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cupid-styles · 9 days

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call it fate, call it karma (olderry x alt!y/n)

in which harry's getting an unfortunate tattoo covered up at the shop y/n works at, they're 12 years apart, and they have big, fat crushes on each other. also, harry hates frappuccinos.

word count: 10.1k

content warnings: age gap (12 years), harry's kind of an idiot at first, angst (all is solved in the end), smut (daddy kink, p in v penetration, fingering, dirty talk, choking, slight size kink, crying)

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

When Harry was 29, he made a mistake.

Well, maybe not a mistake. Perhaps… a series of poorly thought out decisions.

It started out when he met May. They were seniors in college and for years, Harry swore it was love at first sight — and with the enthusiasm and dopey, loved up grin he had when he told the story of how they met, May believed him for a long time. It always started the same: He didn’t want to go out that night but his friends begged him, telling him it was his last year in college to party before they went into the real world at full force. Finally, they wore him down enough to the point where Harry agreed, except he felt no desire to drink or smoke once they got to whoever’s house was throwing the get-together. He sat on the couch all night, nursing a warm beer from a plastic red solo cup, waiting for his buddies to decide when they’d had enough so Harry could ensure they got home safe — and then, May Wilkins walked in.

Harry always claimed that it seemed like the weed and cigarette smoke parted the second she entered the room, though he promised to revise the story when they told their future children. As soon as he laid eyes on the clean-cut brunette girl, he insisted that May would be his.

And, by the end of the night, May was his.

In fact, May continued to be his until he was 32 years old.

For the first few years, it was heaven. People doubted them — they said it was stupid to get into such a serious relationship when graduation was looming, just a few months away, but it only fueled them further. After they received their degrees, they moved in together. The following year, Harry proposed. By 25, they were married.

Within a year of marriage, the fighting started.

It seemed that they had a problem with everything the other did — if Harry stayed late at work, May was angry and accusing him of cheating on her. If May went out for a girls night with some friends, Harry was calling her at 1 a.m., demanding to know where she was. They didn’t trust one another, and the insecurities ate at them; first slowly, and then all-consumingly. Eventually, May couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as Harry. He started getting tattoos and she hated every single one. Every time he came home with a new one, she rolled her eyes and asked why he couldn’t put that money towards their savings, so they could buy a house in the suburbs like they’d planned to five years prior.

Harry wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet, though. After that, they tried couples counseling. When that ended in a screaming match, they decided to try sleeping in separate beds to put some space between one another. That worked for about three days before May got wine drunk one evening and crawled into his new bed that he purchased for the guest room. By the end of the week, they were back to sharing a mattress again.

And, believe it or not, it’s only then that he made his big mistake.

He thought maybe May despised his tattoos so much because he had so many for other people — his sister, his mum, his godchildren. Maybe if he got her name inked on his skin, she would see how much he really did love her, despite all the arguing and fighting.

Except, when he walked through the door to show her that evening, she was so angry that she stayed at her friend’s house that night.

A week later, May filed for a divorce.

He was exhausted. He wasn’t sure how they got there, but he knew it was time. There was nothing they could do to save their marriage.

The divorce was settled relatively quickly. Neither of them had much more fight left in them. They split all their assets down the middle and since they didn’t own a house together, Harry offered to move out of their shared apartment and let May live there until the lease was up. She didn’t, though. She broke their lease four months early with a mumbled explanation of not wanting to live there anymore.

When it was officially over, Harry’s friends took him out to celebrate. An evening of debauchery filled with enough alcohol and drugs to keep Harry satiated for the next decade.

But that’s when he realized that the hard part was just beginning.

Divorced life in your early 30s wasn’t easy. He threw himself into his job, but he felt lonely and empty without May by his side. It wasn’t even because he loved her anymore — he’d just spent so many formative years with her that he didn’t know who he was without her.

For five years, Harry focused on himself. He worked hard, he bought a house, he spent time with his family. He made himself the best son, brother, friend, uncle, and godfather he could be. And at 37, he was mildly content with that — he owned a beautiful home and was at the top of his company. Dating was so far down on his list of priorities that he didn’t even know how people met anymore. His friends encouraged him to join “the apps”, offering to help create a profile for him, but the only girls he dated had been from his years in school. He could admit that he was a little lonely, but the thought of starting over with someone completely new was intimidating and scary. Plus, there was one very big reminder of his past still inked on his arm.

So, that’s when he came up with his plan: He would cover up his tattoo of May’s name. He’d never gotten a coverup tattoo before but based on his research, they weren’t easy to do. It could take multiple sessions, which he was more than okay with — because, when her name was finally banished from his skin, he would officially throw himself back into the dating pool and try to find someone new.

A month later, he was walking into Jaded Tattoos for his first session.

. . .

Tuesdays are Y/N’s least favorite days.

When she comes into work on Monday, she at least has some sort of energy. She typically feels semi-refreshed from the weekend and always makes sure to stop for an iced latte on her way into the shop. Plus, Mondays are one of the calmer days at Jaded Tattoos — after all, there weren’t a ton of people coming in to get tattooed on the first day of the workweek.

But Tuesdays are just… icky. Y/N works as the makeshift secretary at the shop, so she manages everyone’s schedules and handles client booking — it would all be terribly boring if she didn’t work at Jaded, but she can get a new tattoo or piercing anytime one of the artists has some down time. Plus, no one ever judges her for the existing art on her skin, which she can’t say about other jobs she’s had in the past.

However, on Tuesdays, for some reason, the shop is always bustling. Clients are always canceling or showing up late (or, worst of all, missing their appointments altogether without saying a word), which in turn makes the artists annoyed. Y/N understands that — it’s annoying and rude, but then the energy in the shop gets all wonky and everyone feels tense and stressed out. Even her mid-afternoon break, when she takes a walk around the block to get herself a coffee and a pastry, isn’t enough to pull her out of the weird mindset.

She’s just settled into the last part of her day, using the iPad to look through the schedule when a fairly looking clean cut man walks through the door. At first, she assumes he’s lost, but only an idiot would come in without knowing it’s a tattoo shop. He has neatly groomed brunette hair and wears a navy blazer over a white tee-shirt, complete with matching trousers. It makes Y/N involuntarily quirk her eyebrows, a pesky wrinkle appearing between them as she accidentally stares at him. He offers a tight, awkward smile when he walks up to her desk, placing his elbows on the surface.

“Hi. I have an appointment at 3 with Jan.”

Y/N tries her best not to let her jaw drop. She knows she should really be less judgemental, but based on the slight crows feet wrinkles that creep at the edges of his eyes, this guy has to be nearing his 40s. Was he having some kind of midlife crisis? She supposes it’s possible, but why wouldn’t he just opt for buying a new car or house or something? He looks rich enough.

“Hello?”

Y/N realizes that she hasn’t said a single thing since he approached and parts her lips, mumbling out an embarrassed apology as she scrolls on the iPad to look at Jan’s schedule. Sure enough, she’s blocked off from 3 to 4:45 p.m.

“Um, is this your first tattoo?” Y/N asks, cocking her head to the side. Her eyes quickly roam over his body, but most of his skin is covered. There’s a spiel she says with people who are tattoo virgins — making sure they’ve eaten and they’re hydrated and if they’re not, she gives them snacks and water. It was one of the policies she implemented when she started a few years back, and it makes her happy to know that she helps newbies feel more comfortable before getting jabbed with a needle for an hour.

“No,” he chuckles with a shake of his head, “No, sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. Jan’s helping me with a coverup.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, Jan is great with those.” she replies as she slides the iPad across to him. “I’m just gonna have you fill out this consent form and some other fun stuff. I’ll let her know you’re here, but my name is Y/N if you have any questions.”

He nods and flashes her a bright smile, and Y/N swears her heart skips a beat. She wonders what tattoo he’s getting covered up. She doesn’t often ask clients what they’re having done unless they decide to talk to her about it. It can be a rather personal experience for some — while she has some completely asinine, ridiculous tattoos herself, she also has a few with meaning, and she would certainly be taken back if someone randomly asked her about them.

Jan is busy getting some sketching done when Y/N gently knocks on her open door. She turns around in her wheely chair and smiles before asking her what’s up.

“Your 3 p.m. is here,” she says, leaning against the doorframe, “He says you’re covering something up for him?”

“Yup, that’ll be Harry Styles.” Jan replies with an affirmative nod. “We chatted a decent amount through email. Took the guy like, a month before deciding to come in.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “What’s he getting done?”

Jan stands from her chair and stretches her back and arms out, revealing a sliver of her tattooed stomach. “Wants his ex-wife’s name covered up. You know how it goes. You can send him in whenever he’s ready, I just need to photocopy some stencils.”

Y/N nods and hopes Jan didn’t catch the way her eyes widened at the mention of an ex-wife. She supposes she shouldn’t be too surprised — she did figure he was on the older side, at least 10 years her age — but is still a bit shocked that someone who looks that wealthy and put together would tattoo his partner’s name on him. Y/N, despite having a plethora of permanent tattoos herself, didn’t believe in any of that. She felt like it was bad luck. Plus, she didn’t see herself ever loving anyone enough to do that. The thought itself made her shudder.

When she returns back to the front, Harry’s drumming his fingers along the surface of her desk and looking around the interior of the shop. He doesn’t look nervous, but she wonders if he is. She’d seen her fair share of grown men pass out or vomit from being under the needle.

“All done?” she asks, pointing to the tablet. He nods. “Cool. You ate before this right? Hydrated and everything?”

Again, Harry nods, but this time a crooked smirk appears on his face. “Yes. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Just making sure,” she murmurs, plugging the iPad back in the charger, “Okay, you can follow me to Jan’s workstation.”

“Sure. Just one question — is there a place I can put this?”

Before Y/N has a chance to ask him what he’s talking about, he sheds the blazer he’s wearing to reveal two heavily tattooed, very muscular arms. She has to forcibly prevent her jaw from falling to the floor as her eyes roam over the myriad of black ink that swirls over his tanned skin. There doesn’t seem to be much of a theme, but her tattoos lack coherence, too. She swallows like some kind of lovestruck cartoon character, and when she finally glances at Harry’s face, he has a stupid, cocky smirk on.

She narrows her eyes. “There’s some jacket hooks by the door.”

“Perfect,” he grins cheerfully. He turns, showcasing a few more scattered designs on the backs of his arms, and places his jacket on one of the hooks. “Now you can stop judging me like I’m some old man going through a midlife crisis.”

This time, Y/N’s jaw really does drop.

“I’m not!” she immediately scrambles, even though they both know it’s a complete lie. “I just— I didn’t see any tattoos and I wanted to make sure you were prepared—”

“Sure, sure,” he cuts her off, pointing to some of the workstations in the back. “Jan’s is back there?”

“Yes, but I really wasn’t judging you, I have a million stupid tattoos myself—”

“Right, but because you’re half my age, it’s fine, right?”

“That’s not what I thought at all—”

“Have a good rest of your day.”

Y/N’s left standing there, confusion and embarrassment seeping into her bones, as Harry walks over to Jan’s station.

. . .

Exactly one hour and 45 minutes later, Harry leaves the shop.

Y/N spent the entire time nervously straightening up, sweeping the floors and rearranging their supply closet, trying to decide on what she would say to him when he walked by. She wanted to apologize, especially because she hoped he didn’t say anything to Jan. A client had never complained about her — not once in her three years of working at Jaded, and it would ruin her to know that somebody had a poor experience because of her.

Instead, she chickened out and watched him grab his jacket off the hook. Like every tattoo client leaving, he had a clear piece of film wrap stuck to the inside of his left arm. She wished she could see Jan’s work.

A few minutes later, Jan is heading out, too.

“Don’t stay too late tonight, Y/N. The needles and ink can get sorted tomorrow.” she says, nudging her chin the direction of the closet she’s currently busying herself with. Y/N hums and peeks her head out.

“How was the coverup?” she tries her best to make her voice seem nonchalant, as if she’s sincerely curious in how it went as opposed to finding out if he made any mean comments about the nosy girl in the front.

“Fine,” Jan shrugs as she pulls her car keys from her tote bag, “We didn’t get too far. He’ll be coming in for the next three or four weeks. It’ll take some time to cover that shit up. I’ll see you tomorrow though, yeah?”

Y/N nods robotically and forces out a “get home safe!”.

Three to four weeks?

Harry Styles is going to be the death of her. She’s sure of it.

. . .

The following Tuesday, Y/N has a plan.

When she arrives to work that day, she double checks the schedule to ensure she hasn’t been driving herself insane for a week over nothing (and maybe she has, considering her brain has been a hamster wheel of overthinking a man who uttered a few snarky sentences to her). Sure enough, Harry Styles is scheduled to come in for his second session of covering up his tattoo at 3 p.m. sharp.

Here’s what she decides to do: She’s going to dig her Doc Marten-clad heels into the (metaphorical) ground and politely but assertively tell this Harry Styles that it wasn’t very kind of him to assume she was judging him. After all, isn’t that more judgemental on his end? He had been acting like a classic, wealthy, powerful man, asserting his so-called power over a young woman who was simply trying to make his tattoo experience as seamless as possible. What a dick!

It goes without saying that when he shows up at Jaded at 2:45 p.m., her eyes automatically narrow his form. She’s slightly hopped up on caffeine (she’ll admit, she’s been waiting for this moment all day). She doesn’t even allow herself to to assess his outfit today, which consists of another white tank top, a dark gray blazer, and a pair of matching trousers. It’s similar to what he arrived in last week — all business and ridiculous and stupid, she thinks, especially in comparison to her cutoff denim shorts, vintage band tee-shirt, and platform shoes.

“Hi Harry,” she says, greeting him with a fake, rage-filled smile, “Do you have a moment to chat before your appointment?”

Harry raises his eyebrows, almost as if he’s surprised that she’s even speaking to him to begin with.

“Sure.”

Y/N nods and stands from the front desk, motioning for him to head outside. He does and she follows him, immediately crossing her arms over his chest the second they’re no longer within earshot distance of the shop.

Instantly, a stormy look comes over her face and she flares her nostrils. “Last week when you accused me of judging you for going through a midlife crisis? Yeah, that wasn’t cool. You can’t just do that to people. I get it, you’re a privileged guy who’s used to getting whatever you want in life, but I’m here to put my foot down and tell you that it wasn’t nice. It actually really hurt my feelings! And, you know what, why does it even matter what—”

“You’re right.”

Y/N’s head snaps up.

“What?”

Harry shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pants pockets. “You’re completely right. The second I left, I felt awful. I wanted to say something when I was leaving, but I felt it was better to give you your distance.”

Confused, she fumbles over her words, forgetting where she was in her speech. She clears her throat and nods curtly.

“Yeah. You should feel awful.”

A small smile appears on his lips. “I do. I even brought you a cookie from my favorite bakery by my office building.”

“Really?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

Harry nods and digs into the work bag on his shoulder. Sure enough, he produces a cookie that’s the size of Y/N’s face. She recognizes the sticker on the wrapping as a bakery that’s downtown — she’ll order pastries and snacks from there for the staff sometimes, but it’s usually too expensive and far away for her to treat them. She accepts it from him, but not before she peers up at him with narrowed eyes.

“What kind is it?” she questions, as if it’s a test.

“Raspberry white chocolate,” he answers. “I didn’t know what you like, obviously, so I went with my favorite. I hope that’s okay.”

She won’t tell him that that’s also her favorite, but she offers him a short nod of approval. She swallows tightly as she looks back up at the taller man. “Thank you for the apology cookie. Do you wanna share it with me?”

The edges of his lips curl up into a grin. “Sure. I have some time to spare before my session.”

Y/N digs into the bag and retrieves the cookie, breaking it in half. She hands a piece to Harry, who murmurs out a soft thank you. Together, they stand outside the shop in silence, each nibbling on their half of the cookie. After a few moments of quiet, Y/N sneaks a glance at his tattoo. Jan was right — they haven’t gotten very far in covering it up since she can still clearly read the three letters that spell out MAY.

Harry must have followed her gaze because he glimpses down at her. “Do you guys get a lot of people covering up dumb tattoos?”

She does her best not to choke on the bit of cookie in her mouth.

“Um, I mean, some people end up regretting… certain things they get,” she replies, stumbling over her words. “You’re, um, definitely not the first to… y’know. Get their partner’s name done.”

He chuckles, but it seems more humorless than anything. “Yeah. Stupid mistake for sure.”

Y/N shrugs her shoulders. “It can’t be that stupid if you learned something from it.”

“What do you mean?”

She swallows the rest of her cookie and leans back against the cool, brick wall of the shop. It feels nice in comparison to the rising temperatures outside. Now that they’re slowly dipping into warmer climates, she finds herself appreciating small instances of cooling down, like an air conditioned coffee shop or the evening draft when the sun’s gone down.

“We all make mistakes or decisions that don’t end up working out. You’re certainly not the first person to get divorced or even get their significant other’s name tattooed,” she explains. “But did you get anything out of the process? Did you learn anything from it?”

Harry thinks for a moment. He hadn’t really considered that — not in the five years since he and May made their divorce official. It was a shitty experience from start to finish, that much was apparent. But when he ponders whether or not anything decent came out of it, he wonders if she has a point.

“I mean, I guess I did. I don’t think I would be where I am, standing here now, if it hadn’t happened.”

She hums. “It wasn’t a complete waste then.”

He shrugs. “I guess not.”

Y/N pulls her phone from the pocket of her shorts and glances at the time. 2:58 p.m.

“We should probably head back inside. Your appointment’s starting soon,” she says, straightening out her posture. “Thank you again for the cookie.”

“Sure,” Harry nods. “Thanks for the advice.”

She shoots him the smallest of bashful smiles in response.

. . .

The following Tuesday, Y/N feels far less intimidated about seeing Harry.

In a weird way, she’s actually looking forward to his 3 p.m. appointment. He’s way more talkative than some of the other clients that come in, and she’d be lying if she said his little cookie stunt from last week hadn’t placed him in her good graces. She also felt as though it was a crime not to acknowledge how attractive he was — she’d noticed it from the first moment he stepped into the shop, but now that they were on better terms, she was more open to recognizing it. Beyond the plethora of tattoos that covered his skin, he didn’t look much like other people Y/N had gone after in the past — not that she was going after him in any way.

Her exes consisted of a rough roster of less than satisfactory partners: There was Declan, who she dated in college, but they broke up after he got kicked out for doing stick-and-poke tattoos in his dorm room. After that was Alice, but it turned out she was just using Y/N to figure out her sexuality and, after three months of dating, decided she didn’t like going down on girls. Lastly and most recently there was Jonathan, who had so many tattoos he lost count. He had big dreams of becoming either a professional skateboarder or a drummer in a punk band, but he didn’t own a bed frame so his mattress took permanent real estate on the dirty, hardwood floor of his loft, and he was constantly sending Y/N Venmo requests for money with captions like “pls babe haven’t eaten in 2 days.” (It’s safe to say that all of those relationships ended for good reasons.)

