

Shinichi, too, has been in this world with no memories of how he ended up at this place. He was able to quickly adapt and it was fine until 5 years went by when he started to begin getting lonely. Shinichi felt like something was wrong, like he wasn't supposed to be alone here and that he needed a companion to be with him. That day, he started to do anything in his knowledge to find another one like him. From doing the same as Kaito by drawing a person which failed, to exploring this vast world they are in. And then, he finally found Kaito. 

He doesn't know how and why but all that he knows before falling from the sky, and potentially killing Kaito from landing on him, was that after waking up from a strange dream, a name pop out of his head which he spoke unconsciously. Once the name came out of his mouth, his world began disappearing little by little and then, he found himself falling down to a pitch black void. Shinichi thought he was gonna die but before he could close his eyes and accept his fate, the dark world around him turned into a bright blue sky where he finally fell down onto the person he has been searching for. 

Finally, with a smile on Shinichi's face with the thought of no longer being alone, Kaito let out a sighed of relief and chuckled while rubbing the back of his neck and offering his hand to him.

"Now that we found each other, I'll be in your care from now on, Shinichi~!"

***

Everything changed the moment Kaito and Shinichi started staying together. The two separate tablet disappeared as well as the room Kaito always stay in when they opened their eyes the next morning. What they find is a much bigger room where the double bed they're sleeping on turned into a king sized bed, one single blue tablet with two pens, a much bigger bean bag and another wardrobe is placed beside Kaito's. It was a changed where the world itself has decided to let them be together, where Kaito and Shinichi can finally stay together in comfort.

During the first week of being together, it was strange with how well they suddenly got along. Like this is not the first time they have meet each other and that maybe, just maybe, they somehow knew each other just before their life began in this world. They weren't sure but just the thought that they finally have someone by their side is more than enough for them, their past doesn't really matter now at this point since they have each other. 

Right now, it's already been a month since they met each other which, also, marks their 9 years of their existence here. While sitting down on a giant baby blue bean bag, with Kaito resting his back on it and Shinichi in between his legs with the tablet in hand, Kaito smiled with the warmth contact of Shinichi's body. Who knew he will became this attached to him to the point of feeling something strange and foreign in his chest?

Whenever he sees Shinichi smiling, his heart never fails to flutter. Even if he has a scowl expression on his face whenever he fools around him, the butterflies in his stomach never left knowing that Shinichi, too, enjoys his company, very much. Moving his gazed to the tablet, Kaito raises a brow when he sees Shinichi drawing something. Where is he gonna take him this time~? Little by little, the walls in the room they're in started disappearing as Kaito finally sees the breathtaking world Shinichi created.

A vast body of water can be seen with the beautiful sunset at the horizon, with clouds and the sunray reflecting onto the water like a mirror. He never saw something like this before, however... why does it feel like he has been to a place similar to this? But rather than a beautiful sunset there was-

"The moon." 

Kaito muttered under his breath as he stare at the world eyes widen, he definitely has been to this place! But where? And with who?? Suddenly, he sees a flash of memories before his eyes causing him to let out a groaned, gaining the attention of the other male leaning on his chest.

"Are you alright?? Kaito-"

Shinichi's words where cut off when he sees the drawing he did on the tablet disappearing and being replaced with something else causing him to panicked a little and faced Kaito, who is also seeing it. The pain stopped but the changes happening around them didn't. Buildings started appearing in the previous white canvas world and just like that, Shinichi experience the same feeling of falling once more but this time, rather than a dark abyss everything is bright with a mixture of white and blue, with Kaito pulling him tightly in his arms protectively. 

Little by little, they started seeing various memories of their past which both stunned them with all of this precious moments they regretted forgetting.

[Memories of the Past]

The very first time they met as the Magician Under the Moonlight, Kaitou Kid and the high school detective in the body of a child, Edogawa Conan a.k.a. the Kid Killer. A duel they didn't knew will be the start of something much more exciting, thrilling and of course... an unexpected passion of love for one another that will soon bloom the longer they meet.

A time in need where Shinichi's cover was almost blown, with Kaito disguising as him to saved him from being discovered by his childhood friend, Mouri Ran. Also the day where they started to feel something strange towards the other, something that makes the empty void in their heart slowly disappear as it was being replaced by the unknown feeling they didn't know they needed... which they soon discovered was called 'Love'.

Every single time they meet at a heist and the an unexpected case while stumbling upon each other, with each moment being the realization that they have let someone in their heart, someone they are willing to welcome with open arms.

The day Shinichi finally took down the Black Organization the same day Kaito found Pandora and taking down an Organization that is after it. Also the day where little by little, they started opening up their hearts to each other without any hesitation.

Finally, the memories they both treasured with all their heart during a trip to the salt lake in the Bolivia, where they waited for everyone to leave after enjoying the view of the sunset, not knowing the breathtaking view of what's to come right after with the bright full moon and billions of stars appearing that night. The day they also conveyed their feelings and ending the night with a kiss under the moonlight.

With every memories they recovered are tears that's streaming down on Kaito's face, with the detective tearing up while covering his mouth upon remembering everything. Their childhood, their parents, their close friends and.. the flame of love for one another.

Kaito tighten his hold on Shinichi when one last memory is shown, causing both of their hearts to ache knowing exactly what this memory is.

The accident.

It was any normal day for them where they're currently out on a date, celebrating their 3 years anniversary however just as they were crossing the road hand in hand, an unexpected car chase with the police officers and a fleeing murderer caught them by surprised. With no time to save themselves, Kaito pulled his lover in his arms and closed his eyes shut as the approaching blinding headlights of the car came hitting the both of them off the road.

The police successfully captured the criminal however... a bad taste was left in their mouth and memories after finding out the reason for their success operation. Kuroba Kaito, a well known magician throughout Japan and even overseas and his beloved lover, Kudo Shinichi, a well known detective with no unsolved case, laying down in their own pool of blood, severely injured in each other's arms, still hand in hand.

Both of them were left sitting down into the dark abyss, with tears in their eyes with the tablet their only source of light illuminating in front of them. After all this time, they have a wonderful past together where their beginning didn't start in this world they consider their home, how could they forget such an important part of their life? Most importantly, why are they not dead?

Suddenly, Shinichi heard a ping noise from the tablet. For the passed 9 years of waiting for such a noise to be heard, he couldn't believed he'll hear it now where they regained their memories. Shinichi doesn't know what to expect but still, he wanted to know it. With his trembling fingers, he pressed the message icon and there, a hologram message appears in front of them.

To Kudo Shinichi & Kuroba Kaito,

We don't know when you'll received this message but hopefully, you two did. It was a tough decision to make after the tragic accident that nearly ended both of your lives. We didn't know if it'll be a success or not but we did our best.

Everyone misses the both of you, we truly do. But since we got our own things to say, we wanted to cut this short.

Please don't worry about us and... be happy.

Right after reading it, multiple messages starts appearing before them with the names of the sender written on top.

Mouri Ran. Nakamori Aoko.

Suzuki Sonoko. Koizumi Akako.

Hattori Heiji. Hakuba Saguru.

Mouri Kogorou. Nakamori Ginzo.

Detective Boys. Haibara Ai. Hiroshi Agasa. Konosuke Jii.

Police Task Force. 1st Division Metropolitan Police Department. FBI. CIA.

Kuroba Chikage. Kudo Yusaku, Kudo Yukiko.

Every people important in their lives has left them a message which was too overwhelming for them to read properly. To think they did something that really changed their lives, something that they now think was too good to be true with their memories back. Both of them knew who created this world they now treasure, someone who has been a huge part of their lives that will do the unimaginable just to give them the second chance and freedom that they needed. 

"They really did too much for us."

With a trembling voice, Shinichi chuckled as he wipes the tears that has finally streamed down his face with Kaito snickering and loosening his hold around the detective. And just like that, the dark world changed as the familiar vast meadow and beautiful bright sky came into view. Just like the first time they have woke up into this beautiful world. Their shelter that was made by everyone. 

Kaito stood up straight and quickly wiping his tears, finally facing his Lover with a bright smile on his face while offering his hand out. 

"We got a lot of time in our hands now, Shinichi. Let's not waste another second being apart."

Shinichi smiled back while shaking his head as he remembers the first time they have meet in this world. His Lover didn't changed one bit despite not having their memories back then. Maybe that's why he fell in love with him once more? Grabbing ahold of it, Shinichi answered him back as he tackle the magician on the ground, laughing together as they got up and started chasing each other with the tablet in hand.

"It'll be a pain taking care of you again but, I don't mind. "

"Minna (Everyone), Arigatou. (Thank You)"

***

Quiet footsteps can be heard to the long dimly lit hallway of an underground laboratory, with a 21 years old scientist opening a top secret door with the use of a card that only has two copies of it belonging to the Professor she treats like his Grandfather. Upon entering, she walked closely to the cocoon shaped machine with wires and such attached to it. Haibara smiled as she sees Kuroba Kaito and Kudo Shinichi resting inside, with wires on their back and hands intertwined with one another as they faced each other laying down on their side. 

The accident nearly ended their life but with some miracle, they survived however... they only escaped death by a string when they were left to rely on a life support system that will keep them alive, never to be woken up again. It was a heartbreaking news for everyone which is why Haibara, Professor Agasa and a few of their friends decided to create a world for them. It didn't take long for them to create one however, they needed to use a type of drug that will shrunk them down back to their young selves. The flaw in the machine is that it needed the user to start as a young age for the virtual simulation to worked and with a few discussions with everyone, they agreed to use APTX4869. 

"To think you guys are finally the same age as me. I hope you two are doing alright in there, even though 9 years already went by since then, we still missed the both of you. Kudo-kun, Kuroba-kun."

This is the math of their age, hopefully it makes sense LOLOL. I reduced 10 Years of their aged when they took the drug.

17 Years Old/ 7 Years Old (When they first met)

19 Years Old/ 9 Years Old (Successfully achieving their separate goals of taking down an Organization and Shinichi getting his body back)

22 Years Old (3 years in their relationship and the age they both got into an accident)

12 Years Old (After taking APTX4869)

21 Years Old (In the virtual world they're living in)

Haibara Ai

7 Years Old (When her body shrunk)

9 Years Old (Taken down the Organization)

12 Years Old (When the tragic accident happened to the Lovers)

21 Years Old (9 Years went by )

#kaishin #kaito kid #kuroba kaito #kudo shinichi #detective conan #magic kaito #kaitoxshinichi

[sukirichi]

closer | gojo satoru x reader

a/n: aaah my first ask and it’s a request! thanks so much this is so kind and sweet of you 🥺 and here it is! I’m not sure if it’s exactly what you wanted but I hope you like it anyway! 

summary: in which Gojo has the need to be closer to you after a long day of hard work

pairings: jealous! Gojo x reader

warnings: none, other than this isn’t proofread! (This is just a fluffy domestic short fic!)

masterlist ! 

The best part about being the strongest jujutsu sorcerer isn’t the power (although Gojo basks in that too) but rather the fact that he allows himself to completely tear his walls down and be putty in your hands once he comes home from work.