While she didn’t have any plans to approach Harry romantically, there was something about him that piqued her interest. Well, maybe it was multiple somethings. For one, he was 12 years older than her. She’d never thought about dating someone that much older, but she happened to sneak a glance at his consent form to see his date of birth just out of plain — and legal — curiosity. Harry seemed to have his life together. Every time he came to the shop, he was coming straight from work in what appeared to be a put-together, expensive suit. He always tipped Jan well (30% for each session — Y/N knows because she did the math) and he was kind to all the artists, even if he’d never spoken to them before. And, she had to admit that the communication and vulnerability he offered last week had been a stark change from the treatment she was used to.

Yeah, so maybe she had an eensy, tiny, miniscule crush on Harry. But she’s sure it’ll fade away once he’s finished with his coverup — he only has two sessions left, anyway. How much damage could be done in that small of a timeframe?

. . .

“Y/N, I need you to postpone Harry’s session today!”

Jan’s haphazardly running around and grabbing her things, mumbling out nonsense as she looks for her car keys. Confused, Y/N gets up from her seat at the front desk.

“Is everything okay?” she calls out as she walks over to the jacket closet, grabbing Jan’s keyring off the hook. Shutting the door behind her, she finds Jan scrambling through her office. When her eyes flit up to see the keys in Y/N’s hand, her eyebrows relax as she grabs them.

“Not really,” she mutters, yanking her phone out of her pocket, “You know that girl I’ve been seeing? Lizzy? She was at my place with my dogs today and apparently one of them must’ve eaten something bad because now they won’t stop throwing up. I’m meeting her at the vet downtown. Tell Harry I’m really sorry, okay?”

Jan is gone in a flash, running down the sidewalk to get in her car. Y/N can’t blame her — her dogs are her entire life, so her stomach sinks as she thinks about something bad happening to them. She makes a mental note to text her and check in with her later, but not before she messages Harry to let him know that his appointment is canceled.

When she heads back to her desk, she brings up Harry’s digital paperwork to retrieve his number. They don’t have a phone specifically for the shop, so she has to text him from her personal number, which makes her heart beat a little too quickly for her own good. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she types out a message: Hey Harry, this is Y/N from Jaded. I’m just texting to let you know that Jan had an emergency and can’t tattoo you this afternoon. She’s really sorry about the inconvenience.

She places her locked phone down on the dark mahogany of the desk and tries to ignore the pit of disappointment that settles in her stomach. Had she spent a few extra minutes primping her appearance this morning in preparation to see him? Maybe, and there’s a teensy, tiny part of her that despises herself for it. Harry doesn’t want anything to do with her. She’s 12 years his junior and she’s nothing more than the nice receptionist at the tattoo shop he’s getting a piece done at.

With a self-deprecating sigh, she picks at her fingernails when her phone lights up. She reads Harry’s name across the screen and assumes he’s probably responded with something kind and unassuming; something that will make her heart beat embarrassingly fast in her chest.

That’s okay. Thanks for the heads up.

Are you still at the shop? Maybe we can get together instead.

Y/N’s eyes are the size of saucers as she quickly replies: okay! Where should we meet?

. . .

Harry chooses a coffee shop that’s within walking distance of Jaded. He’s never been there before but each week he noticed Y/N sipping on iced drinks with the name of the cafe sprawled across the cup, so he figured she must like it.

It’s been a long while since a girl has been Harry nervous, and he’s somewhat surprised that she comes wrapped up in a body with sprawling tattoos and piercings, always in cute skirts and platform Doc Martens. She’s sweet — he likes that her shoes are so heavy that he can hear her walking before he sees her and that she fiddles with her nose ring when she’s bored. He likes that her wardrobe is a rotation of baggy band tee-shirts and black jeans or plaid skirts, that her soft, smooth hands are covered in nonsensical designs that likely have stories similar to his — a friend with a tattoo gun, a boring Tuesday afternoon. She’s nothing that Harry has ever been attracted to and yet, she’s everything he wants.

He’s made careful efforts not to put her on a pedestal. At first, he wasn’t sure if he was just horny and depraved — I mean, what kind of guy would walk into the shop and not drool over the pretty, young girl working the front? And while he’s not entirely proud of what he did next, he found it to be a necessary next step: He sorted through his rolodex of hookups, texted his most foolproof girl (a tall, leggy brunette who modeled on the side), and invited her over.

It turns out, Harry could only come when he pretended she was Y/N.

In hindsight, it made him feel gross and icky; lusting over a girl who’s certainly at least 10 years younger. It’s why he forces himself to try — if she rejects him, he can move on with his life and find someone more age-appropriate.

But she doesn’t. In fact, she replies within a minute and asks where she should meet him.

It’s how Harry ends up clutching a small Americano in his hand, sitting in a back booth at Buzzybee Cafe.

He’s nibbling on his bottom lip, nervous and jumpy, keeping his eyes glued on the front entrance. Every now and then, he’ll glimpse down at his phone on the table to check the time. He halfway expects her to text and let him know that she’s not coming — an understandable and believable excuse about getting busy at work or, Harry doesn’t know, maybe not wanting to meet up with someone who’s older. Why would she? She’s capable of getting nearly anyone she wants in this world, she’s pretty and funny and smart and stands up for herself and—

“Hey, Harry.”

His spiraling thoughts come to a screeching halt when he glances up to see the object of his affection standing over him with a small, timid smile on her lips. He blinks, somewhat surprised that she’s there.

In front of him.

And he hasn’t said a thing yet.

“Hey,” Harry finally forces out, his throat bobbing as he swallows nervously, “You made it.”

“Of course!” her eyes light up and he feels his heart thump noisily in his chest, “What’d you get to drink? Do you need anything?”

“Just an Americano,” he answers, trying not to feel lame about his boring drink choice. Y/N wrinkles her face in response.

“You would be one of those manly ‘I-only-drink-espresso-and-black-coffee’ kind of guys, wouldn’t you?”

She says it with a teasing smile and it offers him permission for a small scoff to leave his throat followed by a joking roll of the eyes.

“What, was I supposed to get one of those sugary drinks you always seem to get?” he fires back, making Y/N’s eyes widen.

“They’re not that bad!” she exclaims through plush, lipstick-stained lips, “Here, now I’m gonna order one and make you try it. You’ve dug your grave, Styles!”

She’s turning on her Doc Marten-clad foot to order before Harry has the chance to offer to pay for her order. That had been the plan, but like most things about Y/N, he realizes, those pre-decided upon strategies get tossed out the window the second she pops up. It makes Harry jiggle his leg beneath the table, both as an expression of unfamiliar excitement and nervousness.

She returns to their table with some sort of coffee-hued concoction with whipped cream piled high. It makes Harry’s nose crinkle, and he doesn’t notice that Y/N smiles at the way his skin ripples underneath the cute expression.

“Okay, since you were kind of a dick to me the day we met, you have no choice but to try it.”

Harry’s eyes instantly form into rounded saucers, apologies quick to make it to the tip of his tongue. Before he can start, she puts her hand up.

“I don’t care about it now, you’ve already apologized for it. But the only way for us to move on is if you try my white mocha frappé.”

“Y/N,” Harry sighs. He scoots his elbows forward and peers up at her. “What the fuck is a frappé?”

She giggles before wrapping her lips around the straw, taking a hearty sip of the drink, “It’s like a blended coffee. It’s my go-to when I’m having a shit day.”

“You drink this when you’re having a bad day?” Harry asks as she pushes the cup in his direction. “You don’t think this will fuck your stomach up enough to absolutely ruin your day?”

“No, because it’s a fun treat. And a little treat will brighten up anyone’s day.”

Y/N answers his question like it’s plain and simple science. He wants to continue on about the sugar content, how this is likely a heart attack neatly compiled into a 16-ounce cup, but he can’t — not when he looks at her and she stares back with an expectant expression, waiting for him to take a sip.

“Fine,” he mumbles, flexing his fingers to wrap them around the cold plastic cup, “But promise you won’t bring up my… shortcomings anymore?”

Y/N grins. “Scout’s honor.”

It tastes exactly how Harry expected — sugary, way too sweet, and slightly nauseating. But when he sees that puppy-like look of excitement painted over her face, he can’t help but let out a quiet laugh and shake his head.

“See? That wasn’t too bad.” Y/N replies as she takes her drink back.

“No,” not when you look at me like that, “Not at all.”

. . .

Harry and Y/N sit tucked away in their booth at Buzzybee for far too long.

It’s easy to talk to her, Harry finds. She’s receptive and kind and lets him finish his stories without interrupting. She doesn’t judge him for his divorce, not even when he tells her that he played just as much of a part in ruining his marriage as May did. He tells her about his job as a museum curator, his affinity for playing tennis on the weekends, his six year-long trek with veganism, and his secret passion for hunting down vintage band tee-shirts from the 1970s and ‘80s.

Y/N isn’t ashamed to reveal just as much which, if she’s being honest, is quite uncharacteristic for her. It typically takes weeks, if not months for her to completely warm up to a person and start telling them about her hobbies, family dynamic, and the time her grandma cried when she realized she got her nose pierced. She tells him about how much she loves playing cozy video games on her Nintendo Switch, the myriad of plants and greenery that decorate her loft apartment, and how she actually started working at Jaded to become a tattoo apprentice, but ended up falling in love with working the front instead.

By the time the cafe is closing up and the nice employees are now glaring at them, silently pleading that they leave, Harry feels like he’s known Y/N for a million years. In some weird way, he doesn’t know how he’s gone this long without her bright smile and saccharine laughter in his life. It’s all he can think about as they throw their empty cups away and slowly stroll down the sidewalk, back in the direction of the tattoo shop. He doesn’t mean to be lost in his thoughts as

Y/N chatters on about the latest game she’s been playing in her down time, but he can’t ignore the small shining pit of happiness that’s glowing deep in his belly right now. He’s missed this — this hopeful feeling with the promise of someone special on the other end.

It’s all he can think about as they approach Y/N’s car and, when she turns to face him to say goodbye, he’s already blurting the words out without a second thought.

“Will you go on a date with me?”

She blinks, parting her plush lips as her tongue peeks over the ridges of her two front teeth. “Oh… I thought— this wasn’t a date?”

Harry’s eyes widen, “Oh! I mean— it could if you wanted it to be. I just— I didn’t ask you beforehand and I’d want to do that. And pay for you and all that.”

“I’m sorry if I misunderstood, I just thought— I don’t know what I thought—”

“No, you were right, I was just being dumb—”

“No, no!” Y/N shakes her head and the smile that edges at her lips makes Harry’s chest pulse with relief. “We’re both being silly, I think. I would love to go on a date with you, though.”

“Yeah?” he asks, the slight disbelief apparent in his voice, “Are you free this weekend?”

She nods with a small smile.

“How about Saturday? You can come over and I’ll cook you dinner?”

She has to bite her lip to hide the growing grin on her lips. “Okay. I’ll see you Saturday.”

He watches as she starts her car and pulls away from the curb to make sure she’s safe on her way home.

. . .

On Saturday evening, Y/N shows up to Harry’s house. She wears her favorite black midi dress and matches them with a pair of clunky boots. When she arrives, the smile that encompasses Harry’s face makes her chest glow.

He’d texted her earlier that day to make sure she didn’t have any dietary restrictions and made them a delicious pasta dinner. Afterwards, they cuddle on the couch, Y/N’s heart thrumming quickly in her chest at the close proximity. When it’s finally time for her to go home, Harry seals the deal by smearing his lips against hers. It’s warm and soft and his large palms splay over her hips as she wraps her arms around him, gently playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

By the time she gets home that evening (texting Harry to let him know she got back safely, per his request), they both know they’re head over heels for one another.

. . .

Perhaps quite predictably, Harry and Y/N start seeing each other more regularly after that first afternoon at Buzzybee Cafe. It’s slow at first — Harry’s nervous about scaring her away, so he sets boundaries with himself, only pledging to text her a few times a week. She’s receptive, though, and he’s thrilled that her messages start coming in more often: Sometimes pictures of dogs that come in with clients to the shop, other times it’s memes that remind her of him. (She’ll sometimes have to explain them to him because he, embarrassingly enough, doesn’t always understand.) Weeks of casual texting complimented by his weekly appointments with Jan tumble into daily good morning texts accompanied by selfies and outfit shots. When his tattoo of his ex-wife’s name is finally covered up by a detailed illustration of a sailing ship, he’s anxious in his realization that he’ll have to come up with new ways to regularly see her, but she’s already two steps ahead of him with an invitation to their second (official, third unofficial) date for the upcoming weekend.

The rest is somewhat history.

Well, sort of.

It’s a month and a half in when Harry asks Y/N to accompany him to a work event at some smarmy art museum in the city. His office had had a huge hand in sourcing the pieces and there were a ton of donors involved, so the museum’s director was throwing some type of soiree to celebrate the opening. Inviting Y/N as his plus one was a no-brainer — call him old fashioned, but he had plans to ask her to be his girlfriend sometime soon. He wanted to make it special, though, maybe with a candlelit dinner at her favorite Thai restaurant or a well thought-out picnic in the park they loved to walk through on the weekends.

“This isn’t, like, on the level of the Met Gala or something, is it?” Y/N asks that evening as she swipes a q-tip beneath the sharp cat eye of her eyeliner. Harry snorts and shakes his head from his spot in the doorway, where he watches as she diligently finishes up her eye makeup. He’d picked her up from work and eaten an early dinner together before they planned to head out to the museum.

“It’s really not a big deal, it’s just a small event with a bunch of snooty art people,” Harry replies nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s wearing a fashionable set tonight, consisting of a powder blue undershirt and a navy blazer with matching trousers. As usual, his fingers don their usual jewelry. When Y/N saw what he was wearing, she’d wanted to match him, but she didn’t have any dresses in her closet that weren’t black. He insisted that it was fine, but there was a teensy sliver of her that felt bad about it.

“How snooty?”

He thinks for a moment. “I mean, no one will be mean to you if that’s what you’re worried about. I’d never let that happen anyway.”

She ignores the way her cheeks warm as she sweeps some bronzer over the structure of her face.

“It’ll be fine, baby,” he murmurs, coming up from behind her. He knows better than to disturb her while she’s doing her makeup, so he waits for her movements to still before he drops a kiss to the top of her head. Her heart stutters at the pet name. “Almost done, yeah? We gotta leave soon.”

“Mhmm,” she nods, picking up her freshly sharpened lip liner, “Just gotta do my lips and put my dress on and we’re good.”

“I don’t know why you’re putting lipstick on when I’m not gonna be able to keep my mouth off yours all night.” he instantly fires back as he issues a squeeze to her waistline. Y/N squeals and bats him away, eager for some peace from Harry’s playful teasing. He chuckles, presses a kiss to her temple, and murmurs out something about calling the Uber as he leaves the bathroom.

Y/N has to force the smile off her face so she can finish applying her lip liner.

. . .

Apparently, when Harry meant “snooty”, he really meant to say, “the most annoying, judgemental, snobby people on planet Earth”.

From the second Harry and Y/N had stepped into the museum that evening, she was on the receiving end of horrified stares. From the colorful ink that decorated her arms to her arm being threaded through Harry’s, it seemed like everyone had something to gawk at. Truthfully, she was used to people looking at her — not in an arrogant, “pick me” kind of way, but in the way where she understood she had tons of tattoos that some people liked and others hated.

But the snide eyes weren’t just because of her ink, and she knows that. It’s because she’s here with Harry.

Harry, who knows nearly everyone at this event.

Harry, who’s apparently one of the most high up curators at his job and Y/N had no idea.

Harry, who’s capable of rubbing elbows with even the rudest of people while Y/N just stands there, unsure of what to say, because when the first person asked her what she does for work and she said “I work at a tattoo shop”, they replied with a simple, disgusted, “oh.”

She feels like an idiot.

She feels small.

She feels judged.

And the person she came here with is doing nothing, aside from the occasional grimace when the conversation finally ends.

Y/N’s last straw comes in the form of one of the museum’s assistant directors, who comes over to thank Harry once again for all of his hard work. When her eyes dart to Y/N, who has one hand curled around yet another glass of fizzy champagne, they widen and pingpong back to Harry.

“Harry, you didn’t tell me you had a daughter!” she exclaims as her lips stretch into a huge grin. Immediately, Y/N’s arm drops from Harry’s and she swallows as bile begins to build in her throat.

“Oh— Gwen, no, this isn’t— t-this isn’t my daughter,” Harry stutters nervously, blinking as he watches the horrified look in Y/N’s eyes. “Um, this is Y/N. We’ve been seeing each other.”

Gwen’s eyebrows raise, “Oh, my mistake. Apologies to you both. I just assumed Harry would spend his time with someone a bit more… savory.” her gaze flits back to Harry. “You must understand.”

Y/N doesn’t allow herself to hear Harry’s response. She knows he’s too kind and professional to chew her up and spit her out the way she wants him to. Instead, she simply slams her glass down on the nearest waiter’s tray, turns around, and rushes out of the building.

The words continue to replay in her head as tears flood her vision. All she wants to do is go home. She never should have entertained this relationship — who does she think she is? Someone a bit more… savory.

You didn’t tell me you had a daughter!

You must understand.

Fat, salty slip down her cheeks as she walks outside, her platform heels clicking against the concrete sidewalk. She doesn’t know where she’s going, instead just picking a direction and walking in it as she uses the back of her hand to wipe the wetness away.

You must understand.

Because everyone, including Y/N now, gets it — she doesn’t fit in to Harry’s world. She never has and she never will, and it was pathetic for either of them to think she ever would.

Gripping her silky dress in her hands, she continues walking as far as she can get from the museum. As her vision begins to clear, she makes half-baked decisions: She’ll order an Uber when the distance from Harry is decent enough to feel comfortable. She’ll block his number. She won’t even care to pick up any of the clothing she’s left at his house, and she’ll simply throw away the few tee-shirts and sweatshirts he’s left at hers.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been walking but she’s ripped from her thoughts when she hears loud calls of her name. She recognizes the voice — how couldn’t she, not when he’s the only person that’s seeped through her psyche and into cotton candy tufts of her dreamland — and tries to quicken her pace. She mentally curses the heels on her feet, sniffling as she begins to limp from the pain of the high platforms.

“Y/N, please! Stop!”

The sound of his shouts only makes her eyes blur with tears once again and suddenly, the tall figure is beside her, panting and breathing loudly. He wraps a careful arm around her shoulders as he matches her slow pace and shushes her, caroling them over to the side in front of a business that’s already closed for the night. Through weepy eyes, she can hardly make out his face, but she can tell it’s Harry just from his touch and scent alone.

“Baby, please,” he says, slowly smoothing his hand down her back. It’s comforting and she wishes it wasn’t. “You have to breathe, honey. C’mon, inhale and exhale.”

Y/N’s brain is a wash of noisy static so she welcomes the direction, quickly abandoning her plans to remove herself from Harry’s life. It helps that he’s reminding her of how to do the most basic of human functions, guiding her in slow, deep breaths that start to regulate her speeding heart.

“There you go, sweetheart. You’re doing so good.”

When she finally manages a glimpse up at him, his eyes are bleary and red-rimmed. She finds it difficult to believe that he would’ve been crying over her, too, so she quickly blinks and looks away.

“What happened back there?” Harry asks, his throat bobbing with a swallow, “I know that was weird, but why did you run? Why couldn’t you have talked to me?”

Y/N can’t fight the scoff that forces itself free from her chest. “All night, people were staring at me like I was some kind of alien. As if my tattoos weren’t enough of a reason to gawk, they were looking at me like I didn’t even deserve to be standing next to you. I felt pathetic, Harry. I just— I don’t fit in with this lifestyle and I think it’s better if we just… just leave it.”

“What lifestyle?” Harry demands as his eyebrows thicken with anger, “I’m not like them, you know that—”

“I don’t want to go places and have people think I’m your daughter, Harry!” she yells with wide eyes, “I don’t want to be looked down upon if we go to a work thing for you! People acted like I was your fucking sugar baby. Do you know how demeaning that is?”

“And do you realize how disgusting that makes me feel?” he seethes. “Bringing someone 12 years younger than me? Being in love with someone who wasn’t even around for the first part of my life?”

“You don’t mean that,” Y/N breathes, shaking her head in angry dismissal. “You’re just saying that.”

Harry takes a hesitant step closer and reaches out to cradle her elbow. “Yes, I do. I would never lie to you, Y/N. But I love you— I love you so much that it’s killing me that you would ever think you don’t have a place in my life.”

“I don’t, Harry—”

“You do,” he cuts her off and reaches to take her hands in his palms, squishing her cheeks together. “I don’t give a fuck what anyone else says or thinks. I don’t care what they think of us. I love you, Y/N. I want you in my life.”

Y/N swallows harshly. She can’t escape his locked-in gaze, but she doesn’t want to. It’s all she needed, even if she didn’t realize it until now — the verbalization that he wants her there. And that’s enough.

“Okay,” she whispers, nodding her head in his grasp. His eyes widen. “Okay. I want to be in your life, too.”

“You promise?”

A small smile curls at the edges of her lips. “I promise,” she says, leaning forward to press a light kiss to his lips. “Take me home now, please.”

. . .

The second Harry and Y/N walk through the doorway of his place, it’s a blurry scene of spit swollen lips, wet kisses, and sprawling touches.

Harry imagined their first time being far more romantic than this, but he doesn’t care. Neither of them do. Now, more than ever, they need each other.

The air is thick with tension when Harry momentarily breaks their kiss only to shed Y/N of the straps on her shoulders. He gently tugs them down to her shoulders before slowly traveling down her body, sliding his large palms over the silky fabric of her dress to meet her platform heels, where he diligently unbuckles them and slips them off her feet.

“Thank you,” she breathes, watching as he gets back up from his knees. He hums and cups her chin with his fingers, bringing her closer to lightly kiss her lips.

“I want to show you that you’re not making a mistake,” he whispers as he gently leans his forehead up against hers. “That giving me a chance is something you won’t regret.”

Immediately she shakes her head. Despite the close view of her face, Harry can tell her eyebrows knit together; a familiar furrow whenever she’s particularly determined.

“I know it’s not. You don’t have to show me anything.”

He notices that her fingers shake as she brings them up to his neck, winding them around to the back of his head. He swallows, allowing her the space to experiment, both verbally and physically.

And then: “I love you, Harry.”

At first, he doesn’t say anything. His heart races and his chest feels warm as he blinks, repeating the words in his brain.

Finally, raspberry lips part.

“You don’t have to say that just because I said it,” he murmurs, thumbing over the apple of her cheek. “We can go slow. There’s no pressure.”

“I know,” she nods, “I know. But I do. I love you so much.”

A pause.

“I love you,” Harry says, sliding his hands down the curves of her sides and to her waist. “Fuck, I love you, Y/N.”

“Don’t stop saying it.” she whispers. His fingers dip below the material of her dress and she swallows when he finds the bare skin of her hips. Exhaling shakily, she allows him to pull her lacey underwear down over the bend of her bum, letting them pool uselessly at her feet.

“I love you.” he says again, his hands suddenly at her wrists. He uses his gentle grasp to lift her arms up so he can push the dress up and over her body, leaving her in just the strapless bra she’d fit herself into for the evening. Just as quickly, his skilled fingers pop the clasp open, and they’re in a futile pool of Y/N’s clothes while Harry stands before her, still in his navy blue ensemble.

It’s a vulnerable place to be but she doesn’t hate it — not when he stares at her with soft eyes, dragging his gaze up and down the expanse of her form. She wants to cover herself, but she doesn’t. Instead, she reaches forward and thumbs open the button of his blazer before sliding the fabric off his torso. Just as he did to her, he watches as she slowly sheds him of his shirt, then his trousers, and finally, his briefs.

His cock is thick and long and Y/N’s hand immediately loops around it the second it slaps up against his lower belly. He hisses and grabs her hips, pressing blunt fingernails into the soft skin as he pushes her back against the couch. All too flawlessly, he’s now given himself the upper hand, hovering over her naked body, his biceps bulging as he keeps himself up.

“Please,” she says breathily, “I want you. No teasing.”

Harry huffs out a guttural chuckle as he begins to plant kisses along her collarbones and down to her chest, landing just above her belly button.

“I’m big,” he murmurs into her skin. “‘M not trying to tease. Just don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can do it,” Y/N insists, her voice growing whiney with need. “Don’t wanna wait any longer.”

"You're cute when you beg." Harry mumbles out in response as his lips curve into a smirk. Her jaw drops a smidge, prepared to respond, but he quickly stretches over her body to press his lips to hers again. Just as it was the moment they came home, the kiss is frantic and driven with energy, filled with tension and electricity. Harry catches each of her noisy whimpers with his lips, a groan of his own on the verge of tumbling out. He feels her squeeze her thighs together and assumes it’s an attempt to relieve some of the pressure building in her core, making his cock continue to swell between their bodies. If he wanted to, he knows he could get them off just like this — him grinding against the soft skin of her stomach while he dips a few fingers into her sopping pussy. But they both need more than that.

Again, he breaks this kiss, this time resulting in a rather frustrated Y/N. Her lips are slicked with spit and swollen from the frenzied kissing, his likely appearing the same.

"Is this okay?"

"Yes," she breathes, nodding her head like a bobblehead, "Yes, I want you. Please."

"You want me?" he teases, and she has to resist rolling her eyes at the sudden uptick of arrogance. "That's awfully forward of you. What happened to my sweet good girl?"

"I'm still here," she whines, "Harry, please, you're— you're being mean, you know what I want."

He ducks under her jaw to press soft kisses along her neck, gently sucking at spots of skin. Light splotches appear from the welcomed assault, ensuring that they remember this long after it’s over. She instantly weaves her painted fingernails into his curly hair.

"Tell me what you want." Harry demands, placing his hands on either side of her head. He keeps his palms flush against the throw pillow, caging her in. Her face begins to flush and her lips flutter over the words, so he leans down to brush his nose against hers; a reminder that she’s safe. "Go ahead, bun."

"I want you to fuck me," she mumbles, her bottom lip nearly quivering with need. She looks like she could cry all over again — only this time, for good reasons.

He reaches his hand up to her mouth, jutting his thumb out to pull at her lip. Immediately responsive, she parts her lips, making him smile as he pushes his finger inside. She sucks at it lightly.

"You're so good. So cute, so good," he says softly, watching her. "I want you just as bad, sweet girl. Y'sure you're ready for my cock? I haven't even seen your pretty pussy yet—"

"Shut up," she mutters out, his thumb laying heavy on her tongue. "I can take it. Promise.” He lets out a laugh at her sudden boldness. He removes his finger from her mouth, mumbling out a greedy girl as he leans down to wrap his lips around a nipple, moving his hand down to her mound.

At risk of her snapping at him again, he presses a thumb to her clit, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. He begins to circle his thumb tightly, her muscles suddenly tightening underneath his grasp. Selfishly, he takes joy in watching her slowly crumble underneath him, her soft whimpers growing into moans when he dips his finger further down, circling her hole once, twice, before dipping in.

"H," she whined, her eyes screwed shut."What, bunny?"

"I— please, need your cock, no more teasing."

He stills his fingers inside of her, gently pulling them out. On any other day, maybe he would have persisted with the slow burn of pleasure, but he’s feeling just as desperate as her. He wraps his fist around the head of his cock, using strings of her arousal to slowly pump, relieving some of the built up pressure.

"Y'still good, baby?" he asks, resisting the groan at the tip of his tongue.

"Yes, daddy."

His head snaps up to see an arrogant smirk painted on her features. "Are you gonna fuck me now?"

This time, he finally does let out a moan.

Shuffling his knees forward, he rubs his cock against her core, painting the tip from her clit to her hole, up and down, until she wiggles her hips down. He smirks as she lets out a pathetic whine. Slowly, he pushes forward, the tip of my cock instantly encased by her tight walls. He hisses at the feeling and reaches down to grab her hip, his hand gripping her skin tightly.

"More," she chokes, nodding her head eagerly, "Please, more, daddy."

Once he knows that she’s not in any pain from the intrusion, he keeps going until his hips are flush against her warm skin, his cock buried deep inside of her. Her plush lips form a soft 'o' as she reaches forward to rake her nails down my chest, a silent plea to move.

"You feel so fucking good, bunny," he mutters out as he begins to snap my hips, slowly building a steady pace. He’s careful not to push her too quickly, but the fear of coming too fast is consistent in his brain. Despite sleeping with his fair share of people, he’s never felt so complete inside of someone. The way her pussy is so snug and tight around his cock makes him feel like an addict.

She’s a moaning mess beneath him, her fingernails pressing harshly into his back. Her eyes are wide and teary now, making him smirk as he lifts a finger to wipe the liquid away.

"Don' need to cry, babe, you're doing so good for me." he says, leaning down to pepper kisses over the surface of her face.

"Yeah?" She gasped, her hand snaking down the length of her body. Her fingertips quickly find her clit and he looks down to watch her make tight little circles into the skin.

"So fuckin' good," he mumbles, entranced by the sight of her touching herself, "y'gonna cum all over daddy's cock, angel girl?" She nods eagerly and he speeds up his thrusts, desperate to make her finish before he manages to explode. He can feel his muscles clenching, her pussy somehow getting even tighter with every movement.

"What do you need?" he grits out with a clenched jaw.

She’s moments away from finishing now; he can feel and see it, but he’s determined to push her over the edge. Swallowing harshly, her jaw drops as she mumbles out, "c-choke me, please."

Groaning, he wraps his hand around the column of her throat, pressing gently against her windpipe. He watches as her eyes roll back and feels the way her muscles instantly contract around his cock, triggering his own orgasm to approach. At the sounds of her moans, he quickly pulls out and pumps his cock twice before finishing all over her stomach and chest, a splatter of come painting itself on her soft skin. They’re both breathless and Harry resists the urge to completely collapse against the girl beneath him. He would have, if not for Y/N’s closed eyes as she catches her breath. In the silence of the moment, he takes in the appearance of her naked body covered in his come. Grimacing slightly at his softening prick, he grabs his boxers and shuffles them over his hips. He stands from the couch and straightens his posture when he hears a sleepy mumble from below. "Where are y'going?" "Gonna clean you up," Harry says softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, "be right back, 'kay, bunny?” Y/N asleep before he returns a few minutes later with a wet washcloth. He sits at the edge of the couch and gently runs it over her body, wiping away the remnants of their intimacy. Her eyes blink open when she realizes he’s returned, granting him a small, lazy smile. He returns it. “You did so good for me,” he murmurs, tossing the dirty cloth on the floor. He’ll throw it in the washing machine later, but right now, taking care of this sleepy, fucked out lump is the top priority. “Do you wanna go upstairs and change? Go to sleep in my bed?” She shakes her head. “Let’s sleep down here. Too tired to move.” And yeah, maybe Harry hasn’t slept on a couch since he was in his 20s because he has back problems. Yes, his hips will surely ache from sharing the space with the girl he’s been crushing on for months. Surely, they’ll shift positions multiple times throughout the night as they attempt to find something that’s semi-comfortable for the both of them. But he’ll do anything to see Y/N smile. “Sure, baby,” he replies, grabbing a soft throw blanket from the end of the couch. He wiggles himself into her side so he’s holding her from behind, tossing the cozy material over their bodies. “G’night. Lemme know if you need anything.”

She hums, and then it’s silent.

Harry allows his eyes to fall closed, sinking into the comfort of the warm girl beside him. It’s only then that he hears her inhale, followed by seven soft words: “I love you, Harry. I mean it.”

He tucks his face into her shoulder and hides the grin that stretches over his face.

“I love you, Y/N. I mean it.”

1K notes · View notes

mooishbeam · 4 months

Text

『♡』 Brittle is Devotion

♡ featuring: ex-husband!toji x f!reader

♡ summary: it's been a while since you've seen your ex-husband, and on a drunken night, buried feelings emerge. wc: 12.2k+ (bruhhh)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of violence/blood, angst/comfort, rekindled feelings, rough sex, missionary, prone bone, full-nelson, overstimulation, cervix fucking, creampie, m/f receiving, throat fucking, sadism/masochism, dom/sub dynamics, squirting, fingering, praise/degredation kink, dumbification, edging, breeding kink, feral toji mmm, pet names (angel, sweetie, baby)

notes: good morning!! hope everyone is having a lovely day, i am so so so so sorry i haven't posted in so long i didnt abandon the account!! i've just been getting it together before the semester starts, and i didnt expect for it to be this long :(( im very tired but ill try to get some stuff out in the next couple of weeks, most likely long fics too. ty so much, and srry for any spelling mistakes. art by ilameys_ on ig! <;3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

Picking up the pieces after Toji is rough. The divorce was bad enough, and you currently have an aching pain stilling in your chest that makes it hard to take the shallowest breaths. It hammers in the tight confines of your ribcage, and as you sob into your pillow the only relief you desire is sleep, so that you may have temporary solace from the grief wrecking your brain. Your new apartment feels entirely too shallow. There’s no crumby television to use because you were too broke to afford the higher-end appliances, or that creaking mattress you both squeezed into until you could thrift a reasonable headboard. You missed the 60s style tiles painted a horrific green in your kitchen, and the shower that ran out of hot water every other day. It was terrible, downright unlivable for most, but you had each other.

It hurts more because you love him. So much. Unbearably, to the point where you screamed at the top of your lungs until your throat scratched through angry hot tears, begging him to care for a moment, to give you a reason to stay. Countless times, threatening to walk out if he didn’t endeavor to change. But he never believed you. He thought you’d never leave, because all you had was him.

And it was true, for years it was. Toji was your dream man; funny and thoughtful. It wasn’t conventional kindness, but it was his. Money didn’t matter—even as you enjoyed a frozen meal on the floor of your empty apartment in the first couple months of moving in with him, you had a smile on your face. Even when your friends and family begged you not to marry him, because they couldn’t stand the sight of him and his arrogant, sometimes aggressive candor, you went on with it anyway. You knew who he really was at heart.

He was your first everything, you felt if he left, you’d melt to nothing and become a shell of who you once were, because Toji had become an extension of you. You waited for him to get home, had dinner, and slept through the outside commotion of cars and bar fights; his securing arm locked around you, hand cradling your head and legs intertwined. There was no one like him.

He knew that and got greedy.

To you, the change was fast, but it’d been spreading like a nasty mold for years. You’d sunk so deep you hadn’t noticed the drought until you reached the bottom. He taught you love, then pulled away; separated himself with additional shifts and pathetic excuses. In turn you punished yourself, showered him with heavier instances of love and endearment, and convinced yourself you needed to try harder. If the sex wasn’t daily, you gave him more. If he didn’t like the food, you learned how to be a better chef. If the house wasn’t clean, you scrubbed top to bottom. Wringing a tired towel, dry of sacrifice. Chasing after him until the soles of your feet blistered. Still, not a smidge of praise or approval came to fruition. When he did—which was rare—those peppered spaces ignited a lasting burn in your heart, keeping withering fire alive.

Soon, those fleeting kisses and distant pauses weren’t enough, and he didn’t care enough to change. You’d plead and cry at his feet, and he’d scoff and walk past you.

“We’ll talk about it later”, he’d say more often than not. You didn’t have the confidence to leave, and he consumed himself with whatever underground work he participated in, while you decayed in a declining marriage.

A grimace on his face, laid back on the couch and looking at you expectingly, as if you would drop to your knees and service him in a heartbeat—but you did exactly that. And you were tired, utterly tired of pulling the emotional and mental leaden baggage on your own. It was heavy, and you were crushing yourself underneath it. You still loved him with every inch of your being, and you’d do it all for him, but it couldn’t be just you anymore. He came home one fateful night to you sitting at the dining table, spotlighted under the stark glass pendant lamp in your dark apartment, dejection that foreshadowed the unfortunate end.

“Do you love me?” He gazed at your solemn face and scratched his head.

“Mhm.”

“Will you change?”

“No.”

That’s what you needed to hear. The next week, while he was at work, you gathered your clothes and measly possessions to leave. You sobbed the entire way through, shaking with uncertainty and fear of the unknown—unsure about a future without him. As you slid the dissolution of your marriage on the counter, the sudden reality made you unable to control your knees as you dropped to the floor, and tears spilled down your cheeks and freckled the papers. Luckily, Shoko was there to comfort you and help pack your things. The corners of that confinement spared a gentle, loving memory, and vitriol was left in its wake. Turning back to its hollowness for the last time, you imagined Toji, plopping onto the couch as he’d usually do to watch some late-night television show or going to bed. Like you weren’t there.

Maybe you never mattered in the first place.

It’s been a year since, and things are looking up for you. An opportunity surfaced in a field you were interested in applying for, and you miraculously got the job. Moving over a city helped you adjust to your new life—that, and a bottle of dark burning liquor. No matter how much you mindlessly typed at your computer or partied with coworkers, you couldn’t stomach the pit gorging through you, a hole that surfaced everything you’d been burying.

You’re not prepared to face the forlorn mock of your bleached walls today. As you pry your eyes open, the flickering shimmers through your sheer curtain cast across unattended sheets, soothed by stuffed animals strung along the comforter. You reach for something that isn’t there in your groggy state—a gentle reminder that your morning would be just as empty as yesterday.

Today isn’t any other; it’s what would’ve been your five-year anniversary. One year, of new beginnings and new friends. A year of solitude.