Gojo would never say it out loud that the best part of his days is waking up next to you, pressing kisses in your still sleepy face and you whining for five more minutes, then watching as you wobble like a penguin to the shower so you can start your day. Although he doesn’t really ask much from you, his heart still swells every time you make him a sandwich, kiss it and claim that it’s “made with love” before he proudly shows off his ‘breakfast’ of the day to his students.

Even in work, he still thinks of you. It’s quite impossible for this man to stop thinking of you; you and him never left that honeymoon phase even after two years of marriage and a much longer time of dating.

He could be exorcising a curse then get distracted afterwards after seeing an Italian restaurant that he just knows you’ll love. Next thing you know, Gojo flicks his wrist and exorcises the curse in a flash before hopping into that restaurant to look at the menu. Loving is knowing; Gojo takes the time to see if the restaurant would be respectful of your allergies every time before booking reservations.

It’s no secret that this man is completely enamoured with you, if his sappy good morning kisses accompanied with light, teasing touches down your legs is not an indication already. Gojo is confident and feels safe in your relationship and he’s never the type to get jealous because Gojo is Gojo – who else would be better than him for you?

Or at least that’s what he used to believe, until he comes home with a bag of pumpkin spice bread for you, arms wide open and a “Darling~” about to leave his lips when he sees your current predicament.

Nanami is leaning against one of the chairs in your cafe downstairs from your home, the usual stoic man’s lips and cheekbones slightly raised in laughter as you tell him something about your day. Gojo can’t exactly understand the worse falling from your lips because he’s too focused on the way you’re leaning forward, eyes absolutely crinkled into half-moons while you share a strawberry tart with him. Gojo sees the cups of tea have already been emptied, meaning Nanami has been here for a much longer time than he is welcomed.

Gojo clenches his jaw. He’s told you many times you should get a bell so you’d know when a customer comes in, but now he’s thankful you’re stubborn and refused to have one because he can hide in one of the propped up tables and chairs hidden in the darkness.

He can’t help the sigh he releases. He’s late – like he always is.

You’re a regular human who isn’t able to see curses. You’ve only ever known about their existence ever since you started dating Gojo, but other than that, you’re completely unaware of how these things work. It doesn’t bother Gojo. In fact, he quite likes that he can be just a regular man around you, and he basks in the comfort of not having to worry about your safety if ever you were also like him.

He met you when you were just still a barista who helped your boss bake from time to time. Gojo was only a student then who hopped from one cafe to another in search of the best delicacy, but he got more than what he bargained from when he met the fresh-faced and bubbly young woman standing behind the counter whose smile was sweeter than the most sugary dessert you’ve ever made.

As the two of you grew older, Gojo supported you in building your own cafe since you’re so passionate about it and it’s been your dream since childhood.

He still remembers how you’d spend hours in the kitchen trying out new ingredients, so much so that you forget to eat on most days. Gojo is left with the task of literally hauling your ass up upstairs and force you to shower with him. You lie that you’re not really tired, but the moment his skilled hands roll the tension out of your shoulders, a contented and grateful sigh paints those lips he loves to kiss.

One of the things Gojo loves doing with you is taste-testing. He’s not around the house most of the time when you work since he’s a busy man himself, but on the days he actively chooses to annoy Principal Yaga and go AWOL, he’d sit obediently on the counter and let you use him as your own taste experimenting dummy.

When night falls and you’re just about ready to head to bed; satisfied and proud of another day of hard work, Gojo comes home early to help you clean up the cafe and prop the furniture so you don’t overstrain your muscles.

Or at least, he wants to come home early to help you. It’s just that he often gets carried away on his missions and stays behind a lot longer than he’d like because the world of curses is extremely demanding. After seeing that you probably already lifted all these heavy chairs and cleaned up everything by yourself even when you’re tired, and you still have the ability to smile and laugh like that in Nanami’s presence when he should be the one on the receiving end, Gojo is unable to fight back the twisting feeling that pools in his stomach.

Forcing a huge grin on his face, Gojo loudly smacks the paper bag in the table between you and Nanami, his hands resting on the blond’s shoulder who only groans at his presence. “Yo!” He greets, winking when your eyes gleam brighter now that your husband is home.

There’s no trace or hint of anything that could indicate you’re upset with him because he didn’t come home early. Instead, you bow and excuse yourself while picking up your cups and the small plate where remnants of your signature tart had been, and Gojo watches with longing eyes as you disappear in the back room.

Now that you’re gone, Gojo drops in your seat, takes off his blindfold, and glares at Nanami. “Nanamin,” he drawls out. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here – getting chummy with my wife, no less.”

Gojo knows he’s being petty and childish. Of course he is. This is Nanamin we’re talking about; the man is as frigid and stone and he’s as interested in romantic relationships as much as he respects Gojo Satoru. Plus, it’s you, and you have eyes for Gojo and Gojo only, but it’s also Gojo Satoru who’s mixed in the formula, and he’s not the least bit ashamed that he’s being immature right now.

Of course he’s jealous. Of course he’s possessive.

You’re his sweet, little wife – of course he doesn’t like it.

As if reading his mind but couldn’t be bothered to deal with him, Nanami slides an envelope across the table. “Ijichi took a sick leave so he couldn’t give this to you. I was tasked to hand it over to you instead so I came around. It’s not my fault you come home late and your wife insisted I have a short meal before I came home,” Gojo opens his to retort something stupid when you emerge from the back, pretty face tired yet still patient as ever.

“Leaving already, Nanami?” You smile up at him, hand slipping through Gojo’s bigger and rough ones. He doesn’t know why the gesture leaves him stunned, especially when you step close enough that he feels your heat on this sudden cold night. He’s so entranced by everything about you he doesn’t even notice the blond bidding his farewell.

Gojo watches as you turn to face him, smaller hands reaching up to caress his face. Now that his blindfold is gone, his hair falls down to forehead, your dainty fingers brushing them away from his eyes so you could marvel in its beauty.

Like a little kid, he melts into a puddle when you do that exact eye-smile he’s seen you do with Nanami, only this time, it’s reserved, private, and intimate.

Gojo shuts his eyes in the process, nearly stumbling forward, which he doesn’t really let happen with anyone because he’s the Gojo Satoru; strongest jujutsu sorcerer. But you don’t mind, you never do, and if anything it only makes you laugh when he pretends to be deadweight by collapsing into the crook of your neck.

“What a big baby,” you tease with your hand rubbing up and down his back in a soothing motion, all the tiredness and exhaustion from his day disappearing into thin air.

“Yes,” he concedes as he follows you up the stairs where you both change into your pyjamas and settle in for the night. “But I’m your big baby.”

The nickname makes you laugh, head thrown back as giggles erupted in your chest. You’ve already removed your makeup, hair down from your work hairnet and flowing in loose waves. Gojo stifles a gasp then, because you’re in his arms, in his bed, smelling like him, and you’re so soft, so free, so vulnerable and the way you lean into his shoulders while he rubs his cheek on the crown of your head makes him feel like he’s falling in love all over again.

He’ll never get tired of this – of you.

The mere thought of seeing you with someone else that isn’t him doesn’t sit well with Gojo. Now he understands why he’s so jealous and immature – it’s because he hasn’t wanted anyone or anything as much as he loves you.

He can’t imagine a life where he’ll wake up to his mornings without your limbs sprawled across his longer ones, or how he may never hear your sleep talks about birds and butterflies; which is utterly ridiculous, but because it’s you, he finds it adorable. Sometimes Gojo wonders how he ever even lived before meeting, but of course, those were days filled with nothing but him doing weird stupid shit.

Not that he’s stopped doing that, but now at least he’s doing those weird stupid with you.

And he only ever wants to share those with you, so he doesn’t and will never allow anyone else to take what’s rightfully his. You’re his wife, the love of his life, the sunshine in his mornings and the sunset of his beautiful dusk.

He doesn’t care if he’s petty – he’s got every right to be jealous because Gojo Satoru never shares what’s his.

When his mind races back to the way you smile for Nanami again, his hold on you grows tighter. You don’t complain when Gojo suddenly presses his lips into yours, a breathy moan blessing his ears once he finally moves on top of you. Gojo runs his hand under your – his – shirt, letting those talented hands of his roam upon the expanse of his skin like an artwork he’ll never get tired of looking at.

“Missed you,” he mumbles in between the lip-locking, leaning closer when your nails start to scratch his scalp as a way to soothe him from the night. Nothing about the kiss is hurried or fervent; rather, it’s calm and steady, slow and passionate, much like how everything he feels for you is similar to a calm, rainy day where he’ll stay in with a hot cup of chocolate.

You’re home – warmth and comfort – and you know you’re his just as he knows he’s yours, but it doesn’t stop him from kissing you like he wants you to never forget that.

You shiver when Gojo’s fingers tickle your ribcage, that spot always having been sensitive. Your husband swipes his tongue over your lips that still tastes like strawberries from your lipbalm, and he groans, falling forward when you allow him access into your sweet, sweet mouth. Meanwhile, you travel down from his hair into those broad, strong shoulders that always seemed like a fortress to you.

Gojo was so big and strong compared to you. There’s no denying he could easily break you if he wanted to, but he’s nothing but gentle – perhaps a little eager – when he holds you like this.

There’s no memory of how you end up on top of his lap that night with the covers barely strewn across your bodies, Gojo’s back pressing into the bed frame that’s witnessed endless nights of passion. His hands then run over your hips, squeezing it a little too hard until you rut against his hips.

“Hmm,” you moan into his mouth at the friction, while Gojo only smirks at your reaction. Even after years, you’re still so sweet, sensitive, and responsive – he just can’t get enough of it. “Satoru,” the way you say his name is so breathy, almost as if it’s a secret only the two of you should know, so he listens intently at your next words. “You’re a little needy tonight. Did something happen?”

“No,” he lies, smiling to himself once he sees your lips are red and bruised. He’s sure he looks the same, but your eyes are glossed over with love that he can’t resist you pulling you to him as if the space offends him. He trails his lips down to your neck to leave red patches of marks that claims you as his – not that the gold wedding band on your fingers wasn’t doing the job already.

Like the good girl you are, you tilt your head and allow him to do as he pleases. He sucks, licks, kisses and nips at the skin, all the while careful to not hurt you or push you over to the edge since both of you are too tired for the day to ever do anything.

Your head drops to the crook of his neck then, arms wrapped around his shoulders loosely as if you trusted him to catch you whenever you fall – and you know he will. He always will.

Later on, you grow sleepy at the way he starts to pepper kisses into your skin that addictingly smells like cinnamon and vanilla all at the same time. Gojo chuckles to himself at how peaceful you look in that moment, draped over him like a tiny puppy who lives in a world too big for themselves, but that’s not true.

You’re bigger than the universe itself, larger than the vast galaxies he held beneath those eyes, and Gojo finally stops being jealous.

There’s no need to be, after all, not when he’s the one you trust wholeheartedly to tuck you in bed while your soft breathing lulls him into slumber as well. Gojo flicks the lamp off with his finger, not wasting another second before he scoots closer, closer, closer until there’s no more recollection of where you begin and where he ends.

He stands corrected in his statement.

He’ll never get tired of this, of you, for you’re bigger than the universe itself and there’s still a lot of space between the two of you that he can’t wait to cross until your worlds crash and burn.