You don’t bother slinking out of bed. The accumulation of tasks awaiting you is more daunting than the actual execution. In an attempt to regain control of your life, you established a healthy routine. It entails waking up at early hours to exercise and work on projects and meal prep, and ending your night early with extra exercise and skincare. It was amazing at first and quelled your sadness. What they didn’t inform you of, was the spectacle; the appearance and perception of perfection, and not the struggles or gradual burnout of maintaining that lifestyle. When the distraction died down, and work and social activities became a congealed, monstrous chore, you quickly resented those limp salads and vomit-inducing runs.

You expel a loaded sigh and pull the covers over.

The vibration of the phone buzzing on your stomach peels your eyes awake. You allow it to pass, but it rings again. From a frustrated exhale, your languid hands muster the strength to flip to its notification; Shoko’s calling.

“Hello?” you mutter, fatigue caught in your throat.

“Fuck, you sound like hell!” she replies. The repetitive clack of office keyboards and analog phones being slammed by stressed out coworkers distorts the background. Thank God I used my paid time off.

“I love you too, Shoko.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean it like that…you ok?” It’s much sweeter. Shoko has always been a supportive friend, perhaps bordering on too supportive. You cherish her motherly concern, and rather vulgar honesty.

“Mm, I’ll manage.”

“I can come over after work.” You flip onto your back, soaking in the mild sunlight.

“S’alright, I’m sure you’re busy, and I might sleep in. Wallow in sorrow for a few hours.” Shoko drawls a dramatic groan and creaks back in her chair.

“Nothing good comes out of feeling sorry for yourself. Go to the club or somethin’.”

“‘N how’s that gonna help?”

“Better than whining at home. Wear something sexy, look pretty and get laid. That’s how I get over shit.”

“Mm, right. I don’t know if that’s gonna work” you giggle, toying with one of the ears on your stuffed bunny.

“Oh yeah, forgot you’re the born-again Virgin Mary now. You know… if you want to get over ‘him’, you have to take the first step.” You can envision her air quotations. She treats his name as forbidden speech, and regularly refers to it in conversation as “he who shall not be named.”

“Ugh, mother Shoko’s speaking.”

“Listen, it may or may not work. Don’t knock it ‘till you try it is all I’m saying.”

“Yea? Well, if he has a tiny dick, I’m blaming you.”

“Nothing wrong with shellfish.”

The last curl falls in place, and you follow it up with copious amounts of hairspray. Fanning your bathroom after a drawn out coughing fit, you get a good look at your figure in the mirror. The backless lacy black dress you’re wearing hugs you in all the right places and guides the detail sitting tight under your butt. It’s undoubtedly revealing, coupled with strappy heels and a dark cat eye.

You walk past your vanity and pause at the messy jewelry box, riddled with remnants of Toji’s adoration. Sparkling varieties of heavy necklaces and rings and precious diamonds; ninety percent of your jewels were because of him. You’d asked if he stole the items he gifted you, and he’d come up with an elaborate sarcastic story about a jewelry heist he carried out, and how appreciative you should be. Buried underneath rested your engagement ring, a sparkling cut that crowded your entire finger. You couldn’t bring yourself to pawn it, opting to occasionally revel in its beauty before shoving it in a far corner with your feelings.

Shoko wasn’t lying about how sexy you’d feel dolled up, and it shows in your confidence as you modeled around your bedroom, striking poses to no one. Your plushies weren’t very appreciative of the full-blown fashion show, but you hadn’t felt like this for a long while. Maybe it was about time you entered the dating scene.

The entrance to Infinity appears as a run-down tacky club from an outdated era, and it’s easy to miss the multicolored flashes dotting the black tinted glass on each side. A few steps past the black and white checkered vestibule, and you get to experience the scale of a roaring, clashing club. It’s not half as lively on the outside; sweat dripping under twinkling lights of multicolor, bodies colliding and moving to the melodic sway of erratic music vibrating through the floor, freely drowning and expelling their insecurities, deepest struggles. It’s both welcoming and hopeless.

A woman balances her shot glass as she gyrates against a stranger while another stumbles off the dance floor in a drunken stupor. The heat and screams are overstimulating, circulating around you. You consider withdrawing, especially since you held some reservations about partying solo. However, this is what you need, to get comfortable with doing things by yourself.

So you down shots, two, three, burning of different varieties that heighten your body temperature and nerve. You throw back a mix of dark and white liquor, a dangerous combo that dizzies your vision and runs up an unfathomable tab you can't afford. The strangers accompanying you at the counter encourage you. No rational thoughts, let alone decision making, register in your alcohol-sodden mind. Like strings being fielded by a puppeteer, your legs move on their own to the dance floor.

It’s hot. The blurring iridescence bends to produce shapes that make your fuzzy brain giggle for some odd reason. You’re moving in slow motion, and the world’s continuing at max speed. You don’t care either way. You’re light on your feet, and the music goads you to dance. Spinning, hands tangled between your locks traveling down the curve of your thighs, hearing the lyrics inside and out as if no one is watching.

You dance with women and men alike, anyone willing to help you overlook your heartache. It’s floaty, an airiness that spills sober thoughts from cotton mouth and makes every touch electrifying. It’s in your legs and arms, your restless feet and fingers. You laugh hysterically, incomprehensibly, and switch to sadness in a heartbeat. These aimless bodies, just as lost as you, drinking to your despair. Was it worth the abyss tomorrow held, or the agonizing headache as a result?

After those dances, mainly flailing efforts at rhythm, your head is barreling. You’re suffering from a heavy case of vertigo at the slightest turn, and your stomach’s riddled with knots. It hits you like a car crash, and you strive to stabilize yourself as bile fills your throat, cringing when you reluctantly swallow. A disorienting slurry of words and faces ask you things you cannot hear or see, and it suddenly becomes too real.

In few sparse moments, your life plays before you in stop motion. From heaving over the toilet while a lady with long nails held your hair back, to knocking the drink out of someone’s hand on your way out. Now you’re walking on one heel and holding the other. You might’ve popped a nail if not for security holding the door open. They attempt to flag you, but you reply with a curt slurred “‘M fine.”

You push your knees together, sitting on the corner of a curb. This isn’t how you expected the night to end. It’s pitch black beside street lamps, and awfully quiet in contrast to inside. Shivers ripple through you despite the persistent warmth pooling in your ears. You lean on a street lamp in the calm cold as people leave, probably running to participate in intimate affairs with their acquaintances. The gentle hand on a waist or shoulder forms a subconscious smile; young, passionate love blooming on a random night.

And you burst into tears.

Ugly tears streaming down your face in blobs that don’t stop no matter how much you wipe them, followed by deep sniffles. They smear across your phone while you search for a taxi app, and your cloudy eyes deceive you.

You jolt when a hand brushes against your arm and turn to meet the foggy face of a man with stubble. You wipe your wet cheeks and lean further from him.

“Hey baby, you alright?” The pet-name makes you shudder. You definitely don’t know him, and at this point there’s no one outside.

“Wh’re you?” you garble.

“Kusakabe. Where ya off to?”

“Waitin’ for uh frien’” Your eyelids waver, failing to stay alert under the frightening stare burning holes through your skull.

“A friend, huh…you gotta man?” he asks, stepping closer to you. You back away to the side of the light.

“Go away.” You’re definitive, but he laughs as if it were the ridiculous request of a child.

“I like that dress. You look hot.” His hand drags along the strap of your dress, but you nudge his hand.

“Mm’get off me. N’don’ need your help.” He scoffs with offense, and as you go to leave, he grabs your wrist firm.

“Relax. Tryna go home with someone tonight?” You’re trembling, tugging with as much force as you can muster in your punch-drunk state, but he doesn’t budge.

“L’ve me alone”

“Don’t be like that, baby. I’ll call a cab-”

Whack! Your wrist goes limp, and the crunch and crack of flesh hitting concrete echoes. You sluggishly pan to him, knocked out cold beyond the spotlight. The influence takes you, however, and you nearly find yourself joining him on the sidewalk. Before you can fall, a broad, rough hand supports your lower back. Their deep gritty tone is inches away from you.

“C’mon, sweetheart.”

You rise from an unusually sweet slumber. The light shines through your eyelids, unavoidable even when you maneuver the velvety warm blanket for shade. Your eyeballs shift across thin skin being prodded by intrusive sun, and as they crack open, you catch a glimpse of the glass coffee table in front of you, arranged with perfection resembling a furniture showroom. You smile to yourself half-asleep, wondering when you bought such an expensive item, and how an abundance of sunlight made its way through your average window. You’re drifting off anew.

Then, you shoot up.

You start to really take in the surroundings, and when you do, a pit drops in your stomach. An ultra-wide flat screen television faces you, decorated with plants on either side. Craning your neck, the long windows of this penthouse line the adjacent wall up to the ceiling, which hangs a glass geometric chandelier. This isn’t your bedroom, nor your apartment.

Instantly you switch to sitting, and recoil just as fast. Pain envelops the wrinkles of your brain, and you wince from abrupt tension. You palm the bridge of your nose.

“Fuck” you whisper. Last night replays in your head through staccato bursts, though you couldn’t remember the minutes before you passed out. Embarrassment creeps onto your ears at the freak show you performed hours ago. You’d made a fool of yourself, puked and tripped like a sloppy drunk college girl. You can’t be more ashamed, and to top it off, you’re in the house of a stranger you possibly slept with. You look down from the smooth sectional sofa, and notice your heels arranged neatly beneath you with your phone and bag. At the very least, the man you engaged with seems to be accommodating.

You scurry to put your heels on, and hopefully sneak out in silence before you face further humiliation. Something about this blanket smells familiar; musk and oakmoss and man, grazing across your nose like the aroma in an intimate embrace, the earthy dew of calm before a storm, a trace only you can understand.

“Finally up?”

It’s that gravelly smoky voice you lived in for five years, and some before that. The voice you fell asleep to, mumbling nonsense in your ear through boorish snores. The voice you fell in love with, easily saying “I do” when you wedded at the courthouse. The voice you resent, saying nothing at all when you cried.

You look behind you, and there he is, walking down the staircase. He’s wearing boxers, settled under the tufts of hair running down his belly button. His rugged muscles peek out from the untied black robe dangling to his strong calves. His hair grew out a bit since you’ve last seen him, shaggy bedhead running across his eyes and covering his ears.

He smirks the same, though, sweet and soft for such a dour man, like nothing ever happened, approaching you while you sneer at the cruel joke bestowed upon you.

“Toji.” You haven’t said it in forever. It’s abashing how quickly your regularly tense shoulders relax in his proximity.

“How ya feelin’? Hope the couch was comfortable enough, figured you wouldn’t wanna sleep in my bed” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he stretched his sturdy back.

“It was fine.”

There's an awkward quiet afterwards. The air’s thick, glass straining under pressure, threatening to give way at the smallest disturbance.

Toji clears his throat. “So, um...you need somethin’? Water?”

“No” you bark, folding your arms across your chest. You can’t look at him, not without feeling enraged. You’re the afterthought, the chaser, rushing after a man who wouldn’t dare look twice. “How’d you even know I was there?”

“Coincidence” he replies, and you scoff. He couldn’t get away with lying to you; playing games with moves you’ve lost to countless times.

“Like hell it was a coincidence. I’m in a completely different city now, what were you doing there?” You have to physically bite back the words begging to spill from your mouth as his head wanders in thought, possibly concocting another fabrication.

“Had business”

“Oh, I’m supposed to believe the man who hates keeping a job had ‘business’. Okay.” You don’t acknowledge the extravagance of the apartment he must be paying for monthly. That, or a chain of illegal activities—whatever assumption suited your irritation in the moment.

“Well, ya wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said, anyway” he chides. You’re a shaken bottle ready to explode, and his nonchalant demeanor only eggs you on. Toji’s perpetually dismissive, looking down on you like a pitiful puppy.

“Because you’re always full of shit” you snap. He exerts a loaded sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he had any right to be tired of the situation.

“’M not lyin’.”

“Right.” You observe your surroundings more. It’s too opulent, pricey vases you wouldn’t expect from the ex-husband that once thought hanging jackets in the doorway was “decoration.” Definitely not fit for a single guy. You’re separated, and you know it's not your responsibility to keep tabs on his sex life, but that caviling thought won’t stop taunting you. How could he get over it so soon?

“If you were just gonna bring me back to your fuck pad, I should’ve slept on the curb. Who knows how many girls you’ve had here.”

He gets eye-level, sitting on the coffee table with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together like a drained salaryman, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? You can’t be serious. Like you never do anything wrong, like everything that’s happened until now is somehow my fault and you did nothing, nothing, to contribute to the bullshit. Stop acting like a fucking victim.”

“Little lady, you got shitfaced, and some guy was tryna take your drunk ass home. You’re lucky you went home with me instead.”

“I could’ve handled it; I don’t need you for anything-”

“You could barely keep your eyes op-”

“I would’ve handled it! Just like I handle everything else. Alone. Every time. It gets done, I’m not incompetent, Toji!”

You could hear a pin drop in the stillness. Those forested eyes are gazing into your soul. It’s said and done, and you’ve got it off your chest, yet it hurts like a freshly sliced gash. The arguing doesn’t change, married or not. It sucks when you shout, uncontrollable like a blazing fire, only to be snubbed out by his calm, condescending tone.

“...I know.”

You can’t take it, it’s stifling being near him. Wounds loosely covered by band aids seem to peel at his presence, and you’re stuck at his mercy again. You can’t give him the satisfaction of crying in addition to the drunk, poor decisions you made, hardening your expression as you fumble for your phone.

“Take me home” you demand. Toji stands with an exaggerated stretch on both arms, painfully slow. Before you can hurl your phone at him from the dramatics, he looks down on you with that intoxicating gaze.

“Are ya hungry?”

You furrow your brows, and hastily put on the other shoe. Turning on your heels, you go to leave, and are immediately stopped by Toji's calloused hand holding your wrist. You don’t watch, but his palm is gentle. You could smoothly slip out and exit his apartment, forget this engagement and continue a peaceful, isolated life. You’d move on eventually—perhaps to bigger, happier jobs and romances.

Despite that hopeful outcome, you remain.

“I don’t wanna eat. If you don’t take me home, I'll call a cab.”

“I’ll take ya home, just...look, I know you’re hungry, and I’m down to eat at a diner down the block. Don’t worry about a thing, I’ll pay for it.” Toji isn’t known for being docile, but with his curved posture almost leaning into you and dejection in his eyes, you swear he’s searching for pity.

“I said I’m not-,” The untimely arrival of your dinning, rumbling stomach cuts off any excuse. A corner of his mouth upturns, and your face contorts to scorned pride.

“...Fine. Let’s make it quick.”

“Great. Can’t have ya walkin’ around like that, though.” He pans to your chest. You haven’t thought to give your outfit a glance, but when you do, your eyes grow wide. The entirety of your conversation with Toji, your chest was spilling out the dress, and now part of your areolas is exposed. You cover up the top, but he stares with an x-ray's invasiveness. You reprimand him, swatting his chest;

“Pervert!”

There was an added benefit to being around Toji; the way people cleared a path for him and treated him with frightened kindness, afraid that pissing off the physically intimidating man would land them a one-way ticket to the nearest hospital.

They weren’t exactly wrong, and you have a satisfied pep in your step as people scoot aside. He strides in front of you to get the door, and you mutter a small “thank you.”

Sweet fluffy pancakes and charred grills mingle with faint notes of bleach. At least he knew better than to take you to a fancy establishment, especially since you were wearing a baggy t-shirt from him, and basketball shorts you had to tie around the waistband. His massive slides had you flopping across the dining aisle as you got to your booth. He’s not particularly dressed either, wearing matching shorts and a compression top.

It’s hard not to perceive the way women ogle him, drooling at the way his biceps flex when he raises the menu, and his chiseled jaw tensing while he ponders the food options. It was a notable problem when you were married. They’d glare at you, shower him with compliments in front of you, and you’d shrink yourself. Occasionally the waiter would pretend you don’t exist as she swayed her hips at every little thing Toji said. If they want him, they can have him. It’s not your business, right? It’s no different with this waiter, twirling the curl of her hair as Toji reiterates his order, shifting from one leg to the other to highlight her curves.

Not my business. You're nauseous.

Not my business. Your fists clench underneath the table.

Your head’s swimming in thoughts, uncertainty crashing down like a wave upon your increasingly loud intrusions. You drown within yourself, until you’re pulled out by a thumb travelling up your hand, and other fingers clasping around it.

“Watcha wanna order, angel?” You regain composure, and when you blink, Toji is waiting for you. The waiter side-eyes you and the joining of your hands.

“You lost? Take her order” he spat.

The food's steaming hot and fresh, and you salivate at the plate in front of you. Toji snatches your bacon before you can, and you begrudgingly watch as he breaks the strips into two pieces, the way you like it. He winks, and you groan. You coat your strawberry pancakes with maple syrup, trespassing territory around the scrambled eggs and bacon, and he laughs across from you.

“What’s funny?”

“Never stopped drowning your breakfast in syrup” he ribs. You pout and swirl your bacon, “It makes it taste better.”

Soon, food in your belly aided your dialogue, and the old banter returned; an easygoing flow, similar to a lifelong friend you hadn’t spoken to in decades. You giggle between bites and gossip about mutual rumors.

"What you been doin’ since..." Toji trails off, falling short of “divorce”—a word he never wants to say.

"Shoko recommended me to her boss, so I'm working uptown now. Pay's okay, nothing to write home about."

"S'good. Livin comfortable?"

"As comfortable as I can be"

"Real humble. Guessin’ it's better than before" he jokes, though you sense a displace in his bearing at the nervous grin he flashes. You reach onto to his side and grab one of the grapes off his plate. You pop one in your mouth, "So, what drug ring got you that house?"

"The cartel. Good vacation time, too" he jests.

"Nice. at least it's not that shitty garbage gig you had for a while."

"It did pay well."

"Yeah? Couldn't get rid of the rotten milk and vomit smell for weeks after. Remember I made you shower at Geto’s apartment?"

“Heh, yeah, he was fuckin’ pissed” he laughs, stealing a piece of sugary bacon from the syrup pool. "I'm a CEO, run a company downtown."

"Ooo, look at you. Can't be little if it did this much for you" you say as you gesture at the empty dishes on the table. Restaurants were a luxury in your household.

"I guess. I had a vision, and some people believed in me”, he pokes at the leftover blueberries, “I finally made it happen, that counts for something, right?"

You pick another off his plate, smile stretching, "You're a natural born leader. People will follow you regardless, even if it's not the right choice."

His eyebrows raised in surprise, "That's the first good thing you said about me today."

"Don't get used to it."

You wait for Toji to retrieve his car after walking back to his apartment. You’re awestruck in many ways; he paid for the whole meal with a black card and showed undying manners. He bowed to your requests. You’re smarter than this, though. This is his opportunity to get on your good side, and he’s showing the best version of himself. However, it fills your heart with want—like the initial dating phase, those butterfly stricken, heart-numbing, sappy gestures that made you melt.

He wraps around the car to open your door, and you plant yourself in the sleek beige interior. Your eyes flick to the veins in his forearm straining as he steers, his deadpan focused expression and the composed R&B music low in the background. It starts to drizzle, and raindrops plink the car roof.

You feel complete; And that alone is a dreadful reality.

The scar on his lip twists to a smile, “Did’ya like the food?”

You turn your nose up, “it was satisfactory.” He snickers, and navigates to the street your apartment is on. “Shit, I gotta give you your clothes back.”

“Forget it, bring it when you get the chance.” Chance. He expected to see you again. You hang your head as he approaches the complex. You didn’t want today to end, but this is it. You’ll leave this car and go your separate ways. This is how it should be.

You place an earnest hand on his shoulder and cast a smile. The corners quiver and your first syllable wobbles, but you finally speak, “I’m proud of you, Toji. I mean it. You’re going to do great things, and I’m always rooting for you.”

He swallows stiff, and suddenly he’s sickly pale. Something within you is pleased at that reaction; if he wants redemption, he should beg and drop to his knees and crawl for forgiveness, he should lock himself up for your eyes only and cut off everyone else in his life. You’re walking away a second time, rightfully so, but you struggle to decipher what you want in this moment. He palms your hand, staring at you, “I’m all for praise, but tell me when we meet again”

“Toji, there can’t be a next- “

“Give me your phone.”

“Huh?” His urgency throws you off guard, “Don’t think, just give me your phone.” It’s impossible to kill the complicated slurry that is your mind, and a new bundle of thoughts emerges from his request, but for a heartbeat, you allow yourself to wander. Pitter patter and muted music, heated seats, the cologne radiating from Toji—all that exists.

You moved on instinct, and now your phone is in Toji’s hands. He's adding his contact information. He hands it back to you, fingers brushing against your soft skin.

“I won’t text or call you. ’S there whenever you need me. Move at your own pace and call me when you’re ready.” With that, you exit his car. No hug or gratitude, skipping goodbyes as you rush out the car. It’s bittersweet when he pulls off, and you’re left with the ghost of him.

The familiar click of your convoluted keys in the apartment door could bring you to tears. You’ve officially reverted to your mundane, boring lifestyle. The walls look duller today.

You curiously click on his contact, and giggle at the name he assigned himself:

dumbass ex

tick, tock, tick, tock

The blue light beaming through your office computer is an eyesore, but you have little say in the matter. There's an upcoming deadline for these reports, you can’t waste precious skill complaining about circumstances out of your control. It’s tiresome, and you rove to the cobweb missing a string in the corner of the room, or the single drop of water roaming outside those wide sterile windows. The balls of your feet carry your flats as you absentmindedly push a pen against your lip.

Your concentration has been out of commission since meeting Toji. He kept his word and hadn’t called you whatsoever. A month passed, and still nothing. Be glad, you told yourself, get your goals back on track. Your exercises get vicious, from jogging to a full sprint, hoping that those buckets of sweat will shed off the extra weight of Toji’s abidance. The fruit bowl on your break offends you with mocking displays of strawberries and grapes. You’ve pondered deleting the contact entirely to repel enticement, but you can’t do it. It’s painfully clear that you miss him.

He’s horrible, callous and selfish. Of course, Toji had a way of showing up at your lowest to fill your head with empty promises and gestures of affection, that charming grin shooting daggers at your weakness. In his gaze, you’re defenseless, and in his arms, you’re exposed.

Albeit late, a pestering thought carves into you, unfortunate and disgraceful to the healing you strive to accomplish; message Toji.

A set of wheels rolls above the carpet, and you see Shoko, lifeless arms hanging beyond the armrests. The bags under her eyes signify stress from finalizing late papers.

“Unnghhhh, (Y/N), I can’t do it” she laments, drooping her head to the side. You pat the top of her hair, “I believe in you.”

“What are you working on?” She quirks a brow, and you stare at the screen with her. You’ve typed an entire page of straight gibberish. “I’m getting distracted too...”

“Let’s quit and tell her to shove it.”

“You know I can’t do that” you fuss as you backspace the document. “Mm, me neither. What’s got you zoned out?”

“Nothing in particular.” You’re afraid to tell Shoko of your rendezvous, she might become volcanic and fire magma at the sound of any “-oji”.

“I know it’s not nothing. New boyfriend, hm?”

“S-something like that” you chuckle. She shapes an ‘O’ with her mouth, and wheels closer. Her bangs touch your eyebrows, and she rests her chin on her hand. Her usual dead eyes have a malicious twinkle in them.

“What’s he like? Is he tall or short?” she gasps, “did you meet him at the club? I told you it was a good idea; I really am the best advisor.”

You sigh, “It’s no one new.”

“Ooo, an old flame. Spicy. What’s his name?” You turn slowly, a nervous bite on your lips. She studies your face, and slowly hers drops.

“Do not fucking say it.”

“Shokoooo” you whine, searching for sympathy from her. Instead of that, your body is shaken violently as she whisper-yells, “Are you kidding? Get a grip! What’s gotten into you, you were fine!”

“But I wasn’t. It sucks, I feel lonely all the time.”

“You felt lonelier with him than without him!”

“I know, but...” You ball your lips in with furrowed brows, and she holds her breath.

“I wanna go see him” you squeak. Instantly, she squishes your cheeks with both hands to hold you in place.

“Absolutely. Fucking. Not.”

At home, you pace back and forth in front of the phone resting on your bed. Toji’s contact is open, and nausea is brewing in your stomach. You’re giddy and ill, working up the courage to press “call”. You really should be practicing Shoko’s advice, but you’ve long surpassed common sense. You leave and come back, spying on it from a distance. Eventually, you forgo the theatrics and grab the phone to hit the messenger app.

Three dots vanish and resurface. You can’t get it right:

'Hey stranger I got custody of ur clothes rn'

'Hey haha I missed u can I come over?'

'Yo what’s up? Still have ur clothes do u want them?'

'I’m coming to give u ur stinky clothes'

This shouldn’t be complicated, and you don’t usually perform the process of elimination for simple responses, but it’s Toji. You’re scrambling and overanalyzing, reiterating your choice of slang only to delete it all over again. You settle for a simple message. “Hey Toji, I wanted to return your clothes. Let me know when you’re available. Thanks”

Once you hit send, you run a marathon around your bedroom, tippy tapping to expel your anticipation. The churning grows as seconds pass, and so does your doubt. You tiptoe to the phone as if a displaced floorboard would activate the alarm. You’re about to tap the screen, and then your ringtone plays.

Oh god.

You take a deep breath and swipe right on the faceless profile picture labeled “dumbass ex”.

“…Hello?”

“Hey, angel.” You avoid a dull pound in your chest at the memorable pet name. “So, um-“

“I wanna see you. I’m available now, and I’ll be home by the time you get here” he states, direct and confident. His conviction validates yours, you bend to his direction.

“Okay then. I’ll start getting ready.”

“I’ll send a cab to your address. See you soon.” When he hangs up, you dive into the pile of plushies. Squeezing them for emotional support, kicking your feet in the air as you scream into your ruffled pillows like a girl’s first crush. You have a long night ahead of you.

You access Toji’s building. He must’ve notified them you were coming, as the doors were open upon arrival, and a bellhop was sent to guide you to his floor. You’re standing outside of it, clothes and a bottle of champagne in hand. Your stretchy maxi dress clings to your figure, complimenting the juicy shade of lip gloss you’re wearing—the shade he loved most on you during your marriage. You ring the bell, and it doesn’t take long before he opens the door. The scene you’re exposed to swells heat between your legs.

Toji has nothing but a towel shimmied low on his hips, v-line adorned with veins and biceps corded with muscle. He’s trimmed his hair since your last encounter, and it’s dripping wet along with the rest of his soaked body. You’ve interrupted his shower apparently, but he didn’t hesitate to rush to the door, water cascading from the raven veil, sluicing down his sculpted chest. He had to have done this on purpose, but you weren’t complaining at this point; he looked damn good doing it. You can’t disengage from the beads branching amid his pecs and through his happy trail. God, you wish you were water personified right no-

“You’re staring, dollface” he teases with a smirk. Your eyes snap to his, and you remember to breathe. You clumsily hold up the liquid peace offering, “Brought a little something.”

“Thanks. Make yourself comfortable, I’m gonna get dressed.” You nod, and he marches upstairs. You don’t need comfortability; you need to be in and out of here before you do something you’ll regret.

But...is that cedarwood and vanilla? The interior gives off romantic energy at night, attractive dim lighting throughout and dull flickering pops of his fireplace in the living room. You find the source of that heavenly scent sitting on his kitchen island, and awkwardly place the bottle down. You don’t know what to do with yourself, more so you don’t know what to say. It’s hard to recite a script when things aren’t going according to plan. Did you want to apologize, or force him to apologize? Maybe you should’ve cursed him out, rehashed his asshole behavior from the past until he drowned in guilt. You want to kiss and slap him, cry in his arms until your voice gives out and disappear all at once.

There’s a beautiful clear vase in the center, crammed with your favorite flowers, and your fingers dance across the petals. “You like ‘em?” he asks stepping into the kitchen. His hair’s still saturated, but he’s sporting grey sweatpants and a black ribbed tank top. “They’re very pretty.”

“They’re for you.”

You switch between his playful expression and the burst of colors, “You don’t have to do that.” The bouquet evokes recollections of heated arguments—anytime he’d angered you to tears, and you slammed that bedroom door in his face, you always woke up to similar flowers on the floor. They were cheap, but it meant more than money; because despite the fights and disagreements, it let you know that he’d love you regardless.

“I wanted to. As thanks for bringing my clothes.” He’s pacing towards you, and you’re bound to the floor like melting wax. His gaze is captivating, and you’re entranced by the verdurous ardor that won’t deter from you.

“Thank you”, you say as he looms above you and inspects the scripture on the pale bottle. His large thumb blocks the intricate lettering he’s trying to read, “I should be thanking you. Didn’t think you’d ever message me.”

You can feel the body heat radiating off him, the airy words as he mouths the contents. His eyebrows furrow to follow his focus, while you lose yours.

“I-I should probably get going-” Without delay, Toji blocks your side with an iron grip on the island, trapping you in the confines of his broad wingspan.

“Leaving so soon? You got plans tonight?” Saying and doing are completely different stories, and from the way your feet haven’t moved, you aren’t in a rush to go anywhere.

“Not really, but I worked today and I’m kinda tired-”

“Then what better way to unwind than with a bottle? I can’t drink this by myself, might as well keep me company” he suggests, persuasion to a greater extent when your lower back hits the bar. A drink or two couldn’t hurt, right?

“I guess I can stay for a few minutes.” Toji flashes a victorious toothy grin and retrieves cups from the sink cupboard. He gives you a rounded glass, and his muscles flex below candlelight as he maneuvers the cork at an angle.

“Let’s crack this open” he says, popping the cap off and pouring a substantial amount of golden fizz into both cups.

Toji raises his glass, “A toast.”

You tilt your head but raise yours as well. “To what?”

“Us.”

Us is a funny thing—with enough effort, it becomes you and I just as quickly as it formed. You don’t know if you’re willing to accept the responsibility of eternity. The devastation of commitment could damage you forever. There’s no us, but there’s you and him. So, you clink your glass, “To us,” and his eyes never leave yours as he takes a swig. It lasts a lifetime among longing breaths and unsaid words.

He brings the champagne to the living room, “I’ll turn on a movie. You know that cheesy romcom shit you used to watch? They made a sequel.” You fall flat on containing your excitement. He grabs the remote and lays back with his thighs spread apart.

Toji pats the couch, “Come sit. Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” You hardly believe that, but you remove your heels and relax upon overstuffed cushions. You opt to sit farther on the couch, and there’s an annoyed twitch on his lip at your display of boundaries. Nevertheless, he starts the movie.

Toji’s not particularly sneaky. He announces multiple bathroom breaks, returning to a spot on the couch that’s inconspicuous, but inching closer to you. The intent becomes clear when the ghost of his shoulder knocks against you, spreading his thighs wider to brush against the softness huddled into your snug figure. You’re half paying attention to the cliché performance, and half observing Toji. It’s hard not to smile when he behaves like a disobedient dog obligated to sit.

It’s cute that he arced himself to be eye-level with you. His tank rode up to expose his lower abdomen, and he adjusts himself in his sweats, jaw occasionally clenching. It could be the drink talking, perhaps you’ve had too many.

The movie ends, and you exhale a sigh of relief. “I forgot how corny this shit is.”

Toji shrugs, “I didn’t think it was too bad.”

“No way, you actually liked it?” you gasp. He huffs out his nose, smiling, “People change.”

“I’m shocked” you quip. Dusk creeps into a descending sunset, and you steal a glance at your phone screen. Bright as day, a notification from Shoko emerges. “NO TOJI >:("

You’re stumped thinking of a reply, one that doesn’t compromise your less-than-ideal situation, when Toji puts his hand over the screen. “Hope I’m not gettin’ ya in trouble.”

“Like you care.” He chuckles and slides it to the far side of the couch. “You’re right. Let’s watch another.”

This next movie's decent; a flat racing plot with excessive sequels. He unleashes an exaggerated yawn, extending his triceps to land behind your head. You quirk a brow at him, and he plays innocent. “You look cold” he says. You don’t care as much as you pretend. His pads trace the shell of your burning ear down to the lobe, to fine hair at the end of your neck. His rough hand massages the back of your head, and you lull to his chest. Be it the champagne or his actions, it’s too hot for comfort. Clamping your thighs shut spurs the intensity. His other hand languidly tests the limits of your skin, gossamer touches from your knee to your thigh. It's asking, and when you don’t object, he invites the entire palm to your knee, rubbing delicately. He brings it to your upper thigh, and retreats to the outside, getting dangerously close to your rear. The worst part is it’s not that bad. It’s intimate. Warm.

Loving.

It takes you a minute to comprehend you’re tearing up, but Toji recognizes that hushed sniffle. Airy and choked, quiet as to not be a burden. He circles a hand around your waist and pulls you impossibly close. He tilts your chin to his gaze, soft and deceptively gentle when he asks.

“What’s wrong pretty, hm?” You say nothing through the constrains in your throat, streaking the tears that fall faster than you can wipe them. This man alone can reduce you to mush with a wave of his hand. He bares your rawest state and sculpts you back together with such purity, such devotion, that you’d plead for him to sink his clay sodden fingers into your nothing, and make you everything.

“Tell me, and I’ll fix it.”

You say just above a whisper, “You’re selfish, you know that?”

“Mhm, I know” he nods, grazing his thumb across your lip.

“This isn’t healthy for us; we can’t heal like this.” He angles your head with his half lidded gaze, polishing your damp undereyes.

“I don’t need healing. I need you.”

You find passage in his hair, and surrender to temptation.

You test with a smooch. Then another. Then a series of tender, sugary kisses are pushed upon his pliant lips, and he responds in kind. You curl your fingers through his tresses as you explore the contours of his lips for what feels like the first time. Toji isn’t known for patience, but the sensation of his mildly dry lips getting smoother from your supple kisses gives him the will to savor this moment. You push and pull from each other, indulging in the messy smacks and caresses. You stop amid shared breaths to skim and nudge his yearning lips, diving into more hungry kisses. Toji abruptly lifts you over him, and you deepen its bruising passion.

You lick his bottom lip, and he groans, parting his mouth to allow your entry. You traverse the pink mass, interlacing in a wet feverish exchange. Your mind is numb, and the heartbeat in your core strikes stronger when your tongues intertwine. Toji hikes your dress up and slinks his massive hands over the plush fat of your rear. He earns a muffled moan from you as he kneads and gropes, and you feel his smirk against your lips. He grips your ass and starts to grind your hips on the bulge in his pants, a silent beg for any amount of friction. You wind with his movements, consuming him, and you hear a whimper get lost in the back of his throat.

You drag your teeth along his neck. You lick and suck in a few spots and decide to draw harshly on a responsive patch of skin while circling the fat of your pussy over his sensitive cock, taut in his boxers. His breath hitches, and he slaps your ass. “Fuck, baby please.” It’s rare to witness him begging like this, and you’re drinking it in. You lick up his Adam’s apple and pepper his jaw with kisses. “You like it?”

“Need more.” You bite his bottom lip for what seems like an exchange, but break away once he leans in. “Mm, be patient Toji.”

Your hands traverse the rugged muscle under his tank top. He aids in taking it off, and you rake over his breathless torso. You kiss along his pecs and lick the groove of his abs, delighting in the parts you missed during your separation. Toji has a tinge of red soaking his chest and ears, shifting uncomfortably from his throbbing cock when you bat your eyes as you slope to the floor. You slip a finger under his waistband, playfully running over its span, and snapping it from a peak. He hisses. You palm his erection, and he grinds into it.

“Wait” he husks. He reaches for a pillow and shuffles it under your knees. “Oh, thank you” you say, but it doesn’t look like he hears you in the chaos of tugging his sweatpants down to expose his boxers. The anticipation’s killing you, so you free his dick from its confinement.

You can’t forget the mouthwatering size. His girth meets his length with equal satisfaction. The base is tan, fading to a rosy tip and a faint curve. You committed his veins to memory, small ones embossing the sides and a prominent one meandering to his tip.

You maintain eye contact with him, hand steady on the base as you deliver taunting little licks to his frenulum. You precisely ring around his urethra and trace the veins, pulsating from the flick of your wrist. Toji hisses shaky curses and bucks, beefy thighs stiffening when you roll a flat strip to his leaking head and pump the base of his cock. He didn’t want to push you, but his whole body twitched in desire. “Your mouth” he groans. You react a coy ‘huh?’, tapping the head on your tongue and slathering it in saliva with cutesy doe eyes. He’s homed in on the strings of saliva connecting him to your tongue.

An undertone of desperation in his gravelly voice, “Whole thing. In your mouth,” he expends another shaky breath, “please.”

He bites his lip and stifles a moan, watching you engulf the cockhead in your mouth. You hollow out your cheeks while the underside of your tongue holds firm, and cautiously accommodate his size. It’s too big for comfort and it stretches the capacity of your plump spit-covered lips, but you work through the daunting pressure poking your reflex. You gradually relax, periodically gagging from an unprepared increase, and he twitches at your tightening throat. Your nose finally touches the hilt, flooded in his musk, and you start to suck. You bob leisurely, adjusting to the sense, and he subtly squirms in your touch.

Toji crinkles his brows when you release a pleasant pop on his tip, purely to observe his eyes rolling back when you wreck him in a noisy suction. Noise was no longer a factor—sounds of spit and dry retching overpowered the volume of the movie regardless. He holds your hair away from you to get a better view of your face, smothered with tears and mascara, drool ceaseless down your chin. “F-fuck, you’re so good, so, so good to me” he groans.

Your tongue swirls around him as you’re bobbing, and you accompany it with a tender massage to his balls. You cup and fondle them, using the lubrication from your spit to glide your fingers across. He sighs and grabs a handful of your hair. “Need to come. Keep that pretty throat open for me, yeah?”