“Next time,” he promises before kissing your eyelids, “I’ll come home earlier.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo-satoru-x-reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #gojo satoru x reader fluff #jjk fics #jjk romance #jjk one shot #jjk goto satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo x reader fic #gojo x reader romance #gojo x reader one shot #gojo x reader imagines #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #jjk headcanons #gojo satoru x reader imagines #gojo satoru x reader scenarios #gojo-satoru-x-reader fluff

[inkandpen22]

The Princess and The Pogue (pt. 2)

Pairing: JJ x Reader / Topper x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: swearing, underage drinking, mild fluff 

Part Summary: After the Labor Day Gala, the Pogues take Y/N back to the Chateau. There, JJ takes the chance to finally talk to her and Y/N starts to show the group that not all Kooks are the same. 

Masterlist

JJ offers you his hand as you climb off of the HMS Pogue. He takes note of how soft your hands are, silently loving how tightly you're squeezing him. It makes him feel needed, but then he starts to wonder why would a girl who has everything possibly need him? You have the world at your feet and he only has loose change in his pockets.

The ride over to The Cut helped your intoxication ease up. You're still not confident enough to drive a car but capable of staying awake and be witty. You and the gang of Pogues approach the chateau, a place unlike anything you’ve ever been to. It’s colorful lights illuminate the yard and fire pit waiting to be used. JJ presses his palm to your back, worried that you may lose your footing, whether it be because of the uneven ground or your state of mind. Kiara leads the way into the house while John B and Pope linger behind, observing as JJ dotes on you. As he arm wraps around your waist slowly but surely, they exchange knowing looks. What JJ might see as progress, you view as a friend of Sarah’s being helpful. It’s not that you don’t find JJ attractive. You’ve noticed him around over a dozen times. You’ve always been friendly, but JJ has been nothing but reserved around you. You just wish you had spoken before tonight, under these circumstances. You figure he must view you as most Pogues do Kooks, as stuck up and spoiled. The screen door leading to the porch squeaks, breaking the silent stroll.

"OBX Princess has probably never been on this side of the island before," Kiara teases playfully as she enters the house to fetch you something to drink.

"I have actually," you state loud enough for Kiara to hear from the kitchen. "There's a little shop I like over here but even then, I will confess, it’s a rarity that I get to see this side of the island.”

“You talk about The Cut like it’s something worth seeing,” Pope jokes.

“Of course it is,” you reply though knowing he was only messing around. “It’s far more natural looking than what we call “nature” on the Figure 8. John B’s yard is more welcoming than the meticulously gardened one at my house,” you giggle lightly as you look around the porch. 

The three boys all exchange quick glances, surprised by your backhanded comment about your half of the island. They would’ve predicted that you’d have nothing bad to say about your well-do neighborhoods considering you’re supposed to be the ultimate Kook.

"Sorry, it's a little messy in here," John B apologizes as he begins to toss things- from bathing suits to cereal boxes- off the couch.

You still linger by the front door with JJ close beside you, watching his best friend fuss. "It's perfectly fine, John B," you assure the boy with a soft smile. "Thank you."

"You never clean up for us," Pope mocks his friend in passing as John B heads inside with his pile of clothes.

"Oh shut up," John B nudges Pope in the shoulder, making him fall back into the armchair. His action only making Pope chuckle harder.

Shyly, you step over to the old couch, taking a seat at the end closest to Pope. JJ rocks on his heels nervously, unsure where to put himself. He wants to sit next to you and place his hand on your leg but he also doesn’t want seem like a total creep. Awkwardly, he determines to lean against the frame of the screened-in-porch. He's thankful that your attention is focused on Kiara as she returns, handing you a water bottle.

"Thanks," you smile, earning a similar expression from the Pogue. She settles down on a folded chair across the coffee table from you, watching as you crack open the bottle lid.

"How are you feeling?" JJ checks as you swallow.

"My heart feels like it's in my throat," you confess, swallowing hard, wondering if that would help. "But the fresh air from the ride helped immensely."  

Pope frowns in the chair just beside you. "How many grams do you think you smoked?"

You shrug, starring off at the coffee table to think. "Couldn't tell you. It felt like I was in that locker room for ages though. I think Rafe buys his joints from a buddy of his from this side of the island," you glance between the three Pogues.

John B pops back out of the house. "Well, I suggest never taking anything from Rafe again," he exhales deeply as he settles down on the spot at the opposite end of the couch from you.

JJ internalizes a scream as he watches his best friend share the couch with you. ‘Look how easy it is you idiot!’ He thinks to himself. ‘All you had to do was sit next to her, it wasn’t like you had to put on a performance or anything!’

"Noted," you nod with a chuckle. Your brows scrunch together as you reach up into your hair. "Geez, this thing hurts," you huff under your breath. You begin to remove all the bobby pins your mom shoved into your hair and place them in your lap. She insisted on you having your hair up to show off the dress she picked out. Your hair begins to fall naturally in strands. Relief already spreads across your head.

JJ's lips part as he watches your perfectly shiny Y/H/C hair fall over your shoulders. If it didn't sound so creepy, he'd ask if you'd need help. He squeezes the wood panel behind him, suppressing his urge to run his fingers through your hair. "If you... uh..." he stammers, capturing your attention.

When your Y/E/C eyes meet his blue ones, it only makes him blush more. His fellow Pogues stare at him with a confused expression. Kiara wonders to herself what he was even trying to say. John B slouches in his seat as he turns his face away from you, begging for his friend to pull himself together.

JJ clears his throat, "if you... uh... want a change of clothes I could grab you something."

You nod, appreciative of his offer. "That would be great, thank you!" You hated this dress and everything required underneath it. You much rather be in shorts and t-shirts all day if you could. There's always been a piece of your that's been envious of the Pogues, it doesn't exactly matter what they wear as long as it's functional. Being a Kook means being done up 24/7.

JJ presses his lips together, giving you a sharp nod before jogging inside to find you something to change into. John B follows behind him, claiming that he's going to grab a case of beer for everyone. He watches as JJ has a quiet but expressive hissy fit all the way down the hall to the guest bedroom.

“Oh my God! Could I be anymore ridiculous!” The boy jumps up and down.

"JJ and Y/N sitting in a tree..." John B sings over his best friend's shoulder.

"Shut up, man," JJ grumbles, shoving his buddy away from him.

John B doesn't leave him alone, following him to his bedroom and standing in the doorway. JJ's room at John B's is utter chaos. He's in and out constantly that it's never been completely put together. All he has is a bed, an old butterfly chair from Kiara, and a chipped dresser. JJ's satisfied with though, as long as he doesn't have to go back to dad's house.

"You haven't stopped starring at her since I picked you guys up," John B snickers, watching his friend dig around his drawer for something clean. "Since when do you let people borrow your stuff?"

JJ stops his actions, pressing his palms down on the dresser. "She's... I don't know..." he struggles to find the right words as he focused down on his ring-covered hands. "I mean, you’re seeing it right? She's not like the other Kooks. I don't why she hangs out with those guys."

"Have you spoken to her before tonight?" John B asks, moving to sit on the end of JJ's bed.

JJ turns, leaning against his dresser with his arms crossed over his chest. "No, but you remember that night at the Boneyard?"

"How could I forget? You wouldn't shut up about her for weeks!" John B teases.

JJ grins, recalling the first time he ever saw you. "I didn't even know her name. Then, I saw her at the Cameron's here and there. I learned her name from Topper of all people. He called for her to join him in the pool. Whenever I was over there, she's smiled and waved at me. Then again, does that with all the workers the Cameron's have over there I guess. She’s just a nice person, treats everyone the same. I kept telling myself that the next time I saw her I'd talk to her... obviously I chickened out each time. Have you talked to her before?"

"Uh yeah, on occasion," John B exhales, trying to recall the times. "The first time I met her after the Boneyard, she and Sarah were tanning on the Cameron's dock while I was cleaning their boat. Topper and Kelce came over and Sarah went to go get them. I accidentally dropped a wet cloth on Y/N while cleaning off the side railings. Any other Kook girl would've had a fit, but Y/N just laughed. I don't know if she would've reacted the same way if Sarah and others were there, but I like to think she would've."

A soft smile appears across JJ's lips, his admiration of you only deepening. He envisions you laying out and the wet rag landing on you. No doubt John B freaked out and rushed out random apologies. You wouldn’t have been pretentious or hostile about the accident, that's not you. A reassuring smile would’ve immediately appeared on your face as you tell him it's alright.

"She tossed me the cloth with the brightest smile," John B continues with a soft snicker, proving JJ’s prediction. "And actually offered to help. Right when she was about to lend me a hand, Rafe and Topper came jogging down the dock. They got all defensive and led Y/N toward the house. It was ridiculous."

"I honestly hate those guys," JJ clenches his jaw.

"Y/N's cool though," John B tells his friend, pushing off his bed to stand up. "One of the most real Kooks I've come across."

"I can't believe I've never talked to her before," JJ huffs, tossing his head back.

"They're untouchable, you know? It's always been us vs. them," his buddy pats him on the shoulder as he heads toward the door.

"Not anymore. I don't care if it's impossible. I have to know her," he states with determination.

"She's here now, use that to your advantage," John B advises.

"Plan on it," JJ mutters to himself as his friend steps out into the hallway.

He had you here, within reach. JJ wasn't going to just let this opportunity pass him by. Topper, Rafe, the guys he hated that constantly have you in their hold aren't anywhere near here. He may never get a chance like this again. JJ's had this overwhelming feeling in his chest since he first saw you last summer. He knows you're meant to be his, not Topper's, not Rafe's, his.

As you and Pope continue your conversation about the history of the island, JJ appears in the doorway. He offers you a neatly folded stack of clothes ranging from an old AC/DC t-shirt that he stole from his dad to some old shorts of his that no longer fit. The Pogues wonder how long it took him to perfectly fold everything together. Your hands glide over his during the exchange and he ponders the sensation of your skin against his.

'You're so warm,' he thinks to himself.

"Thanks again, you have no idea how uncomfortable strapless bras can be!" You giggle as your rise to your feet to go change.

"The actual worst," Kiara agrees dramatically as she stands from her seated position. "Hey, I'm gonna come with you, I left my change of clothes in the bathroom!"

"Awesome!" You grin, following the girl inside.

Once you and Kiara have disappeared JJ plops on the couch next to where you would've been. He rests his elbows on his knees and hides his face in his hands. “Jesus and all that is good!" He yells, muffling the noise into his palms.

"What?" Pope laughs at his friend's expense. "Hoping she'd ask you to help undress her? 'Oh JJ, you're so sweet!' 'JJ, brush my hair!'” Pope mocks in a high-pitched voice.

“‘JJ, I loovvee you'," John B adds to the mix, pretending to pucker his lips at his friend.

"I think I'd actually go for a dive in the swamp if she asked me too," JJ concludes, coming to terms with how bad he has it.

"Just tell her! Put yourself out of this misery," Pope advises, earning a laugh from John B.

"It's not that easy," JJ groans, resting his head on the back of the couch.

"Why not?" John B presses.

"Because I don't wanna scare her off!" JJ snaps.

John B hosts a reality check for his friend. “Dude, you and almost every guy in the OBX are pleading for Y/N’s attention, including Topper and Rafe! You’ve seen how close Topper is to her, that’s what you’re competing with,” he reminds, making JJ’s heart sink. “Pull yourself together and impress her!”

“Be yourself of course,” Pope adds, ever the level headed mind. “But yeah you really need to step up your game. You’re sinking like the Titanic,” Pope mocks.

“It’s painful to watch,” John B adds with a laugh.

JJ exhales deeply, taking in his friends advice. How could he possibly compete with boys from the Figure 8. They’re your closest friends and have so much more to offer you. What you have with Topper is what JJ wants with you. Now he’s stuck wondering how he’s going to get it.

_______________________________________________________

After you finish changing, you find everyone outside. JJ swings in the hammock while Kiara and Pope sit on a log by the firepit talking. You approach the pair, feeling much better in JJ’s clothes.

"So, what did I miss?" You ask, clasping your hands together.

JJ didn't hear you coming, so when he glances in your direction and sees you in his clothes for the first time, he feels as though his head just exploded. His shorts are nowhere to be seen underneath the t-shirt that lands just above your knees. The collar is so worn that it nearly hangs off your shoulder, completely bare. Your loosely curled hair rests tucked over your one shoulder. He sits up to get a better look at you and nearly loses his balance in the hammock. The object rocks to the side and JJ curses loudly, catching himself from almost falling out. When he looks up, you and his fellow Pogues are staring at him, suppressing your amusement.

"Anyway...." Kiara breaks the silence and answers your question. "We were just about to start a fire. I actually promised Pope I'd help him find sticks-" she explains, rising from her seated position. "-He's afraid of going into the woods by himself," she adds in a whisper as she passes by you.

You giggle. “Anything I can do to help?" You offer.

"Nah, John B is looking for the lighter and more beer, so I think we're all good," Pope sighs and gives your arm a gentle squeeze. "Rest!"

As the pair disappear into the woods, you turn your head in JJ's direction. Right as he sees you turn, he falls back onto the hammock, pretending to have not been paying attention. You approach the blonde boy with a charming smile. JJ feels his heart skip with each shift of gaffle beneath your feet.

You stand over him, hands interlocked in front of you. "Can I join you?"

"What-" JJ's mind goes blank, forgetting how to speak English for a second. "Oh! Yeah! Yeah!" He rushes out, sliding over to the far side of the hammock to make room.

You lay down beside him, your body pressing against his. JJ finds it hard to breathe with you so close. You simply stare up at the stars. They're not as visible on the other side of the island with everyone's mansions blasting out so much light pollution. Your hand brushes against JJ's and he holds a ruthless internal battle. Does he hold your hand? Does he not hold your hand? What if you don't want him to hold your hand? But what if you do want him to?

"So, when you're not making drinks for Kooks, what do you like to do in your free time?" You ask the boy, not realizing that he's losing his mind.

JJ remembers what Pope and John B said, he has to pull himself together. He swallows hard, trying his hard to speak to you without stuttering like before. "Surfing mainly, hanging out with my friends, taking the boat out," he lists fluently, internally patting himself on the back. "What about you?"

"I love to travel, swim and go sailing," you name and there's a pause between you two.

JJ longs to hear more, but your mind begins to wonder as you stare up at the stars. JJ turns his head to the side, admiring how the glow of the Christmas lights in the trees shimmer against your tanned skin.

"Sometimes I'll be on my parent's boat by myself, and it takes every bit of me not to sail away," you mutter quietly, distant-mindedly. "It doesn't matter the destination. I find myself looking out to the horizon and dreaming of sailing out forever. I don't even think I'd look back..." When JJ shifts, you embarrassingly comprehend how much you rambled on. "Sorry, that just got really deep."

On impulse, JJ places his hand over your's giving it a slight squeeze. "No, no, I liked it! Tell me more?"

Your eyes flicker down to his hand resting over yours on your thigh. JJ hadn't even realized what he had done until he followed your gaze. He prepares to move it, but then you begin to flip your hand over, allowing your fingers to interlock. A rush of electricity rushes up JJ's arm from your hand. A wave of peace consumes him, something he hasn't felt in... well... forever. JJ watches as your eyes glide up and meet his own, the ones that made you awestruck on the boat ride here.

"What would you like to know?" You whisper into the small space between you two.

He shrugs, starting to feel relaxed around you and not a total spaz. "What else do you like? What's your favorite song? Movie? Show?" He lists one after the next.

You giggle at his enthusiasm, earning a grin from the boy. "Um okay..." you lick your lips, deep in thought, not noticing how the action made JJ swoon. "Well, that's kinda a hard one because I can't really select just one movie or song or show. What about you?"

He raises his brows, not having expected to answer himself. "I like The Beach Boys, Rusted Root, The Animals, Simon & Garfunkel-"

"Ah, Mrs. Robinson," you name with a smirk.

"You know them?" JJ looks surprised.

You laugh, kind of offended. "Do you think the Figure 8 is under the water like Atlantis or something?" You joke as your eyes fall shut with laughter.

JJ grins, glad to see you coming down from the events of earlier tonight. He was really worried for a while there. "I like your laugh," he mumbles before he has the chance to stop himself.

Taken aback, you turn to attention back to him. His eyes pour into yours with such admiration that it nearly makes you lose your breath. "I like your smile... when you show it," you add at the end with a smirk.

"I smile!" JJ pops himself up on his elbows, smiling with amazement at your remark.

"I think I may have seen it one time ever and that was earlier tonight," you describe with a giggle. "I always smile and wave at you whenever I see you with John B at Sarah's and you just ignore me. If you didn't help me tonight, I would've thought you hated me," you admit shyly.

JJ's face falters. He never realized that his shyness could make you think he ever hated you. If he wasn't kicking himself before, he surely is now. As you avoid his gaze, he lays back down beside you. Your eyes remain up toward the starry sky, too embarrassed to look at him.

Turning onto his side, JJ reaches out and tucks his fingers under your chin to make you meet his gaze. You do so, seeing his blue eyes starring into yours with a glimmer of guilt. "I don't hate you, Y/N... that would be... impossible," he whispers.

His words make your chest sink, but not with dread, with longing. How is it that this is the most you and JJ have ever spoken to each other? When you're with him it feels so normal, natural even. "Well good, I'm glad," you reply, feeling your cheeks warm up.

JJ leans forward, closing the space between you two even more. His brows scrunch together and his hand glides across your cheekbone. "You care about what I think of you?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I?" You wonder. You cared about what everyone thought of you, as every teenage girl does. Yet, for some reason, you care most about what JJ thinks. You suppose because of the circumstances of how you met. You'd hate for him to judge you or make assumptions because of a bad night.

"I'm just some Pogue," he shrugs, dismissing himself as nothing. "And you're..." he swallows hard, his eyes falling from your eyes to your lips.

"I'm what?" You press further, eager to hear what he has to say.

"The Princess of the OBX," he recites your nickname across the island.

You roll your eyes, focusing your eyes back toward the sky. "That name is so superfluous." You hated being called that. It made you feel like you were constantly on display, for everyone to gaw at, or worst, ridicule. Plus, it was Sarah's title first. It feels like you're always being compared to her, especially when you're out in public with Topper.  

"I don't know what that means but I bet it is," JJ snickers.

You giggle lightly at his confession. You appreciate his quickness to agree, despite not knowing what he's agreeing with exactly. Growing more confident as he talks with you, JJ gains the courage to reach up and brush strands of your hair away from your face. Subconsciously, you lean into his touch, your lips brushing against his palm.

"I like your hair. It's so shiny and soft," he compliments softly.

Your eyes flicker in his direction as you turn your head into his hand. "I like your eyes. I like how blue they are, they're the bluest eyes I've ever seen. They remind me of soft blue sea glass." They're intoxicating to you. If weren't so shy around JJ, you'd be staring at him every second.

"I like how nice you are, even to those you don't have to be," JJ names next.

"I like how generous you are, even to a Kook like me," you continue the exchange of compliments with a self-deprecated snicker.

"No, don't say that," JJ shakes his head repeatedly, disapproving of your remark against yourself. When you roll your eyes, dismissing his words, he slips his other hand from yours and brings it to your face too. "I like you!" He confesses, much to your surprise and his own. "...Even if you are a Kook," he adds jokingly under his breath.

Your heart races as your chest rise and fall rapidly. JJ's eyes flicker about your face, anticipating some sort of reaction. Even if it's a rejection, he needs to know what you're thinking for his sanity.

"I like you too," you lick your lips nervously. "Even if you are a Pogue," you smirk.

JJ chuckles softly at your play on his words and is in disbelief that this is happening. For a year he's been so obsessed with you and one night has opened you up to him. He's afraid that he'll wake up soon and it was all a dream.

JJ props himself up on his elbow again, bringing his other hand down your cheek to glide around the side of your neck. "I'd like to kiss you," he mutters a matter-of-factly, his eyes locked on your lips.

Gently, you bring your fingertips to his hairline, brushing his disheveled blonde locks away from his face. "I'd like that too."

Goosebumps course over your skin before JJ even brushes his lips against yours. The anticipation is enough to drive you wild. Despite wanting this moment since forever, JJ is hesitant to make a move. Slowly, he brings his face closer to yours, hovering mere centimeters from your lips. With hooded eyes, your focus remains on his lips, eager to feel them against your own. After reminding himself of how much he wants this, JJ swiftly presses his lips against yours. They're as soft as silk and taste of spearmint. Your fingers slip through his hair to the back of his head and your gather the strands into a fist, deepening the kiss. JJ releases a deep moan at the action. Needing more, he moves to hover over you. As his legs become intertwined with yours, he glides his free hand down your side to grip your waist. You bring your hands to the back of his neck, pulling him down closer to you. You feel as though you'll never be fully satisfied. His touch is like a drug to you.

"We got the sticks!" Kiara shouts as she and Pope emerge from the woods, startling you both.

"Got the beer!" John B announces he steps off the porch.

JJ breaks the kiss, flying up from his position too quickly. He loses his balance on the swinging hammock and sways to the side. "Oh fuck, here I go!" He swears, rushing to catch himself on the ground.

You yelp as JJ falls off the hammock onto the dirt beneath you. Followed by a thud, you lift yourself up, peeking over the edge of the swinging object. "JJ! You okay?!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," he groans, his eyes squeezed shut as he catches his breath. "But I think my leg went the wrong way there for a second."

Kiara and Pope are oblivious to what just happened to their friend as they start up the music and fire. You slide off the hammock and land on your feet. "Here, take my hands!" You offer the hurt boy as he continues to exhale shakily.

"I don't think-" Before JJ can finish, he's flying up off the ground with a good yank on the arms from you. "Damn, Kook! You're strong," he compliments, making your heart race. Grinning ear to ear, he presses his palm to your lower back and pulls you into him.

"Are you sure you're okay?" You check again, worry woven in your tone and on your face.

"Absolutely Baby," he nods, leaning in to plant a kiss on your forehead.

"Come on guys!" Pope calls over to you, tossing sticks into the pit. He does a double-take, processing that he just saw JJ leaning down and giving you a kiss. "Did you guys see what I just did?"

"Yep," John B rushes out as he clears his throat awkwardly.

"A thousand percent," Kiara confirms, pretending as though she didn't.

"And here it goes!" John B exhales deeply to his fellow Pogues. Despite being happy that his best friend finally has his girl, he and the rest of the Pogues are well aware that a pairing like this comes with severe consequences. 