He rapidly shoves you down to the hilt, and you wince before he continues at a relentless pace. You anchor his thigh for stability, and he throws his head back, fucking your throat raw. There's a sheen of sweat where his bangs stick to his forehead, and he emits an endless measure of moans the closer he gets. Rambling about nonsense, yes’s and curses as he stiffens. He treats your mouth like a flesh light, evident by the throat bulge disappearing and reappearing. You happily accept the searing jaw, swaying your ass from thrumming in your saturated panties damp to your inner thighs.

You can tell he’s about to climax because he goes completely quiet minus the panting, open mouthed with his head back. You resume massaging his balls, and he shoves you to the base, “C-coming” he moans. You grab onto him, and a squeak dies in your throat when he paints it white. He shakes, groans for each spurt coating your mouth, pumping the last of his semen as you swallow.

Toji shudders when he pulls out, and his panting returns to a soft huff. You expected him to be spent, or at least sit in the aftershocks for a while until he calmed down. But he tightens the grip on your hair and forces you to look up. “Show me” he husks. You stick your tongue out, proof you swallowed every bit. “Now c’mere”, he guides you into a filthy French kiss, devouring you with much more dominance than before. It’s as though your nearness restored him. You can hardly stand your feeble knees and sopping core, but Toji takes care of it for you. With unnatural vigor, he lifts you over his shoulder, and marches up the stairs. “Ah, Toji, maybe you should take a sec-”

He swats your butt harsh, and you yelp from the sting. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do. You’ve been so mouthy, a damn tease, too. You’re gonna regret it.”

You’re ferried into the rather plain bedroom lined with dim hues, and a wide ceiling length mirror opposite the bed. He tosses you on the dark gray bedding and climbs over you. Your heart’s racing with thrill. Toji yanks the dress over your head, uncovering the sheer white lacey bra, similar to your underwear.

He stares like you’re a piece of meat, feasting on your flawlessness not yet smothered in hickeys and bruises, your nipples at attention under the fabric. “It’s all for me, huh?” he whispers, lust rolling off his tongue. You nod, because it’s always been for him, whether he was here or not. He buries himself in your cleavage and hums in satisfaction. His touch sends goosebumps to your skin and keeps your back arched when he drags a pad along your spine. Then your bra unclasps, and he removes it carefully, as if he didn’t want to spoil the surprise by unwrapping his gift too early. He gawks at them for an embarrassingly long pause, enough to make your cheeks hot, and you chide, “Stop staring.”

“Shut up, you’re gorgeous.” Toji submerges the bud, whirling around it while he roughly squeezes both breasts. He molds the dough of your breasts with strong palms, nips and tugs your nipple before soothing it with fierce tongue kisses. Consistent teeth grazing hikes your sensitivity before he trades it for sucking. When he switches to the other, he pinches the maltreated peak, eliciting a whimper. You merely bind your thighs and embrace the disarray being caused on your spit-soaked nipples. The cold air your abused tits receive as he withdrawals from suckling is nullified by the hickeys he leaves. You quiver from constellations of splotchy purplish red, delicious pain tingling throughout your torso. “Not so much, I have to go back to work soon” you moan, not very convincing.

“Even better; everyone’ll know who fucks you” Toji winks, and your heart skips. He dumps a nice vibrant bruise on your sternum, and advances to the dainty hem. He parts your thighs with ease, throwing them on his shoulder. Then he develops a haughty smirk.

You’re monitoring his face, until he presses a pad against your aching clit, and the subsequent juices overflowing from a huge wet patch. He plays with the spiderweb of slick between his digits, “Mm. Y’still my girl.” You blush as he sucks on them and licks his lips afterwards. Hooking under the panties, he pulls them taut, projecting the swell of your pudgy vulva in tightening lace. It sinks past your outer lips and cages your clit—you want to writhe from friction, but it makes it worse. He ghosts against you and kisses the print, and you want to scream. “Tell me what you want, or I won’t do it.”

“P-please...” you whine. You lock eyes, and you can hardly manage a word in the foreground of his intensity. How can he expect you to form coherent sentences when he sees through you like this? He gives a disappointed tut and puppeteers the strings, shifting them back and forth upon your neglected vulva. You cry out, and he cinches it together, isolating the part that pulses incessantly. He has an evil grin on his face, the bastard. “Details, baby.”

“Toji...please t-touch me alre-eady so I can come, m’sorry I won’t tease you again!” you promise, willing to do whatever it takes to reduce your sentence.

“And what else?”

“Your mouth on m-my pussy...please lick it.” You’re humiliated at the request that tumbles from your bottommost desires, but he’s satisfied. He’s never been one to shy away from dirty talk.

“Good girl.” Toji slithers your panties off, and you sigh from a loss of pressure just as his bangs tickle your pubic area. He interlocks your hands, a breath from eating you.

“You don’t look at me, I’ll stop. Think you can do that f’me?”

“Mhm!”

He hums in agreement and submerses into you. Toji’s a messy eater, especially when he’s desperate. He ovals the outer lips and precisely stirs your clit, and your stomach turns in knots from simple motions. He frames it and carefully winds around his capable tongue, really focusing on the spots that make your back curve; really focusing on your entry, as he teasingly digs in.

Toji cajoles a groan from his nose caressing your bud, then laps a level tongue over your wetness, truly tasting you. It isn’t long before his teasing farce began to crumble, and he obliged his ravenous appetite. He eats you starving, insatiable as he absorbs your twitching cunt and perfumed essence spilling down his chin. You clasp your hands, desire building in a trembling quake, but he doesn’t falter. He slurps your inner lips, and finally delivers proper care to your neglected clit. He hums a low vibration when he sucks, his pursed lips moving from a steady tongue to full on slobbering like some savage animal.

You appreciate the support his steady hands give your shaky ones. “Toji, hahhh coming” you whine, a familiar sensation flipping in your core. He lets his words fan onto you, “You know better” he husks. Your hips are bucking frantically, and so you whine, “Please, can I come sir, please please please please!”

“Hmm, I don’t know, you were ready to disobey me just now.” He says that, however the look in his eye is unrelated; it craves you, the want to make you squeal repeatedly until you’re on the verge of collapse. “’M can’t take it anymore, please let me come!” You urge your hips to his mouth, and meld into his warmth.

“Come on my face, pretty girl” he groans, just as hankering as you. He laps at your clit, and you sooner fall apart underneath him. Your whimpered plea forms an innocent sob as you spasm from overstimulation. Toji just doesn’t stop. His head careens against you, tasting everything your body has to offer. You’re suddenly regretting how badly you wanted to come.

“Toji- I-it’s too much” you protest, but it receives no response. Your release dribbles down his chin and he persists, ultimately unbinding when you lose a hold on his hands from the tremors. He diverges your lips and admires the way your mess clenches around air.

“Heh, you’re shaking. Cute.” He rubs the back of your legs, reassuring you in spite of his previous cruelty. You make a sad attempt at wiggling away, but he grabs you firm.

No running. Be good and hold your legs back.” He folds your legs to your shoulders, and you mewl, reluctantly wrapping your hands around them. ‘No’ isn’t a valid response at present.

Toji’s thumbs spread your wrinkling opening, and you feel a draft on its expanse before he spits directly into your hole. You jerk, startled, and he shushes you. He slathers his thick digits in your glistening strip, and smoothly sinks one inside. “Pussy so slippery for me. Miss this...miss you” he sighs, starting to pump. He prepares you for the main course, scrapes your walls and curls his finger to hit a spot you can’t reach. The nasty squelching sounds you echo from a mere finger casts heat on your cheeks, and he seems to enjoy your responsiveness as he adds another finger to the commotion. He twines a ‘come hither’ motion that makes your back arch from every delightful swipe against your velvety walls. Then his pink muscle undulates along your swollen bud, and you dissolve to a puddle. Your hips stutter, and surge after surge of torturous pleasure strikes you with no end in sight.

“Toji, f-fuck wait- hng s’feels too good” you whimper, and he gruffs a chuckle. He expands his fingers with precision, then chooses to slide a thumb in your butthole. The combination of both hands intruding your being, coiling into your soul jams your head with intoxicating dizziness and fictitious futures. Static pools in your stomach and circulates like the goading flickers of a raging inferno. He contacts your g-spot, and you moan, “Ah- can I, I’m close”

“I know, I know. Let go for me,” he says, or at least that’s what it sounds like when he’s face-deep. Your eyes are screwed shut, white noise before you crash and shatter around his fingers. Fortunately, you’re deaf to your own lewd wailing, clutching for dear life through contractions. It gushes past his wrist. Tears reside in your lashes, croaked sob from the slap he gives your puffy pussy. “That’s it, baby, there we go.”

Toji shows mercy and slips out. You’re still registering sultry bliss, untangling your limbs to lay slack. Empathy isn’t forever, though, because he forces your butt rearwards as he hops off the bed. Precum seeps from his tip, sheeting his shaft and heavy brimming sack. He propels your thighs to your chest, and your expression switches to fear for a second at the angry red tip sitting at your entrance. It's as if it grew since the blowjob, and you’re sure you’ll die if he stuffs that monster inside you.

He slides up and down the entrance, seizing the sore bud, “Mmm, pretty thing making a mess all over my cock.”

“Just go slow, okay?” you meek.

“Of course, ‘m not tryna kill you.” Toji doesn’t disrupt the yearning gaze between you, giving your entry several threatening caresses. He groans from the sensation of your puffy lips snuggling his length. Then he plunges the bulbous tip, encased in your passion. He’s unhurried for the most part, besides the instants he stops himself from ramming into you, cock begging to feel the fervor. He’s plugging you to capacity, and you’re only halfway in. Soreness whirrs in your walls being outstretched beyond belief, yet you’re milking what remains, dragging the rest of him in. His breath hitches, a spiderweb of veins pulses in your tight embrace and he rocks his hips further. “Look at the way you’re gripping me. Fuck” he shudders. His tip presses on your cervix, and you feel the weight of his balls on your rear.

Toji drives into you nice and slow. In this position you feel each vast stroke massaging your tumid core, squelching amidst your languid bodies. There’s almost a gloss film on his eyes as he indulges in the sweet addiction swamping his thoughts with unfiltered lust. “When you left it hurt real bad, y’know? I even cried.” You’re a bit stunned at his spur of honesty, but it’s short-lived as his thrusts get wilder and brutal. Your mouth hangs open, drool shameless out your mouth as he kisses your cervix without trying. You throb frenetically, chest heaving from the way his sack smacks against your ass and the creamy translucent ring forming at the base of his cock. His swinging strokes graze your g-spot and you sob, but he doesn’t check for your mitigation, encompassing your numb clit in the heat of his mean smacks.

“Heh, dunno if you remember, but you left a pair of panties when you moved”, Toji regresses to the tip and bottoms out repeatedly, “I’ve jerked off in them so many times, imagining you backing up this juicy pussy on my dick.” You’re hysterical, flushed from head to toe and struggling to take breaths. Toji has you locked slamming into your cervix. It coaxes a mix of pleasure and pain burning through you, and your toes curl. “You love me?” he asks. It’s unfair to ask you now, scatter-brained and drooling like a stupefied slut. But you nod, and he plasters a cocky grin. “Good. ‘S long as I have that, I’m okay.”

The unexpected flood of your orgasm quakes you, unable to warn Toji, or even ask for permission. How disappointed he’d be in you, as your juices sluice and soak, fluttering where you come undone. It’s a trail of fire, and it hurts to come. His hips sputter and he mutters a string of curses, flicking your nub faster to heighten the intensity of the earlier mess. You paw at his chest, back arched and fresh tears clustering in the haze. “Please, please!” you babble to an unresponsive Toji, stuck in a feral trance.

Toji pulls out, palpitating at the precipice of his own climax. You take this opportunity to flip on your stomach and creep to a farther part of the bed. He’s in no rush. You can’t go far like that, a net of arousal at the apex of your thighs. He climbs onto the bed and grapples your hips, thighs capturing yours. He curves your back and slips into your gummy walls anew. You grip him like a vice notwithstanding the complaints. You hate to say it, but Toji’s length bullying its way to your cervix is a poison you’d drink habitually. He snares your hair and holds the underside of your chin. “Hah- c’mon baby, you can take a little more”, he groans at a savage pace, “be a good girl.” Your ass ripples against the brawny man, hoarse voice in your ear, scrotum pummeling the overworked bundle of nerves. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets. All you should do is let him use you, that’s all you need to do, right?

Toji pans your head to the mirror, “Look how good you’re taking me, angel. You’re doing well.” His honeyed praises make you throb, attended by the bestial snap of his hips. “See that?”, he references your release slugging both legs, air heavy with sweat, “you’re such a f-fucking slut, what man could satisfy you besides me?” You sniffle and muster a pathetic babble, and he laughs. “You’re my perfect slut, though, fuck- ‘nd I’m not gonna make the same mistakes again.” There’s a tinge of regret swimming in the sea that is Toji’s confidence, and you feel it. It’s a subtle confession; please don’t go.

Then he stops. Toji lets go, and you’re impulsively manhandled in front of him while he’s behind you. He lays back, and in doing so, ferries your knees to the sides of your face and hooks his hands to the rear of your head. You’re unveiled in the reflection of the mirror, a panel that bounces back the thin sheen of sweat on your bodies, your disheveled hair and makeup, wrinkled sheets, and the sticky lacings attaching you to Toji. You want to shy from the humiliating sight. “Don’t hide your face” he coos. You glimpse a portion of his face in the mirror, a glint in his eye, “I like this view more.”

He bends his knees and pounds your chubby cunt with reckless abandon. He’s fucking your cervix, heedless grunts and panting groans as you swallow him up. Toji sputters, throbbing along your abused body and reverberating vicious staggering plap’s that could be heard on the lowest floor. You can’t breathe, let alone think, and the asphyxiation goes straight to your pussy. “O-oh fuck, heh, feel s’good. Gonna fill you up, yeah? Shit- have a mini me crawling around. Y-you'd like that, wouldn’t you, doll? Wanna carry my baby?” The headboard thuds against the wall, and in your fog, you call out for him, chanting his name like a mantra. The emotion is overwhelming, you claw at his bicep as shockwaves burst and fizzle out on your skin. “You’re dripping down my balls, sweetie, you close again?” Tougher, nastier strikes allure your orgasm, and you bleat a scream as a stream of liquid surges from you that drenches the sheets and Toji’s shaft. It’s a blinding white light, and you go limp through the violent spasms.

“Ohhh shit, that’s it baby, take everything I give you” he rasps. Toji shoulders your dead weight with ease, going silent, then plummeting you to the hilt. His balls tighten, and he manages some slushy pumps before he comes. He spurts thick, hot globs that paint and crowd your walls with greed. You milk him dry as he bucks. It overflows to trickling down his length, and his muscles quiver as he comes down from his high. His staggering pants reduce to hitching, and he relaxes your exhausted limbs.

Toji drives out and turns you around. You’re edging unconsciousness, sporadic jolts and innocent sobs carrying in your scratched throat. “I know. Breathe, baby.” He brings you flush with his chest, and you absorb his gentle puffs, the methodical beat of his heart. “You okay?” You’re unresponsive, gathering yourself in an incomplete collage of thoughts. You want to talk but it dissipates on your tongue. He rubs your back and kisses your forehead.

Then it’s muted; solely the dwindling rate at which your heart races, and the tender smooches Toji dots on your face as you cuddle. When you open your eyes, the sheets are changed, and you’re cleaned. Clearly some time has passed. You sit, and Toji comes out the bathroom, running water in the background. “How ya feelin’?”

You wince at the blunt thrum in your vulva, “Okay. How long was I out?”

“Like half an hour. Up for a bath?” You don’t have the energy to move your body. Toji scoops you bridal style and leads you to the bathroom. You found it amusing how considerate he was after wrecking your brain.

Toji spoons a generous quantity of Epson salt into the corner jet tub. He helps you in and joins once you’re stable. It’s a lavish proportion, but you decide to be next to him. Your head situates on your forearms over the tub rim while Toji sloshes water onto your back. The steam and serene jets below ship you to a luxury vacation on a tropical island, its quality comparable to spas with extensive dollar signs. You study each other.

“I’ll let you get whatever you need from your place.” You knit your brows, “For what?”

“You live with me.” You simper at his audacity.

“So, you’re the decision maker now?”

“For this, yes. Can’t risk you runnin’ off again.”

“It’s your fault I left.” He pauses, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “I know. I’m sorry.”

A piece of you becomes whole at his acknowledgement. There are no petty jabs to be had where lingering truths wade in the mist. “Never thought I’d hear an apology from you.”

“It’s overdue. I was a dick, and I should’ve never treated you like that. Was tryna sort out my shit, but I didn’t have to take it out on ya.”

The corner of your mouth quirks up. “Sorry...but not sorry enough to let me go?”

“No. You need nobody but me.”

You chortle, and he cracks a smirk. “Arrogant asshole.”

“I love you, too.”