_________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @starkeythinker @bethii1 @thegunnerkelly @cc13723things

#topper #topper outer banks #topper obx #topper imagine #jj maybank imagines #jj maybank fluff #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank fic #jj #john b routledge #kiara #sarah cameron #pope #obx fanfiction #obx jj #rafe obx #obx #outterbanks

[tth-pdf]

Burning for love; JJK [03]

Contents: Smut, little bit of dirty talk, supernatural themes, romance, fluff, unedited.

Pairing: Werewolf!alpha!jungkook x omega!reader

Summary: A handsome man is hunting you in the dreams world, making every day more difficult to repress the need to come find him in the middle of the night to submit yourself to his every wish.

Requests: ON

A/N: Hello angels, sorry for the LONG wait, was so busy with school and depressing myself, but here it is, I tried to do my best and please also remember that English is not my first language be kind (😩), sorry for any grammar mistake, enjoy it and take care besties! 💖

Jungkook was insatiable, he just couldn’t seem to get enough of you, he has already fuck you senseless on the kitchen counter, the sofa, the living room floor, the restroom sink, simply everywhere, but he seem to want more and more and more, he wanted so much that you could hardly believe it.

Right now you were waking up, feeling incredibly good, feeling like everything was fine, but those emotions were gone as soon as common sense started to come back to you. Yesterday, Jungkook’s hands everywhere, that incredible first orgasm, but the one who made it happen… His scent, his bright eyes, strong arms making you feel like you can do it all, but above all the interest he had in you, what makes you feel on cloud nine it’s the way he seemed to be mesmerized by your expressions and sounds, knowing right where to touch without a doubt. Almost every space in your skin was painted by the ferocity with which he seems to love you, that marks on your skin being the carnal representation of your wonderful night but insecurities started to rise right at this moment, your mother will be mad, she will yell at you that in the pack were more suitable omegas for alpha Jungkook, the nasty glances and the possibility that some of the females in the pack may try to take what is yours, damn, the mere thought of it makes your eyes turn bright red provoked by the sudden rage coursing through your body. Immediately sensing the unpleasant feelings in you Jungkook comes out of the bathroom, wet hair and drops of water running down his body, making your mouth water, so just like magic your body and inner wolf instruct you to crawl to the end of the bed and touch him, to offer yourself to him, second thoughts completely forgotten by now so you follow your instincts and touch and admire from his hard abdomen to caressing his broad shoulders and just show him that look in your eyes, the one he knows like the back of his hand consequence of all the hours spent admiring and getting to know your body.

“Little girl woke up hungry?”

A hand of his goes to your waist and the other caress your cheek and just like fire can light up the darkest place your senses explode inside of you and once again everything feels a hundred times more, all the textures around you, you can hear the sounds of children and women playing in the distance, even the steps of the smallest animal but his deep chuckle brings you to him again and you feel like melting. Even kneeling at the edge of the bed he is much taller than you, (like a shelter for the most difficult moments in life), warm and golden skin beneath your fingertips and the delicious beating of his heart calming all your nerves and insecurities.

You look right back at him with the same intensity, different shades of golden dancing in your eyes while his are different shades of deep purple, the connection between both of you more palpable than never, trying not to break the eye contact you turn your face to his nearest scent gland, which means is his wrist, basking yourself in his delicious aroma.

“I see what you are at puppy, but I’m afraid that I can only deal with you once before I leave”

His last words hit you hard making you feel like drowning and desperate from one moment to another.

“Are you leaving?, I thought that this days… Were for us”

He can see your teary eyes making him wish he had never said that, breaking his heart a little.

“Don’t be like that baby, I will make sure to end that meeting as soon as I can to come back to your arms but you will have to be a good girl and wait here”

You know he is in a hurry but you can not help but want submit to his wonderful hands and simply seduce him to have him eating out of the palm of your hand, have him only for yourself and memorize all his features.

“You promised it, you said you were going to make me a priority always, you lied to me”

You weren’t usually like this, but when he is around your common sense flies out of the window, so while you're throwing a tantrum and moving uncontrollably under his body he grows impatient and his alpha instincts kick in, putting with undeniably force both your wrists above your head and growls, the signal he’s giving you to submit, the air in the bedroom changing its way.

“Pretty girls know how to wait and to obey their alphas, I already told you I was sorry puppy and remember that I don’t fucking owe apologies to anyone, if I knew this wasn’t important I would have told them to fuck up, you should know your place baby, but good news for you, I’m feeling like even though you have been a little bit of a bad girl you deserve to remember me all over this pretty skin while I’m gone, isn’t that what my puppy wanted, huh?”

He manhandles you until you’re comfortably seated en his strong tights, holding his gaze you can see all the things he wants you to know, all that shit that cannot be said, all the things that are not expressed in a good way by putting them into words, so instead you will use your bond and body.

“Sit on my dick slow baby, make it hurt so you have something to remember, get yourself full of my pups”

And you do as you are told, you slip right where you belong to, starting to bounce yourself slow and hard but even though it feels like heaven you feel like you’re going to die because he doesn’t touch you, he is just watching.

“Touch me please or I’m going to hit you hard”

He laughs but you know he's holding back the urge to order you around.

“I love when my little girl turns all bossy”

You wiggle your hips not exactly knowing where to look but what makes you let out a loud moan of his name is the way he thrusts his incredible hips harder than you had planned, tip of his touching the spongy spot that makes you meet god in person.

“If I’m not gonna have you for a while at least show me that fierce side of you one more time baby, gods above, look at you, bouncing tits and pretty face with an even prettier voice filling my ears of pretty sounds, fuck puppy, turn around and see yourself on the mirror”

You tell him to wait a second because you want to remember him like this, beneath your body and that playful smirk but when you do turn a little your face to see the image that bites back at you is incredible, you even smile don’t exactly recognizing you but looking damn hot on top of your man. You can’t with the feelings so the first thing that comes to your mind is to grab a hold of some of his beautiful locks of hair and tug hard, enough for him to gain some more lustful rage and suddenly slam you in the mirror that both of you were looking a moment ago with such excitement, what brings you back to reality of the pleasure that does nothing but increase is the manly hand grabbing at your jaw, making it open slightly, enough for him to spit on it. And you fucking love it.

“That’s a good mate baby, swallow it all and show me”

All this time he hasn’t stopped that sinful hips of his so at this time it’s starting to hurt and you begin to loose all your grips but you now that he will catch you anyways.

All you are feeling is incredible, you fell full, satisfied. Your throat feels hoarse but it doesn’t matter as you held gazes once again, but it’s the whole moment, your own bubble. Watching his pretty eyes you realize that you have won in live, entirely.

“You don’t have a fucking idea of how bad I want to mount you everywhere until I know you are really pregnant, hell baby I love you so fucking much”

He is right in front of your face, both of your moths open but your not kissing, now he’s the one grabbing your hair into a fist but he can do whatever he wants with you right now and all you will say is thank you.

You’re both touching the finish lines and it’s then that you wonder if this is how it will always be, hot, sweaty and just incredible.

He kiss you right at the final, where both of you have reached the peak, smiling at each other like fools but entirely living the dream.

[...]

You know that Jungkook told you to not leave the room until he was back but you were really hungry and needing some fresh air, so knowing that maybe everyone was serving him in that meeting you dared to head for the nearest kitchen to just grab something and come back. You are happy when no one approach you on the way, focusing on the task to make you a quick drink and cut up some fruit.

You feel happy and complete, at ease with the environment despite missing your alpha a bit, but your clothes and body still smell like him so that’s something for now. That’s the same reason why you don’t hear the pretty and stealthy she-wolf approaching the kitchen, watching you closely.

“It stinks in here, you must have had a very good night young lady”

You jump a little because you are not supposed to see anybody in the sensitive state in which you now find yourself.

“Sorry, I wasn’t supposed to be here”

You murmured your words shyly so low that if it were not for the incredible senses of the lycanthrope body, the girl would have miss it.

She chuckles lightly and by her smell you know that she is a rare breed of a female alpha, but right now every smell its simply too much, almost unpleasant.

“No worries baby, no one else is here but me”

She is a little intimidating to be honest and It’s evident that she knows clearly what to do to get what she wants.

“I should… Probably go”

You try to rush towards the exit in order to feel protected inside the four walls where everything smells like Jungkook but just as you are about to walk through the door the pretty girl grabs you a little hard enough to make you let out a whimper. And it’s that exact moment that lets you know that something is awfully wrong, that you should have never left the room.

“Where are you going?, let me talk to you for a moment, I never had the pleasure of knowing you formally”

You know that she can her your heart beating uncontrollably and smell the fear mixed with nerves.

“Don’t be scared pretty thing just wanted to chat with you”

There’s something strange in her, something that you can’t quite put your finger on.

“This shouldn’t be happening, I’m sorry but I really should get back to-”

While interrupting you she is also forcing you to sit on the small benches that are situated in the kitchen only to bring you to a full state of discomfort and nervousness.

“Is Jungkook really into you honey?”

The sudden questions makes you blink twice and hold a breath, this seems like a pointless conversation, she didn’t even try to do some more small talk .

“Pardon…?”

“Oh my, was I too direct?”

You still don’t see the clarity of the conversation because to your eyes she looks like a lunatic, asking questions about of nowhere.

“Honey, it’s just… Have you never heard what is whispered around the pack, about him and the pretty girl of the Kim pack or even worse… The boy with the deadly beauty from the Park family”

You do have heard the rumors, they were too strong when you were younger and more naive.

“I’m afraid that… I can’t help you with anything, I should really go…”

She puts his body in front of yours so that both of her arms are locked on the wall behind you, blocking any way out.

“Damn, just listen to me for a fucking second, I thought that you knew what was best for you”

You sit still because her harsh words came out more like an alpha command and you just couldn’t fight your true nature.

“Good girl”

You would never imagined that such a mundane phrase would disgust you so much.

“I know you don’t like me wolfie but I have been very well aware of the second thoughts that run at full speed in your little head about the bond that you share with that man”

if you had one wish, you would ask to disappear from this awful situation, if only you had listened to your alpha…

“I don’t understand what you want from me, please just let me go, I’m not going to tell Jungkook”

The female alpha just laughs a little, like you have said to her the funniest thing ever.

“He and I are at the same rank honey and of course you will not tell him anything, I have something that might interest you.”

Your posture is defensive but when she says that she backs a little and you take the opportunity to relax only little bit, a new look of curiosity in your angelic and innocent features.

“I don’t want to upset you honey but look at yourself for a second and tell me if you see yourself as the perfect representation of a good mate for someone like him”

She can easily see the insecurity cross your features because if anything has been bothering you since you found out about the bond it is that.

“I have the perfect solution to all of your concerns baby, there’s someone far more suited to take your place. Look at your neck, he hasn’t even marked you, but really, don’t worry and don’t overthink it, he will be in good hands. I know someone who can make the arrangements, all safe and of course you will be having a far more suited alpha”

It’s really stupid, but you actually think about it, as if all the previous moments with him didn't matter. At the end of the day all you're looking for is his well-being and happiness, isn't it?

People are going to talk, that's for sure, but you could assure him better commentaries and a better future, even if it's not by your side, but what will happen with the few moments that both of you have shared?

“In case you were wondering… No, you will not remember, everything will be gone as soon as the bond is broken. Just think about it for a second, remember all your insecurities and the bad feelings while being his mate, that must be annoying, let yourself be happy, both of you”

You are deep in your thoughts so you miss the way her canines grow in size and that dangerous gleam in her eyes.

“I… I’ll do it”

Call yourself a fool, but that tempting offer was enough for you to maybe, just maybe get yourself a better life, but above all a better life and opportunities for him… Or at least that was what your insecure brain thought.

Tag list: @min-nicoleee, @in-a-way-that-i-should-not, @imluckybitches, @teresaisla, @anachikartadze, @jeonwiixard, @seagulljjk

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#bts #bts army #bts hoseok #bts imagines #bts one shot #bts rm #bts seokjin #bts smut #bts taehyung #bts werewolf au #bts series #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jungkook x reader #bts jimim #kpop imagines #jungkook smut #jungkook #werewolf jungkook

[1kook]

commercial break ; EIGHT

this is part of my netflix & chill series! takes place a little after part 7 :)

SUMMARY You always do this— always ask for more. You take and you take until there’s nothing left for Jungkook to give. But Jungkook is the same.  WARNINGS unprotected sex, nipple clamps, overstimulation, pretty pet names for jk, oc is so fckin horNEE, both have a high sex drive, oc is obsessed with the koobies MISC flashbacks to jk’s ex gf yes you read right!, there’s backstory yuck, taehyung the bestie, jk is just so happy where he is now <3 RATING m (18+) WC 1.9k

NOTES finally after six months..... we get a glimpse of jk’s life pre-netflix n chill 🥶 also i just rlly wanted to write jk wearing the nipple clamps hehe 

Taehyung had warned him about this. 

“As hard as it is to believe,” he had said one night during their first year of university, haphazardly parked outside of a Wendy’s at three in the morning. Jungkook was trying to finish an assignment— early, always early —when he had been abruptly hauled to fulfill Taehyung’s spicy chicken sandwich craving. “Girls are hornier than guys.”

Jungkook remembers it so clearly. 

He had chuckled, had harbored this feeling of contentment, of belonging, with his best friend beside him, talking about the most mundane things. “No way,” he had said. He had only broken up with Haerim last month; his first girlfriend, his first heartbreak, all in his first year of college. So he wasn’t particularly bothered with women at the moment, and he probably wouldn’t be for a long time. He quite liked this life of solitude, the peaceful waves brought upon by the comfort of being alone, the occasional break in the water when Taehyung or Namjoon checked in on him. 

Taehyung, on the other hand, had always been concerned with women. A furious nod, huge eyes. “Dude, I swear,” he had exclaimed, and then had launched into a full feature recapture of how horny his then-girlfriend always was. Jungkook had simply listened— it’s what he does best —and nodded along when Taehyung continued his silly ramblings. 

He can still remember his thought process. 

Of course girls are horny. But Jungkook doubts they’re as horny as him or any of the guys he knew. Speaking for himself, Jungkook knows his sex drive is too high; too high for someone who’s only lost his virginity earlier that year. 

Haerim had once told him he asked for too much. And Jungkook understood, really; she was his first, and maybe he got a little too excited in his conquest to try everything, a conquest she wasn’t too keen on joining. “Do you even like me?” she had asked the night they broke up. “Or do you just want to have sex?”

Both, he remembers thinking, but that thought had felt like the wrong answer to give her. Her words had made him squirm, had made him feel so small. Was he asking her for too much? Was Jungkook too much— a handful for her to deal with? Jungkook’s love language had always been physical touch. He thought she understood that. 

They parted ways in the most mature way possible. A simple break-up, no hard feelings. Jungkook felt terrible. He had pushed her too far, had asked for too much. They aren’t as horny as guys, he remembers thinking. Or at least, not as horny as Jungkook. 

In the end, Jungkook remembers politely disagreeing with Taehyung on the matter. 

Until now, nearly four years later, with your hands circling his bare waist. 

He’d just finished nailing you into the mattress not even ten minutes ago, had fucked his cock into you until you were screaming so loud your neighbor had banged on your shared wall. Your lips are soft against his shoulder, the prettiest little giggle slipping past them. It’s pitch black outside, your room enveloped in shadows, but the warmth you press against his back is akin to that of the sun’s; Jungkook can’t think of a more fitting comparison. “I was thinking,” you purr, voice like warm honey down his throat. It makes him melt, has his eyes fluttering shut as your hands trace feathery lines against the waistband of his boxers. 

“That’s not good,” he manages to murmur, trapping your hand over his belly button. You make this sound, something between a satisfied hum and a moan; Jungkook wants nothing more than to spread your legs far apart and lick you down the middle. You shuffle closer behind him. He can feel your tits against his back, the hardened nub of your nipples. 

But it appears Jungkook isn’t the only one interested in nipples tonight. 

“The clamps,” you whisper, voice nearly lost under the thrum of the air conditioning, the steady beat of his heart in his chest. 

And in that moment, Jungkook truly understands what Taehyung had meant that night. 

They sting, terribly so, make him feel like someone is going to rip his nipples out of his chest at any moment. But at the same time, they make his toes curl, make Jungkook grind his teeth together in a feeble attempt to dismiss the pleasure. 

On top of that, the look on your face when Jungkook leans over you, the thin metal chain of the nipple clamps touching your chin, is enough to fuel his solo sessions for years to come. “Oh,” you gasp, trembling hand reaching up for the glittering chain. 

Jungkook hisses at the tug, accidentally bucks forward into the warm cradle between your legs. It makes you whimper, hand on his shoulder, the other holding onto the cruel device on his chest. “Fuck,” he bites, brows furrowed together as he glares down at you. 

“S- So pretty,” you slur, delirious. Jungkook’s not even inside of you, just has his cock resting on your hip. He thinks there might be a droplet of drool clinging to your lips. “Jungkook,” you breathe, finally lifting the other hand to his chest, thumb caressing the pretty gold clamp that is squeezing the life out of his nipple. It feels so good, and Jungkook is so embarrassed. 

You let him in soon enough, eyes trained on his flushed chest as he sinks into you. You’re still so loose, so wet and tender from the fucking he gave you earlier, from the two orgasms from before. He can’t comprehend how you’re still asking for more, capable of more, after he had spit in your mouth, bent you like a pretzel, and all but consumed your entire being in his earlier lust. 

He reaches the hilt and you tug at Jungkook’s clamps, make his chest jerk forward in surprise. “Fuck!” he chokes, hand on the back of your thigh around him. “Don’t f- fucking do that,” he begs, but it feels so good and you’re so entranced, he hardly thinks you hear him. 

It’s like you’re stuck in a daze, tiny mouth opening to release the sweetest little moans, eyes scarily trained on his chest. It’s like you don’t see him, don’t see Jungkook right before you, and for some reason… he adores the feeling. “Look at me,” he whispers, testing the waters. 

You spare him a glance, a supportive smile, and then it’s back to staring at his nipples. 

It makes Jungkook awfully hard. 

In a weird, roundabout sort of way, it’s like he’s being used. Like he’s nothing but a pawn in your lustful schemes, just a visual stimulus to help get you off; in short, it’s a teensy bit degrading. Dismissive. Whatever you want to call it. 

His dick twitches at the thought. 

And, like always, you’re in perfect step with him. Another tug at the chain, another moan torn from his lips. “So pretty for me,” you croon. It’s his line, you know it’s always been his line. Jungkook pushes deeper into you, but aside from a sinful cry, it doesn’t deter you. A wicked grin crosses your features, hand crawling around his neck to tangle in his locks again. “Tits all pink,” you shiver, tapping the pad of a finger against his nipple. Jungkook’s eyes roll to the back of his head, bucks forward suddenly. 

“N- Not pretty,” he growls, pushing you down deeper against the sheets, like maybe they’ll swallow you up and he’ll be saved from your lewd ways. “You’re pretty.”

You chuckle, and then contradict the sweet tone of your voice with a harsh tug against his clamps. Jungkook all but howls, pistons into you until he feels your cervix kiss his tip, call him forward, practically beg for him to fill you whole. “Prettiest boy,” you whimper, tracing his swollen nipple with your finger as if it’ll soothe the prickling sensations that shoot down his spine, makes him rut deeper into you. 

Jungkook wants to cum so badly, wants to spill his seed down your insides until it paints every wall, kisses every inch, until it’s physically impossible for you to not be pregnant. 

But the worst thing is, Jungkook is so terribly spent from the early events of that night, that the mere thought of coming again sounds like it would be painful. Of course, Jungkook immediately realizes the hypocrisy in his statement— he frequently makes you come various times in one night, sometimes in the span of a few minutes —but he never thought he’d be on the receiving end of this— this— overstimulation. 

Your walls squeeze around him, your fingers playfully tugging at the chain in intervals until Jungkook’s back arches forward, hips grinding against your quivering opening. “Cum inside,” you pant, curling one finger around the wretched contraption that seems intent on killing him slowly. He groans, hips snapping at your offer. He wants to so badly, but his toes curl, stomach tightens almost ominously. “Maybe if you do it a second time I’ll get p—“

“Shut up,” he begs, gasping for breath. You manage to laugh through a moan, harshly yanking your fist towards you in a motion that nearly has him crashing down on top of you. “I can’t—“ he shudders, forearms trembling. 

“You can,” you encourage, ankles locking together at the base of his spine. His every being feels overwhelmed, head like TV static. His dick throbs, practically begs for another orgasm that Jungkook fears will tear him apart, leave him a boneless pile of limbs for days. And his chest— “look, Jungkook,” you purr, pinching the already tortured nub between your fingers, “look at your fucking tits” —feels like heaven. 

It only takes a few more rushed thrusts, your stuttering moans like music to his ears, and a particularly brutal pull of the clamps on his chest, before Jungkook is bursting. And it’s painful, just as he thought, makes him release the most airy, fluttery whine. It’s so embarrassing, and frankly surprising, how high his voice can get, but it makes you beam beneath him. “Oh, such a good boy,” you coo, catching him in your arms when he slumps forward, chest against yours. 

He’s as boneless as he predicted, jaw twitching as he tries to gather himself into an acceptable state again. “Fuck you,” he groans, hips jerking with the after shocks of such a stimulated orgasm. 

You laugh, carding your hands through his hair. “You were made to wear cute things like that,” you mumble, lips pressed against his temple. 

Before he can speak (not that he knows what he’d say), you’re tugging him back by his hair, looking like you’ll eat him alive. He wants you to. “The cuffs,” you murmur, nose knocking against his. “Let’s try those on you next.” 

You always do this— always ask for more. You take and you take until there’s nothing left for Jungkook to give. 

But Jungkook is the same. You match him so well, fill the gaps when he’s too shy, lay yourself out when he needs more. 

(“You ask for too much,” Haerim had confessed, staring him down from the doorway of his dormitory. The room had always felt small, but today it feels miniature. Like the walls are closing in on him; he can’t breathe. “I don’t think anyone in this world can keep you satisfied, Jeon Jungkook.”)

Your heel knocks against the back of his thigh, and he is suddenly made aware of the trembling lips of your cunt around his cock, still so wet— still so horny. “Again?” you ask so sweetly, fingers dancing across his back. 