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

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taeghi · 4 months

Text

fleeting summers by park sunghoon | (m)

♫ song : sunsetz by cigarettes after sex

summary : meeting park sunghoon in the small town your dad moved into this summer is as vibrant as the sunsets you witness. but, as summer fades away so does your time together. hopefully when the next summer comes your paths cross again under the same sunlit skies.

genre : smut, fluff, angst, sadness????? mDNi

word count : 16,450

part of the enhypen series playlist

fleeting summers

as the car winds its way through the quaint, sunlit streets of the small town, you sit in the passenger seat, your gaze fixated on the passing scenery. the town, a popular summer destination, boasts charming storefronts, and colourful welcoming banners and the air is tinged with sea salt and flowers. yet, despite the picturesque allure that surrounds you, there’s a palpable sense of reluctance lingering around you. this town, now your temporary residence for the summer, feels both enhancing and isolating.

since your parents divorce earlier this year, your dad had decided to move to this idyllic escape town that might be a dream for him, but definitely not for you. this town is a separation from the familiar comforts of your home and friends. you wish you could have spent the summer with your friends like usual. your traditions having to be failed this summer since you’ve been shipped away to stay with your father for almost two months.

the car finally turns into a narrow street lined with old wooden houses, and your new home comes into view. its rustic charm stands in stark contrast to the modern, more beachy houses that line the rest of the town. you can’t help but feel a sense of apprehension about spending the upcoming months in this solitary abode with only your dad for company.

this town may be beautiful, but the prospect of a summer away from the people and places you hold dear casts a shadow over the otherwise vibrant scene unfolding before you.

the creaking sound of the door echoes through the old house as you step inside the house, hearing your mother’s tires screech on the road as she avoids your dad. the air feels still as your dad hugs you and shows you around. you’re glad to see him, not being able to see him for months, but still, the dread of the long summer ahead of you ponders through your mind that your smile fails to show.

you walk into the room that is now yours for the next couple of months. its wooden floor echoing with every step, so different from the fluffy carpet of your bedroom back home. the walls seem to sigh, bearing the weight of countless lives that have lived here before your dad.

your gaze falls upon the bed- a new sanctuary of yours even though the mattress beneath your fingertips feels unfamiliar. it lacks the soft indentations that cradle you in the warmth and comfort of your own room. you lower yourself onto the bed, the lonely squeak of the springs accentuating the silence of the room. the sunlight filters through the thin curtains, casting a glow on the faded quilt your grandma had knitted you when you were a child.

as you lay there, staring at the wood ceiling that matches the wood walls and wood floors, a sense of displacement settles within you. the room, though quaint, holds no trace of your essence. you close your eyes, attempting to reconcile with the alien sensation of this bed that will be your haven for the upcoming weeks. there’s a certain hollowness of the room that you aren’t sure you will get used to.

the distant murmur of the town outside is a reminder that you can’t lay in this bed all summer. and that you had promised your dad you would be down for dinner soon. you sigh, filling the new, silent space that is now yours.

in the beginning days that followed your summer stay, your dad, eager to catch up with you, took it upon himself to be your guide through the town. the air of teh small diner, filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the sum hum of conversation became a familiar backdrop during your dinner talks. his favourite spot, he insisted, and you observed him warmly exhacning greetings with the regulars whose faces lit up at the sight of him. you were indtrocued to the many lives that intertwined in this town.

the beach, with hits powdery sand and rhythmic waves, unfolded before you like a serene painting. seagulls swooped overhead, and the distant laughter of children created a soundtrack to the endless horizon. as you sat with your dad, the tranquility of the acne was interrupted by the approach of a man accompanied by his family. they greeted your father with familiarity and you observed them. the man’s eyes were kind as they spoke to your father and introduced his family to you.

his children were your age, his daughter, karina, was beautiful as she greeted you. her fox like eyes still gleamed against the sun as they turned upwards into a smile. she told you that you could come along with her at any time and that she’d be glad to get to know you this summer. which you agreed to, but you knew you’d rather be alone the second you saw her prance over to her large group of friends all lounging around the beach. the girls were all beautiful and thin, and the bous they hung around with were tall and tan. you knew that you wouldn’t get along with them for too long if you went over there.

your dad encouraged you to hang out with them for the entire day until the sun dipped lower on the horizon, indicating that it was dinner at the diner time and that you would not be hanging out with those kids for the day.

“i know all the kids in this town and they’re all nice, y/n, why don’t you give them a chance?” your dad asks as you walk up to the diner. “what’re you gonna do? hang out with me for the rest of the summer?”

“yes.”

your dads amused scoff mixes with the diner door’s bell chime as he opens the door, letting you walk past him and to the usual booth you both liked to sit at, finishing the conversation for the night.

in the subsequent days, your peripheral vision became a constant observer of karina and her friends. their laughter and presence frequently echoed against the backdrop of the town. the beach transformed into their playground whenever they stepped foot onto it. they played games on the busy boardwalk, their animated voices and screames carrying in the salty breeze.

karina with her too sweet of a smile, repeatedly extended invitations for you to join their exploits. yet, an inexpeclicable hiestance rooted itself deep within you, an unshakable feeling that resisted the allur of their friendly gestures. your ad, ever optimistic, insisted that they were good kids and that you should hang out with them. despite the reassurances, a sense of skepticism lingered like a shadow in your heart.

you observed from a distance, a silent spectator to their adventures that stretched from the dawn’s first light to the quiet hours of the night.

as the sun dipped down once again, and the town’s lights flickered to life, you wrestled with conflicting emotions. karina’s smile clashed with the disquiet that nestled in your thoughts. the balance of trust and apprehension teetered on the edge, leaving you perched on the sidelines before drifting off to sleep.

amidst the lively chatter and laughter that enveloped the beach, you at in solitude, your eyes tracing the rhythmic dance of the waves. the distant sounds of games and talking washed over you, but your attention was anywhere but. you had become quite good at ignoring everyone around you.

but as you glance to your left just once, your attention is drawn away to the presence of a lone figure sitting under a beach umbrella. a boy, seemingly ignoring everyone around him as well was immersed in the world of whatever book he was so intently reading.

he sat on a faded beach chair, an air of quiet confidence surrounding him as he turned the pages of the book that was sprawled open on his lap. The sun cast a gentle glow on the tendrils of his dark black hair, and the slight furrow of his thick browns hinted at the intensity with which he absorbed the words on the pages. his isolation mirrored yours, a shared desire for solace amidst the lively backdrop of the beach.

intrigued, you asked your dad who the boy with the book was.

you noticed his hesitant pause as he acknowledged the boy, his eyes briefly meeting yours before averting away, “that’s park sunghoon,”

you hum, “what’s he like?”

“he’s quiet, keeps to himself. but his family is nice, and well, they’re super rich.”

a smirk spread across your face in amusement at the hesitant introduction.

“and why doesn’t he hang out with the others?”

your dad shrugged, “he’s just like that, likes to be by himself.”

you go back into your own world until dusk starts approaching. as the sky starts to become painted with hues of amber and lavender, you reluctantly withdrew from the solace of your thoughts on the beach. walking alongside your dad, the grains of sand clung to your bare feet as you made your way to the diner once again.

glancing back towards the beach, your eyes inadvertently met those of the boy named park sunghoon. a mild surprise tinged your otherwise inscrutable expression, his gaze unwavering as you held it. a silent acknowledgement passing between you two. his eyes, dark and unreadable, seemed to mirror the guarded emotions you concealed with your own.

you held eye contact until you turn away, your dad seamlessly diverting your attention to the impending decision of dinner plans. park sunghoon’s face remained in your head for the entirety of dinner, having to restrain yourself from asking your dad more about park sunghoon and his family.

the next time you saw park sunghoon was in the early morning, when most of the town still slept. the sleepy streets were apinted in hues of soft pastels and the distant murmur of the ocean mingled with the quiet footsteps of the early risers. as you walked towards teh cafe to get your dad and your usual coffee for breakfast, smiling to the locals that knew your father, your attention waas drawn to a tall figure in the distance, moving with large steps towards the beach.

park sunghoon’s silhouette, etched against the backdrop of the waking town, exuded a quiet elegance. now that he was standing you could see how tall the boy was as his long strides carried him to the ocean. the morning sun, casting a golden glow on the surroundings, danced upon his tousled hair as if he had just gotten out of bed two minutes ago.

you watched him until you couldn’t see him anymore, disappearing into different parts of town. you let yourself wonder why park sunghoon would be up so early, headed straight to the ocean, knowing that the other residents wouldn’t be there for at least another hour. there was an allure around him in the way he navigated the early hours. you wondered if he thought the world belonged to him as he headed to the beach alone.

you didn’t see him again until later in the week.

your room was light from the morning, coaxing you out of the embrace of your dreams. as you lingered in that hazy realm between sleep and wakefulness, your dad’s voice cut through the morning stillness as he ripped your blanket off of you.

“hey, sleepyhead,” he laughs at your surprise, “i’m tired of you spending the whole summer holed up inside or hanging with me.” with your mumbled response he continues, “there’s a local book fair this afternoon and you’re going whether you like it or not.”

a sigh escaped you as you half heartedly agreed and pulled your blanket back up to your chin. you snuggled back into your pillow, the prospect of leaving your cozy cocoon feeling like a monumental task. you hear your dad chuckle and say how much fun you’re going to have before leaving your room, leaving you to your drowsy thoughts.

the book fair wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. as you wandered through the rows of stands and the smell of aged paper, you found yourself in a literary haven. there were various genres of books, both familiar and unknown. some titles sparked recognition and you found yourself drawn to the worn spines of used books. the newer books they offered were appealing, but not as interesting to you as your fingers traced over the covers.

you’re in the quiet corner of the book fair, hidden among the bookshelves as you read over the titles in front of you.

“read it?”

you were so deep in thought that you didn’t even notice the boy next to you until he spoke. your eyes meet the eyes of park sunghoon and he smiles with a hint of cockiness dulled by the lack of volume in his voice. he’s there, standing in front of you. his black, messy hair is pushed back, casually tucked behind his ears and he’s wearing a hoodie that seems to be as born as the pages of the book surrounding him. you imagine that you share a similar exhausted look, despite his cockiness infiltrating.

his smile makes you feel nervous, but the type that makes you comfortable at the same time. it’s almost familiar and oddly pleasant. it takes you a moment for you to register his question, a nod towards the book tucked under your arm. the paperback of a copy of richard brautigan’s “in watermelon sugar,”, which she had forgotten she had picked up.

“yeah, brautigan. have you?”

“for a book report. it was interesting, but kind of played out and too idealistic.”

“well he wrote about love and life in a way that feels magical.”

“there’s no magic in real life.”

you frown slightly, “it’s about finding magic in simplicity, in the sweet things that you might miss if you don’t pay attention.”

sunghoon smirks, “idealistic.”

“optimistic.”

both of you have stepped closer to each other as you spoke. you stand there in the aisle, a conversation between the strangers that feels oddly intimate as you argue over the meaning of ‘in watermelon sugar’. you wonder if he’s going to debate further or if those will be the last words you hear from park sunghoon.

“i’m sunghoon.”

“y/n.”

the town has never been particularly peaceful. even at night, when majority of the locals have scampered back to their homes and the neighbourhood is shrouded in silence. the beach remains alive with activity. a small beach party, the boardwalks arcade games, the distant sound of a car driving by. you have grown accustomed to the constant chaos over the few days you’ve known park sunghoon. your neighborhood back home is usually quiet and empty, everyone absorbed into their very private, quiet lives.

you and sunghoon find yourselves sitting atop the large rock sunghoon had shown you the day of the book fair. it looks over the glittering boardwalk across the beach. the sun has almost vanished, the sunset that once gleamed over your bodies is gone. you watch the scatter of people along the shore.

you are wrapped in sunghoon’s oversized towel, much fluffier than the ones you own. your hair is still damp from swimming in the ocean earlier. the scent of saltwater surrounds the both of you. sunghoon keeps glancing at you from the corner of his eye, noticing something new about you every time.

you’ve grown comfortable with each other through the past week. like you’re a sanctuary for one another, finding solace in the time you spend together and away from your families. neither of you have discussed their hesitance to truth others, a silent understanding forged into the solace you’ve found.

sunghoon has inherited his wariness from his family. who bestowed upon him a life of luxury but also a legacy of disdain. he’s mentionned that his father was an influential figure in business and was more absent than present.

but sunghoon, despite his affluent background, hates the burden of his wealth and family. he’s spoken about how stifling his parent’s expectation of him are. the emptiness that accompanies the privilege he knows he should be grateful for. though, it’s a life he never asked for. true friendships elude him; those around him are acquaintances drawn to the park name and the facade he’s expected to maintain.

you speak, breaking the silence between you two ontop of the rock, “do you ever wish you could escape all this?”

sunghoon shrugs, exhaling a puff of smoke that you hate. he told you he smokes just because his parents hate it, too. “everyday. the money, the expectations, my future is basically set for me and i have no choice of it. it’s suffocating. i want to be normal.”

“college is normal. can’t you escape there?”

“i don’t know. my brother’s in college and he hates it. my parents are constantly nagging at him to get the highest of all grades. i just think it’ll be more chaotic.”

“plenty of girls at college, and all the parties you could want.”

“i’m done with parties,” sunghoon speaks with a certain resolve in his tone, “i’ve gone to too many and they’re all the same boring shit.”

“but the girls wouldn’t be so bad,” you tease him, almost challenging him to agree. a part of you resents the way you sound, but the other part wants to hear his answer.

“whatever. i think you’re forgetting that i’m a park, y/n, i could have any girl i want.”

you laugh at his sudden cockiness that never seems to fade. it’s a refreshing change from the sunghoon who is pessimistic and secretive. it makes you happy to know that there are other sides of him that he hasn’t quite shown you yet.

“right, a real heartthrob.”

sunghoon nudges your shoulder with his, “oh c’mon, don’t act like you haven’t heard all the girls talking about me.”

“shut up, hoon.”

you lay back on the rock, sunghoon’s towel still around your shoulders. there’s a sudden squeal underneath you from the shore. a group of teens, the ones that you recognize as karina’s friends run along the beach, laughing as one of the boys picks up a girl and swings her around on his shoulder. you glance to sunghoon’s face, who’s watching the group as he walk further away. his expression is desolate as he takes a final puff of his cigarette before exhaling and smushing it against the rock underneath him and speaks,

“come on, let’s go. i’m tired of this rock for the night.”

you wake up early in the morning, half expecting sunghoon to be sitting on your balcony waiting for you. but you realize he doesn’t usually wake up for another half hour. it’s become a routine to follow sunghoon out onto the beach early in the morning, before anyone else can get there. outside is light blue as the sun starts to rise for the day.

you think about how yours and sunghoon’s worlds are so different. he was born into a life you could only ever dream of within your humble roots. his family’s summer mansion sits on the hill of the town, a beacon o luxury you know you could never afford in this life time.

but, when both of you are together, those disparities dissolve.

both of you yearn for an escape from this mundane town. the quiet rebellion against the expected paths tht your amily controls of you. you so wish to go back home, and sunghoon wishes he had a place to call home. the dreams of a different life connect you.

just as you’re about to fall into another deep sleep, the embodiment of your desire to escape speaks, “wake up.” your eyes open and meet sunghoon’s, who’s standing above you beside your bed, “let’s go.”

later in the day, you and sunghoon are sunbathing on towels at the beach. the sand underneath your feet as you close your eyes and let the sun hit your body. sunghoon is beside you, reading whatever book has his mind captured now. you think that this is perfect, if you could spend everyday of being in this small town like this, you wouldn’t complain as much. a bird flies over your head and squawks out to the others.

“hey, sunghoonie,” a voice greeted him, “and y/n,” you look up to see karina standing over top you two. her long black hair sleek as she smiles so strongly. “what are you up to?”

you shifted, propping yourself up on your elbows as sunghoon remained engrossed in his book, his attention unwavering, “just sitting here, what’s up?”

a mischievous look glints in her eye as you speak, “well, i wanted to invite you both to a little party i’m throwing on friday night. it’s going to be so much fun!”

you exchanged a quick glance with sunghoon, who remained immersed in his reading, seemingly unfazed by the invitation. “oh, well we’ll think about it, thanks.” you replied, a noncommittal tone in your voice.

karina, undeterred, leaned down a bit closer, her gaze shifting towards sunghoon, “oh come on sunghoonie. you’ve got to come, it’ll be a blast, you know how much we miss hanging out with you.” her voice came out as a purr, a flirtatious edge in her words that put you on edge.

sunghoon, however, kept his focus on his book, his response a mumble of ‘whatever’. he seemed impervious to karina’s attempts at charm, an air of indifference surroudning him in her presence.

you couldn’t help but smile at sunghoon’s unyeildeing composure, “we’ll see, karina.”

but karina wouldn’t stand down. with a playful nudge to sunghoon��s foot with her own and a subtle wink that you’re sure you were suppose to see, she insised, “you better come sunghoonie. it won’t be the same without you.” before sauntering away, leaving your toweled area.

as she disappeared from view you chuckled, “sunghoonie?”

“shut up.”

you don’t miss the quick smile on sunghoon’s lips before you lay back on your towel. you think about karina’s words, how sunghoon must have hung out with that group before. it would be no surprise to you if you hadn’t talked about the obnoxious group multiple times. you know sunghoon is secretive and keeps to himself, but karina seems to have known him too well for your liking.

it’s something that bothers you for the rest of the day and sunghoon can’t help but notice. when you’re both sitting atop the rock that you’re usually on when the sun starts to dip into the ocean and he’s peeking over at you when he thinks you’re not noticing, he asks,

“what’s on your mind?”

“nothing.”

sunghoon sighs at your answer, knowing that something in fact is but he doesn’t want to pressure you. he’s grateful that you never pressure him, never put any expectations on him like everyone else does. to you, he’s just sunghoon– nothing else.

“how’d you know something is on my mind?”

sunghoon smirks at your question, but doesn’t turn to look at you, only lights another cigarette that he knows you’re going to complaint about, “because we’ve been together everyday for weeks now– i know when something is bothering you.”

you sigh and sit up so you’re shoulder to shoulder with sunghoon and have to unfortunately smell his cigarette.

“i didn’t know you hung out with karina and them.”

sunghoon shrugged, “i mean, we all grew up in the same town, i would have to at some point.”

you try not to show your discontent with his answer. you turn your head away from him and watch the ocean with him. his smoke mixing with the clouds as you listened to the water hit the shore below you.

“did you and karina date?”

sunghoon scoffs at your question, pure shock spreading on his face, “what? no! never.”

you roll your eyes at his answer and lay back down onto his towel. you listen to his laugh as he can’t believe your question. you try to ignore the red heat filling up your cheeks at his reaction.

when the sound of the waves is the only sound between you again, sunghoon’s body stiffens as he continues to smoke. he glances over at your figure, your arm covering your face with a small frown on your lips that makes his heart clench.

“the idea of me and karina dating bothered you?”

“shut up.”

“i mean, why would you even think that?”

“well sorry, i thought you were the self-proclaimed heartthrob of the town.” you raise your hands in the air.

sunghoon chuckles, “but why would i date her?”

your voice comes out as a whisper next, half hoping that he wouldn’t hear it, “because she’s beautiful.”

sunghoon indeed hears it as you speak from behind him. his eyes stay set on the ocean in front of him. the sun had gone down half an hour ago, leaving the town’s lights to fill up the place for it. you smushes his cigarette against the rock, letting out a deep exhale as he does so. your words make him wonder what you really think about him.

when you think sunghoon is about to call it a night by the way he finishes his cigarette, his words stop you from moving to pack up your things, “ever been skinny dipping?”

“what? no?”

“me neither. wanna do it?”

“right now?”

sunghoon scoffs as he stands up, “yeah, c’mon.”

before you can realize, sunghoon is dragging you down from the rock and around it, towards the ocean and away from the shores eyes. he ignores your protests as you’re forced to follow him, his hand on your wrist controlling where you go. he held a mischievous glint in his eyes as he tugged you closer to the water. the water looked like silk as he it brushed against the shore. the moonlight twinkled against it, making a path of light to draw you in.

sunghoon’s hand dropped from you wrist as you both stood on the beach, the water just reaching your feet everytime it hit the shore. sunghoon’s smile was usually contagious, but now you were more nervous than anything to smile.

“i can’t sunghoon.”

“you can! it’ll be fun!” you shook your head no at his encouragement, “but if you don’t want to it’s fine.” you relax, ready to suggest something else you and him can do instead for the rest of the night. “i’ll just do it by myself.”

despite your confused exclaim, sunghoon’s hands move to pull his shirt off of his body. his pale skin soaking in the moonlight as his bright smile gleams at you.

“it’ll be fun and i wanna try.” sunghoon shrugs as he starts to untie his bathing suit bottoms.