Jungkook shivers. “Again.”

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #bts fic #jungkook fic #bts smut #mine

[hlizr50]

Gwynriel Week Day 2 - Favorite Headcanon

Bow or Bleed

Read on AO3

-Gwyn-

Gwyn examined herself in the mirror, turning her hips and looking over her shoulder. She was technically covered, but also decidedly not, navy chiffon so dark it was nearly black waterfalled down her legs, the milky skin of her leg exposed by the hip-high opening. The top of the gown had long sleeves and a deep neckline past her breastbone, but it was also sheer – strategically placed beading and applique crept up her stomach and over her breasts. It was certainly the most scandalous thing she’d ever worn.

Azriel had warned her before the meeting with the High Lord, nearly three weeks before. Times were peaceful – something they were all thankful for – but Rhysand wanted to remind the denizens of the Hewn City of the Night Court’s might, introducing the new division of their defenses. Therefore, the three female leaders of the Valkyries were requested. Her mate had kept her hand firmly gripped in his for the duration of the discussion, and that silent support was just one of the many reasons she loved him. So was his deference to her decision. That was something that had been a little more difficult to achieve, the shadowsinger being as protective as he was, particularly where Gwyn was concerned.

They had discussed in depth what she would find in the Court of Nightmares and the expectations that came along with being in attendance in a position of power. And while, in the three years they had been together, they had explored any number of intimate situations and dynamics in the comfort of their private home, it was Azriel who had suggested that Gwyn be regarded as the dominant one of the two.

The inhabitants of the Hewn City know that I am to be feared. And I want them to see the woman who has tamed the infamous spymaster and cower. Not only from a perspective of your safety, but to be perfectly frank it would be incredibly arousing.

She had laughed at that.

And so Azriel and Gwyn had painstakingly discussed every detail, the two of them valuing preparedness and knowledge above all else. Where would they be expected to stand? How were they expected to interact with the rest of the inner circle and the Valkyries? He came with her to dress fittings, discussing how the fabric would move and working with the Valkyrie and the seamstress to ensure she looked tempting enough to draw attention, but covered enough that she wouldn’t be constantly pulling and tugging. They had even come home with a replica of the skirt so they could train together, for the unfortunate possibility that violence might become a necessity.

So here she was, with her chosen sisters, examining herself one last time before their entrance into the Court of Nightmares. When she looked up she found Nesta at her shoulder.

“Ready, Gwyn?” The redhead could see the faint glimmer of concern in her friend’s eyes.

A reassuring grin crinkled the freckles dotting the former priestess’ nose and the corners of her eyes. She trailed her fingers over the hilt of the dark blade sheathed at her thigh, drawing strength from its weight and the lingering power from the hands that wielded it. Gwyn nodded, the copper waterfall of her high ponytail brushing past her ears and cheeks.

“Let’s give them a show,” Emerie quipped with a smirk.

Gwyn regarded the two females that had been at her side, constant support and friendship and love over the past four years. Nesta was a queen in every sense, beautiful and dangerous, with a neckline that dipped even lower than her own. Her gown fit tight against her, black velvet rich and luxurious. She wore her weapon for everyone to see, the sword Ataraxia hanging from the black leather riding her hips. Her leg was also revealed by a near-indecent slit in the midnight cloth, the tightness of the dress pulling the ends apart and baring it for all to see.

And then there was Emerie, who had opted for pants, tailored just right to show off the strength in her legs. Black silk fell loosely from her honey brown shoulders creating lovely drapes over her front and baring her smooth muscled arms. The back of the garment only met at the small of her back, letting all appreciate the ripples and cords of muscle and the incredible wings that marked her as Illyrian.

Emerie smiled wryly, ready to intimidate, but it was Nesta who pushed open the wooden doors with as much force as she could muster. Gwyn was inwardly satisfied at the sound that cut through the cavern. She lifted her chin and fixed her gaze forward toward the raised dais, where the High Lord and Lady sat enthroned in dark power. She would not turn her gaze toward the shadowsinger as they strode in, footfalls synchronized as if they marched into battle. She kept her head lifted, near-arrogant smirk on her wine-painted lips.

But, Mother, could she feelhim. The flicker of power, the gold thread between them taut with heat and tightly coiled desire. Gwyn didn’t dare a glance, but she could feel the burn of his hazel gaze – likely now closer to molten gold – roaming over her.

The three Valkyries stopped at the foot of the dais, Nesta in front with Gwyn and Emerie at her shoulders. When they each fell to one knee before their High Lord and Lady, the copper-haired warrior could feel the cool, moist air prickling the skin of her now-exposed thigh. But she didn’t feel exposed, even with so much less of her covered than she was accustomed to. She didn’t feel weak, even as she bowed in the midst of this infamous court. She was a wholly different person from the quaking priestess that had been rescued from Sangravah, and it was this court that had helped build her up. She was a warrior, a Valkyrie, one of eight Carynthians to ever exist, and now she was a general. And through all that she had become a sister, friend, lover, and mate, and it was those bonds that truly gave her strength.

They rose and turned to face the court, and Gwyn did her best to observe nonchalantly. So many leering stares, expressions of disgust – so many fragile males opposed to the concept of powerful women.

“The Valkyries were legendary in the Great War, and we are pleased that these three females have resurrected their practice and built new ranks.” Rhysand’s voice was rich and dark, like the velvet that clung to Nesta’s skin. “As their skills have improved and their ranks have deepened, the Valkyries have been inducted as an official division of the Night Court defense. Even in times of peace we all know that it is imperative to remain dedicated and prepared. These three females join the ranks of my Inner Circle as generals, and they will be respected as such.” There was a pregnant pause after his statement, the court regarding the three of them, sizing them up. “Any word or action against them will be counted as a word or action against myself or the High Lady. And while all of the denizens of the Hewn City understand how I manage those slights, let them rest assured that these women will exact their own justice.” After one more glower over the crowd the females split apart, turning toward their respective mates.

That’s when she finally laid her eyes on the Spymaster of the Night Court, clothed in black leather and swathed in shadows. The angles and planes of his face, in this dark place, made him impossibly more beautiful. He was an imposing creature when he needed to be, and in the Court of Nightmares he would only be seen as this man of malice – an angel of death.

With near-glowing eyes fixed on her and her alone.

-Azriel-

This plan could have been a grave mistake.

Not because Gwyn wasn’t absolutely breathtaking and fearless, and not because he didn’t believe that any male would think twice before approaching her with the shadowsinger apparently on her leash.

No, this plan was very potentially a mistake because Azriel wasn’t sure he would be able to keep himself from swathing them in shadows and ravishing her in the middle of the damned great hall as soon as she was within arm’s reach.

He’d known what the dress would look like on her tall frame – he had accompanied her to consultations and fittings, ensuring that his mate would feel comfortable and safe during this foray into the sinister underbelly of the Night Court. The inspiration for Amarantha’s domain not-so-long ago.

To say that the idea of Gwyn stepping foot in this place had given him pause would be a grievous understatement. His shadows had twirled around his wings in agitation when Rhys had informed him, but he also knew that his mate was not the same girl he had rescued from Sangravah those years ago. He had agreed to let her hear the request and decide for herself what she would do, and he would be happy to do everything in his power to ensure that she was prepared.

The female that faced him now was nothing short of a queen.

Azriel found himself thinking back through the times that he had been rendered breathless by her astonishing beauty – more times than he could count. The first time he’d seen her in the Valkyrie leathers he thought he might have to leave the room, lest he melt into a heap on the floor before her. Their first Starfall together his shadows had frozen around him as he remembered how to breathe, her dress and eyes outsparkling the heavens. The evening of their mating ceremony, where a simple silk shift had sent tendrils of inky mist dancing and had nearly set his soul on fire.

Before him was a warrior, confident and ferocious. And his. Her skin was moonlight against the darkest blue the seamstress could find, curves barely concealed beneath lace and beading that had been expertly placed to toe the line between demure and deadly. Makeup was not something the former priestess indulged in often, but the wine-red that painted her full lips tempted him to lick his own and the kohl lining her teal pools only seemed to set them ablaze. The high ponytail was somewhat unexpected, but it was the sight of the blade strapped to her thigh – so dark it seemed to absorb any light that dared touch it – that had the breeches of his leathers tightening considerably and his twirling shadows thickening.

Truth-teller.

Neither of them needed weapons to be deadly, but that didn’t mean they would venture into the Court of Nightmares unarmed. And there would be no better way to send a message to any who dared covet his mate than for her to brandish the deadly blade that was known throughout the continent.

Gwyn strode toward him, head held high. She had schooled her expressive eyes into cool indifference, something she had likely learned from him, but Azriel could spy a glimmer of mischief. She was enjoying this game, and he was more than content to play it with her. He lowered his chin and dropped to one knee as she approached, and his shadows could hear the whispers of stunned onlookers as the spymaster placed himself firmly beneath the Valkyrie in the hierarchy. A wry grin curled his lips as he watched those exquisitely formed legs come to a halt before him and the hand at her right hip present itself. He kept his gaze fixed on the speckled flesh of her knuckles as he raised his own scarred hand, cobalt siphon flickering, and grasped her fingers before leaning in to reverently press his lips to her knuckles. He could feel the golden warmth of her satisfaction in his chest, sparks of desire intermixed.

When he released her hand it moved to his face, two long elegant fingers landing under his chin and pulling it upward. Lifting his gaze, he found her face alight with fierce confidence.

“Shadowsinger,” she purred, applying more pressure to encourage him to rise before her. Their stares were transfixed in the eyes of the other as he did so, her hand only moving far enough to land in a possessive grip toward the back of his neck. He couldn’t hide the smirk that crawled over his lips, enamored as he was with the predatory confidence that she wore.

“My lady,” he murmured, dipping his chin. “You look absolutely exquisite.” The slightest pink blossomed on her cheeks, proving that she was not completely immune to his charm. She circled him and stepped up behind him onto the first stair to the dais, keeping her palm on is neck. He had to stifle a groan, reveling in her possessive touch and the heat of her at his back between his wings. Her breath snaked across his ear and his skin pebbled, her lips like a phantom touch over the shell of it.

“You are beautiful and dark, as always, love,” Gwyn whispered before dipping her chin and pressing those soft painted lips just below where the sharp line of his jaw met his neck. His breath shuddered and his mate gave a soft giggle. “Your shadows are quite… friendly tonight.”

“Well, lovely general, I can hardly be expected to control them when you make it so difficult for me to even manage myself,” Azriel breathed.

“Hmmm. You do make an excellent point.” She gripped his jaw and pulled it to the side to claim his lips with a bruising kiss. When she released him he nearly drowned in the teal pools that captured his gaze. He could see the challenge there, the desire, the pride. He loved when he could glimpse those things in her expression, when he could put those feelings there. Gods, the way it felt to bow before her, to be the one she trusted to submit to her will. It was a distinct possibility he wouldn’t survive the night.

“I know you have duties, Shadowsinger,” the Valkyrie stated softly, dropping her fingers from his jaw. His permission to leave her side, to stride through the shadows and dark corners of this hall to ensure that members of this court still understood the price of disrespect and the power of fear. He turned, tucking his wings tight to avoid striking her. He meant to look back into those piercing, starlit eyes, but his gaze caught on Truth-teller at her thigh. He lifted a mottled hand and settled his palm over the hilt, letting his callused fingers brush delicately over that tempting sliver of porcelain flesh. Leaning down, he brushed his mouth over the peek of skin just above his thumb.

“Wine, my lady?” He straightened and grinned crookedly at her flushed neck and chest. She dipped her chin in confirmation and he turned, striding into the throng of revelers. Hopefully his High Lord didn’t expect him to listen too closely. It was peacetime, after all, and he had to contend with every delicious image of Gwyn flashing through his mind. Hopefully his shadows would pick up on anything glaring and drag his attention out of the gutter.

He had retrieved two goblets and turned back toward the dais when he felt a twinge of anxiety in his chest, tightening the golden thread that connected the Shadowsinger and the Valkyrie. He weaved quickly in and out of the dark swaths in the hall, his shadows carrying to him the echoes of words between her and a yet-unknown male.

“…quite an actress, priestess…”

Azriel quieted the snarl that threatened to push through his lips as he rounded a pillar silently, finding Gwyn’s back pressed against it and the male – one of the darkbringers, he realized – doing his best to tower over her. He stayed silent, tucked into the darkness. He had vowed not to intervene until it became obvious that she couldn’t handle the situation. And while he had felt the moment of uncertainty in their bond, his mate looked calm and nonchalant – if not a small bit annoyed.

“Although I find it difficult to believe that a timid acolyte from the library sanctuary could best the Spymaster. They say the women in the great library have experienced great horrors, but perhaps if you warm the bed of the angel of death, you’re into that kind of thing.”

The male had lifted a hand to Gwyn’s face, making to touch her. And quick as the wind she had Truth-teller in her hand, blade against a particularly sensitive part of the male who thought he could dare to insinuate what he did, much less dare to touch her. Azriel saw the rage sparkling in her gaze, all traces of anxiety and annoyance gone.

“Think very carefully about the next thing you say,” she hissed. When the male tried to smirk and play it off she pushed the blade the slightest bit deeper, the edge biting into the leather of his pants. “I am a general. I won the Illyrian Blood Rite. I have bested far more intimidating creatures than yourself. So do ask yourself if you want to test your luck.”

Azriel’s lips twisted into a sadistic smile, basking in the glow of his mate’s strength. Her eyes darted to him for a split second, and the male’s eyes followed. The color drained from his face when he saw the rippling shadows twisting and rising like flames over his shoulders and wings. But a push against the dagger at his crotch shifted his attention back to Gwyn.

“Hear me now, brute,” she seethed. “I do not always keep my Shadowsinger so tightly leashed. And he does not take kindly to unimpressive, brainless males touching the female that he belongs to.” My Shadowsinger. The female that he belongs to. Mother above, those words went straight to his already-straining cock. “So I hope that little thrill that pulsed through your undoubtedly underwhelming dick when you thought you could intimidate me and bend me to your desires… I do so hope it was worth it.”

The male stepped away with hands raised, but the copper-haired queen kept her blazing stare on him, dagger still ready in her hand.

“Shadowsinger, I hope you have that wine,” she cooed, sheathing the weapon when Azriel stepped to her side. He offered her the goblet and then offered her an arm, muscles and shadows tremoring from barely contained fury. His instincts warred within him, an urge to rip the male limb from limb against the desire to whisk his mate into an alcove and plunge his tongue between her legs until she was screaming his name. He wasn’t sure if he had ever desired her with such a feral male pride, and from the heat blooming across her chest he could tell that she could feel that pulsing need through their bond. But her breathing was slightly more shallow than normal, and he remembered that nervous twinge he’d felt before she’d nearly castrated the man. The spymaster let them to a darkened corner, shadows swallowing them and hiding them from prying eyes and ears.

“Are you alright, songbird?” All pretense and games were gone, leaving only the soft voice of a protective male concerned for the love of his eternity. He took her wine glass and set both of them on the stone floor. When he straightened he pinned her with his gaze and raised callused fingers to trace the freckles on her cheek. Gwyn sighed a calming breath and leaned into his touch.

“Yes, love. I was nervous for a moment, but I think I handled things quite well,” she smiled widely. He released a dark chuckle of his own, stepping into her and pinning her gently against the wall. Azriel tilted his head and leaned down, pressing his lips against the sensitive space under hear ear. Nipping at it, then flicking his tongue over the spot to soothe it, smiling against her soft flesh as he felt her gasp beneath him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more aroused in my life, Gwyneth Berdara,” he uttered into her neck, voice low and guttural. He pressed his hips against her, letting her feel what she had done to him. “When you called me yours, when you said I belong to you… Gods, nothing has ever been truer.”

Azriel dragged his lips wantonly over her jaw toward her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip when he got there. He was on fire for her, every inch of him aflame with want for his warrior queen. He crushed his lips into hers, tongue beseeching. She gave in without pause, and he greedily pulled at her lips and tongue. He wanted to breathe her in, needed to taste her.

“Azriel,” she gasped, but he continued pouring himself into her, only stopping when her hands cupped his face gently. He pulled back and took in her swollen lips and lust-darkened eyes. “We need to behave, remember?” The shadowsinger groaned, earning a musical laugh from the Valkyrie. He leaned his forehead against hers.

“Fine,” he growled. “But as soon as we get home, rest assured, I will have you. And I want you to keep Truth-teller on that pretty thigh.”

Gwyn’s cheeks turned crimson and his throat rumbled with approval. He pressed a quick, hard kiss into her lips before stepping back, giving her some air to cool the heat on her face. Swiftly, he scooped up their wine goblets and offered his elbow to her.

“Ready to terrorize more unsuspecting males, my lady?” Azriel grinned wickedly, and she threw her head back, a cackle erupting from her throat. She tucked her starkissed hand into the crook of his arm.

“Always, Shadowsinger.” Quickly, before he let his shadows disperse, she pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek. “I love you.”

The bond burned golden fire in his chest, swelling with love and contentment and bliss. “I love you, too, Berdara.” He murmured, and then they were in the throng again, the music and revelry of the Hewn City swallowing them. He let his shadows wander and listen, but his attention was focused on his mate for the remainder of the evening. He marveled at her confidence, her strength, the pride she felt at being able to conquer this moment. Feyre may be his High Lady, but Gwyneth Berdara was his queen. And, if tonight was any indication, he would gladly bow before her for the rest of his immortal life.

#gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel week #gwynriel fanfic #gwynriel supremacy #gwynriel

[stayextrafrosty]

Malex prompt: Alex and Michael finally go on a vacation

This turned a bit more sensual with some very mild sexual content but still plenty of softness. Also if you ever have the chance, I recommend visiting the islands just off the coast of Seattle. They are stunning. San Juan Island has amazing lavender fields specifically. Please enjoy!

Fluffy fic requests open until 11/11/21 at 11:59pm Pacific Standard time

-

Waves lapped at the shore from below the room. There was a distant sound of birds as a cool breeze blew in through the open balcony. The smell of salt and pine dominated his senses, but only for a moment. The smell of rain slowly replaced them as Alex snuggled closer into the warm chest pressed against his back.

The sheet was draped loosely over his body but it was more than enough even with the cool air. One of Michael’s arms was wrapped tightly around his waist and the other under the pillow Alex was using. Alex’s skin burned everywhere Michael’s touched and that was almost his entire body.

“What are you thinking about so early in the morning?” he heard mumbled from behind him. Michael’s breath rose goosebumps on his neck making him shiver involuntarily. His alien cowboy just tugged him closer, pressing gentle kisses to his shoulders.

“I highly doubt it’s early anymore,” he teased gently, making no effort to even open his eyes. Michael just hummed and continued his path of kisses to his neck. Alex sighed and moved his hand to cover the one Michael had splayed over his stomach. The one that was slowly inching south. He could feel the grin on Michael’s face.

“Do you want a massage? Or maybe a soak in the hot tub?” Alex hummed and finally cracked his eyes open as he turned his head toward Michael.

“Yes.”

The sun caught Michael’s tousled curls and Alex wanted nothing more than to tug on them like he had last night. Seeming to know exactly what he was thinking, Michael leaned down and kissed him sweetly. The hand that was on his stomach moved, taking Alex’s hand and placing it in the soft strands. Their tongues slid over each other as he pulled gently and rolled his hips back. Michael was half hard and responded with a slow grind of his own.

“Mmm, Alex we’ll never make it over to that hot tub at this rate. And I’d hate to let that amenity you so generously paid for go to waist.”

“Good thing we have two whole weeks to make use of it.” After everything had happened, Kyle pushed him to take a vacation, insisting he needed it.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken one so he agreed. When he had told Michael, he seemed almost sad. Alex realized pretty quickly that he thought that meant he was leaving him behind. He made sure to explain thoroughly that he wasn’t going anywhere without him ever again.

So he had rent a small fancy cabin on one of the handful of small islands off the coast of Seattle. They were assured that there would be plenty of supplies for the two weeks but to call if they needed anything extra.

Michael rolled away from Alex and off the king sized bed. Alex openly looked him up and down as he shifted to lay on his back. He watched him move about the room toward the balcony, stepping over scattered items of clothing. He fiddled with setting on the hot tub and once he was satisfied, he headed for the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Alex knew he must have been grinning ear to ear as he watched the love of his life. Michael was all his. This was all real.

When Michael stepped out of the bathroom and caught him staring, he raised an eyebrow. He smiled sweetly at him before a mischievous smirk took its place. He stood at the end of the bed, pressing his hands into the mattress. Alex licked his lips as he appreciated every part of Michael’s body.

Then Michael yanked the sheet away with his mind. He crawled onto the bed and was eventually hovering over Alex, teasing him with hot breaths over his chest and up to his lips where he kept only an inch between them. His arms formed a cage around his head and his legs straddled his thighs.

“I thought you wanted a massage in the hot tub?” he asked quietly.

“Will it have a happy ending?” Michael chuckled and pulled back. He eased himself off the bed again, tugging Alex with him. Once he was sitting on the edge of the bed, Michael lifted him into his arms. He could feel the tingle of his powers all over his body and he shuddered as he wrapped his arms around his neck.

Michael climbed into the hot tub, not releasing his powers until Alex was fully situated on his lap. The warmth of the water and the jets were a blessing against his stump. Michael’s hands started their movement over his back, beginning at his hips and working their way up to his shoulders.

His thumbs pressed into the muscles in all the right places. Eventually Alex couldn’t hold back the groan as he dug into a spot next to his spine. Michael paid extra attention to the areas around his spine after that, chuckling at every sigh and moan that slipped out of Alex’s lips.

When his hands started wandering back to the sides of his hips, his mouth replaced them on his spine. He trailed kisses down until he couldn’t reach anymore then worked his way back up. Then Michael wrapped a hand around him, rubbing slowly. Alex gasped in surprise.

“You wanted a happy ending right?”

This was his happy ending. Anywhere with Michael was a happy ending. It was all he had wanted since meeting him. Michael was the cute boy he could ride off into the sunset with. Michael was pure bliss. He was acceptance. He was home.

#malex fanfiction #malex fic #malex #michael guerin/alex manes #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico fic #roswell new mexico #fic request