“oh my god,” you cover your eyes, not being able to believe what he’s doing right now.

“up to you if you don’t wanna see the heartthrobs body.” sunghoon teases in a sing song voice.

“i absolutely do not.”

you hear sunghoon scoff and shuffle his clothes around. you make sure to keep your fingers over your eyes, ignoring the voice in your head wanting to look. because even though you would never admit it; sunghoon is a heartthrob. you’re very aware of how attractive he is and how every girl in this town fights for a chance to even look at him. but he’s you’re friend, even if sometimes it feels like more.

hearing water splashing around symbolizes that sunghoon is making his (naked) way through the water. and not too long after sunghoon calls out to tell you that the “coast is clear” and that you can look.

cautiously, you remove your fingers from your eyes and look straight ahead, meeting sunghoon’s through the meters of water and sand inbetween you.

“how’s it feel?”

“like i’m having a bath in a big bathtub.”

you watch him for a bit, swimming around in the dark water. despite sunghoon’s constant complaints about the town, you knew he absolutely loved the water. you couldn’t ignore the grand smile on his face everytime he swam. but, his smile was never as big as it was then. as he swam around the ocean naked, with just your presence around him. you watched as he used the water to push back his black hair, revealing his foreheard that you would only see while he swam. you always thought he looked the most beautiful when he swam. he seemed to be more peaceful and less tense.

“you sure you won’t come in? the water’s so nice.” his voice echoes across the water and against the rocks. he watches you as you trace your finger in the sand beside you, drawing whatever shapes come to your mind. “it’d be more fun if you came in.”

you sigh, knowing that you’re about to give in to the heartthrob’s begging. and you hate knowing that he knows you’re giving in to him by the annoying smirk on his face. “you better turn around or else the heartthrob may become a creep.” you hear sunghoon’s laugh as he does in fact turn around, telling you that his eyes are closed under his hands that he’s placed on top of them just be sure.

trying to set your anxiousness aside, you start to peel off your shorts and bathing suit. you feel the warm, night air blow against your entire body as you stand on the beach. your clothes are in a pile beside sunghoon’s. you slowly start to ease your way into the ocean, watching the back of sunghoon’s head as you make your way to him. the water is surprisingly warm as you glide through it. you stop when you’re a meter away from him.

“you can turn around now.”

you're met with sunghoon’s goofy grin. he keeps his eyes locked on your face, taking in your features as it reflects the water and moon. the tips of your hair are sunken into the water, while the top is still dry. he can’t help but think how beautiful you are right now, in a way he knows you won’t understand.

“how’s it feel? just like i said it would?” he’s answered with a splash of water and a ‘shut up’ from you. “c’mon, let’s swim.”

and so you follow him, both of you laughing and teasing eachother as you swim through the ocean at night. you can see the town’s lights from afar. the boardwalks’ lights of the arcades and rides flashing as the residents play around. you and sunghoon aren’t too far away from other people, but it feels like it’s just the two of you for miles.

when the water turns cold, under the cold moon, you and sunghoon float on your backs. your hands accidentally touch eachother’s as you let the waves control your body, but neither of you mind, and instead welcome eachother’s touches. you wonder what you two look like to moon who is hovering over you in full. maybe flowers, with all of your limbs spread out wide, enjoying the water you were subsided in.

“i’ve never felt this free before. it’s like i’m being exactly who i am, without any masks or expectations.”

your eyes glance over at sunghoon as he speaks. you can tell that he’s being genuine, the serious expression on his face as he keeps his head pointed upwards to the night sky.

“i get that. there’s nothing else around right now, so.”

“yeah, but it’s you– you make me feel seen and understood. it’s liberating, you know?”

sunghoon’s gaze meets your own, and there was a softness, an unspoken understanding. the sound of the ocean became a symphony, a gently lullaby that underscored the vulnerability of the shared sentiments. your hair was kissed by the moonlight, a smile on both of your lips as you spoke truths.

sunghoon reached for your hand, your fingers dancing across each other’s purposefully.

“karina’s beautiful, sure, but with you, it’s so much different. it’s like your beauty is timeless, and not just in the way you look, but in the way you make me feel.”

you think for a second he’s drank too much salt water for the day. and you want to push him off and tease him like you usually do, but his fingers wrapped around yours so strongly tell you that you shouldn’t. his eyes held honesty and gratitude as he looked into yours. you had so many thoughts racing through your head, struggling to get out.

“you’re beautiful, too, sunghoon.”

the walk back to your dad’s house was wrapped in a comfortable quietude, the rhythmic sound of their footsteps harmonizing with the distant sound of crickets.

sunghoon’s gaze, laden with the memories of tonight, occasionally meets yours as you traverse the familiar path. the connection between you has changed with an unspoken understanding that doesn’t demand words.

you both stop at the front door of your dad’s house. you and sunghoon were side by side, and share a quiet acknoelwedment that their night was now ending. you’re picking at your cuticles as you gently sway back and forth, trying to occupy yourself under sunghoon’s gaze.

“good night, y/n.”

“night, hoon.”

before he steps away, he leans in, placing a gentle kiss on your temple, a sweet punctuation to their night. he turns with a final smile as you back up into the house, closing the door.

you watch him as he makes his way home down the steet. the moon casted a soft glow on his silhouette as he got farther and farther out of sight. you couldn’t help but smile. that night may have been over, but you knew you’ll see him again the next day. the echoes of his laugh and the touch of his lips on your skin promise you sweet dreams as you crawl into your bed, under the cozy covers in the town you once swore you hated.

on friday night, you and sunghoon were in karina’s family mansion. it felt like crossing into another realm where the music pulsated in the beautiful, large house. it was so much different than any other house you had ever been in.

sunghoon’s reluctance to attend was palpable, yet the allure of your company prompted him to step into the grandeur of karina’s world. the mansion, a labyrinth of echoing laughter and vibrant lights, held the promise of a night that would clash with the usual transquility you and sunghoon had grown accustomed to.

in the corner of the expensive, expansive living room, amidst the huge crowd that had also been invited, you and sunghoon were settled into a quiet cocoon of your own. the atmosphere was charged with frenetic energy of partiers, but you and sunghoon found comfort in each other’s presence. you thought maybe sunghoon was already so comfortable since he had been in this house before. he had known all the other people dancing and drinking around. meanwhile you, knew nobody and were in an unfamiliar place.

though, sunghoon found it charming the way you were so curious about the party, the house and the people. his once skeptical eyes softened as he observed you. he admired you in a way he’s never admired anyone. you wanted to experience the party, but still chose to keep to yourself, with him. sunghoon with stoic demeansor, and you with a subtle glow than formed an oasis of tranquility he had allowed himself to enter whenever he was with you.

through the loud music and large crowd, karina made her way to the two of you. though, she only addressed sunghoon at first. when sunghoon didn’t cave in to her mischievous greeting, a new sly smirk grew on her face as she turned to you instead.

“we’re about to start a drinking game. wanna join?”

“no thanks, we’re good.”

you nudged sunghoon at his answer, hating the way he always answered for you.

“sure, karina, why not.” you tell her, wanting to see what games the people in this town really played. you ignored sunghoon’s glare in the back of your head as he follow you and karina to the large group of people settled upon the couches in the living room. you could tell sunghoon was concerned, but was hiding it with annoyance as he tried to tune out karina’s voice.

you sat on one of the couches, sunghoon standing behind you on the other side of it. he kept his cup close to his mouth as he continued to drink almost angrily. karina explained the rules of the game to everyone, making sure all the players understood before she rolled the dice.

you kept up with the rules and the game, moving your piece alongside the board everytime it was your turn and drinking or taking a shot when you needed to. you almost forgot sunghoon was behind you with all the commotion and concentration brought on by the drinking board game.

each round of the board escalated with intensity. you found yourself navigating the fine line between the thrill of the game and the underlying currents of karina’s mischeif. you didn’t realize that the other players of the game had formed alliances as each turn was taken. you missed karina’s sly smile as she made sure everyone took their shots, heightening the levels of intoxication of everyone, but especially you.

the room started to echo more with the clinking of glasses and boisterous cheers of others players. you started to sway slightly, beginning to feel the effects of teh deliberate excess of alcohol pushed onto you by karina. not being able to control your body completely anymore, you let your back hit the couch, your head lulling back to rest on the couch. there, you made eye contact with sunghoon who had stood behind you the entire time you played the game.

as soon as sunghoon made eye contact with you, he could tell how wasted you had gotten compared to everyone else. he was already on edge with the amount of times karina had told you that it was your turn to take a shot. that she was telling you to take a shot when you weren’t even suppose to.

“alright, that’s enough,” sunghoon declared, his voice cutting through the crowd. his eyes locked onto you with a steel determination of getting you out of here.

karina, feigning innocence, looked taken aback when sunghoon started helping you up. “what’s wrong sunghoonie? we’re just having some fun. it is a party after all.”

“fun shouldn’t come at the cost of someone’s well being. so c’mon y/n, we’re leaving, and we are never coming back, karina.”

with a steady arm around your waist, sunghoon guided you away from the chaotic party. the air outside, crisp and refreshing, offered a stark contrast to the sweaty, crowd inside.

the night air seemed to revive you the farther you got away from the party and the closer you got to sunghoon’s house. his grop remained on you, protective and reassuring and conveyed a silent promise to shield you from hurting yourself due to karina’s actions.

as you walked through the dimly lit streets of the town, sunghoon’s large house ontop of the hill emerged. away from the raucous mansion that belong to karina. sunghoon’s steps were deliberate and measured, just wanting to guide you safely.

sunghoon managed to bring you up to his bedroom quietly, both of you smiling sheepishly as you passed the head maid who took care of him as a child. you ascended the large staircase the lead to his bedroom. the hallways had tall, perfect walls that held photographs of the family.

you couldn’t help but gasp when you saw sunghoon’s bedroom and the amount of space it held. the room exuded an air of affluence, the dimensions vast and adorned with subtle touches of opulence. the walls, painted in muted tones, cradled the room’s large windows that allowed the moonlight to cascade gently onto the plush furnishings.

your eyes lingered on all the details– the elegant furniture, the soft glow of ambient lighting, and the artful arrangement of items that spoke of a meticulous sense of style. but you couldn’t help but realize that it didn’t seem like sunghoon at all, despite his name being on the awards showcased on the shelf in the corner. it was nothing like how you would imagine sunghoon to decorate a room.

sunghoon settled you onto his bed, the plushness beneath you seemed to embrace you with a silent invitation to unwind. the linens, luxurious and inviting made you feel like you were in a hotel.sunghoon made sure the blanket was up to your chin, before he brushed a strand your hair behind your ear. he slowly started to back up, feeling as if he should go now that you were safe in his bed.

but your hand grabbed onto his wrist, stopping him.

“stay,”

sunghoon and you layed side by side in his bed, your heads facing his high, posh ceiling. you could feel your hands being only centimeters apart at your sides, but neither one of you made an effort to connect them. an almost shy feeling taking over both of you as you layed in his bed. both of you could tell that the other was still awake.

“how’re you feeling?”

“better. less drunk.”

“i’m sorry karina tricked you into drinking more, if i knew–,”

“it’s fine, i should’ve been paying more attention.”

a beat of silence took over his room once again.

“thanks for taking care of me, hoon.”

you hear sunghoon gulp beside you. neither one of you moving to look at eachother as you speak. you tell yourself to take a breath before you force yourself to move your hand to intertwined your fingers with his. instantaneously, both of your heads turned to face each other.

now, you could see just how handsome sunghoon looked. his hair was messy against his pillow. his cheeks flushed a colour of red from the alcohol he had drank earlier. his pale skin was gleaming in the moonlight that the large windows let in. you could smell his laundry detergent so clearly that it was almost as intoxicating as the alcohol you had drank.

without thinking, probably thanks to alcohol, you pressed a kiss into sunghoon’s temple as he did yours the night before. it was all you could think about. his plush, pink, lips against your skin. you wanted more. you couldn’t stop staring at his lips all day today, and you’re sure he could tell.

pulling away from his temple, you stay only centimeters away from his face. looking down at him to take in his reaction. his eyes were serious as they bore into yours, unlike the playful look he had given you last night after he had kissed your own temple.

just as you decide to shy away and regret your action, sunghoon is pressing his lips against yours. his eyes are closed and his pursed lips press onto your shocked ones.

before you can kiss back, he’s pulling away from you, head laying on his pillow again. you only take a second before you’re pressing your lips against his this time.

the kiss is passionate and longing. both of you have been wanting this and both of you know it. you found yourself so utterly, and completely drawn to sunghoon as you mesh your lips together. this simple kiss encapsulated so many emotions; exploring a new desired connection, the vulnerability woven into the fabric of the oment. it was a subtle revelation of emotions that surpassed the need for explicit articulation.

as you parted, the unspoken understanding lingered in the air. the roomnow charged with the afterglow of your shared kiss.

you didn’t break eyecontact and kept your faces only mere inches apart. sunghoon could physically see the need boiling up in your eyes as you continued to stare at him. he could feel his own stomach start to coil with the thought of having you. finally fulfilling the thought he’d been pushing to the back of his mind for weeks.

“stop looking at me like that.”

“like what?”

you didn’t recognize your voice when you questioned him. your voice usually calm and low had turned into a higher mewl.

“like,” sunghoon scoffed, “you wanna go further.”

“i do.”

“but you’re drunk.”

“so are you.”

sunghoon could feel his attempt at descalating the conversation fading with each quick answer you gave him.

“please hoon, i like it when you take care of me.”

with that, sunghoon forgot every apprehension as he slammed his lips against yours again. this time the kiss was more feverish, the passion soaring through both of you as you kept up the fast pace of the kiss. his hand comes up to grab your face, keeping it still as he makes out with you. you don’t fight for dominance as you let his tongue enter your mouth. as you swirl your tongues together, exploring each other’s mouths for the first time, you let your hand run down his shirt covered chest, stopping at the waist band of his pants.

sunghoon suddenly grabs your waist, pulling you ontop of him. your knees are on other side of his hips. your hair dangling down as you have to look down at him. sunghoon places his hand around your neck, squeezing gentle to make you gasp out before he trails his hand down slowly, all the way from your neck, your chest, stopping at the bottom hem of your shirt. his warm thumb rubs slow circles on the exposed skin of your stomach, making you shiver.

“you’re gonna let me take care of you like a good girl?” sunghoon’s voice is deep as he asks you, his brown eyes staring right into yours through his blank bangs that have fallen over them. he looked so good underneath you.

you nodded, your eyes innocent with your answer. sunghoon’s hand landed on your neck, squeezing again. his eyes tense when he speaks again, “use your words princess.”

“y-yes, i’ll be a good girl for you.”

“good girl for who?”

“for you, sir.”

sunghoon’s grip on your neck loosened, liking the sound of your answer.

“take your shirt off for sir.”

you don’t hesitate, your hands grabbing the bottom of your shirt and raising it over your head, dropping it off onto his floor beside you. your bikini top is tight to your chest. you watch the way sunghoon’s licks his lips as his hands go behind your back, untying your bikini to let it drop right off of you.

you don’t feel exposed or bare as sunghoon marvels at your chest. his eyes scanning from one breast to the other to your face and back again,

“fuck, you’re so beautiful, princess,” sunghoon compliments you as he sits up, his mouth pressing open mouthed kisses on your neck, “wish you could see yourself how i see you.” you whine at his words, hating how he knows you so well. hating how he knows all your insecurities and how much he loved them.

his fingers find your nipples, squeezing them gently, testing how well you respond to it. he’s pleased when you arch your back into his chest, wanting more. he pulls and tugs on them harder, loving how you start to squirm. when he presses kisses into your neck you throw your head to the side, letting him have as much room as he needs. his lips that you wanted to kiss so bad feel like heaven on your neck.

sunghoon’s hands grip your waist, guiding you to move back and forth across his crotch. you whimper at the first feeling of the friction. your skirt has ridden up, so your bathing suit bottoms are on display as you rub your core against his cortch. you can feel how hard his cock is inside his pants.

sunghoon keeps his mouth on your nipples as you start to pick up your pace grinding down onto him. you alternate switching your hips from going back and forth to circling around.

“fuck you’re so good at that, baby. making sir feel so good.”

sunghoon keeps your close to him by keeping his hand on your back. he’s almost possessive with your body, not wanting it to go anywhere, like it belongs to him. and for tonight, you’ll let him own your body. he’s making you feel so good, finding all your sweet spots on your neck and chest.

“that’s right, rub back and forth over that hard cock.”

you whine out his name, your head thrown back. sunghoon’s free hand covers your mouth, stopping you from being too loud. he mumbles a ‘be quiet’ into your skin as he sucks on it, leaving pink marks and saliva all over your neck, chest and tits.

sunghoon starts to rub you back and forth over his cock, leaving you with no control over your own body. you’re gripping onto his shoulders as you let him do as he pleases, using your body to get both of you to feel good.

“kiss me,” your simple demand is quiet in his room as you both grind against each other feverishly.

sunghoon presses his swollen lips against yours. you feel how wet his mouth is, happily taking his spit and lips into your mouth. you’re already addicted to his taste.

sunghoon could feel your nails grip into his shoulder harder, leaving marks but he didn’t care. he could tell that you were close to your climax. he started to grind his hips upwards against yours. shoving his hand over your mouth to muffle your moan.

“you gonna cum, princess? gonna show sir how well he takes care of you?”

“yes, sir, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.”

sunghoon doesn’t stop, wanting to see you cum so bad. he’s thought about it for weeks. thought about how you would sound, look and taste. he watches as you struggle to keep your eyes open. your mouth wide open as your hips don’t stop grinding down. the friction becoming too much for your little clit as he drags your hips against his.

“cum for me princess, that’s right, that’s right.”

with his encouragement you throw your headback one last time, his hand covering your mouth roughly to quiet you. your body starts to shake on top of his as your orgasm washes over you. your clit spasming from the friction of your bathing suit and his jeans. your arms go weak and your chest collapses onto his.

“fuck, sir.” you whimper out, your body still on adrenaline as your orgasm fades.

“that was so good, baby. did so well for me.” sunghoon praises you. he presses soft kisses into your neck, different from how rough and harsh he was kissing and sucking only minutes ago.

you look down ands ee the wet mess you had left on his jeans, almost embarrassed until sunghoon groaned at the sight.

“nade such a mess on sir, baby.” you notice his hard bulge still in his pants, your eyes innocent as you look back to his. his eyes are soft as he watches you, his hands gentle as they push your hair out of your face.

“you didn’t cum yet sir?”

sunghoon shrugs, “don’t need to, watching you was enough.”

“wanna see you cum, though.”

before sunghoon can disagree more, you’re pulling his cock out of his pants. it’s red and hard. the veins are protruding as his cock is so stimulated from the friction of your hips from before.

“spit on it.”

you do as sunghoon demands. letting a long string of saliva meet his tip from your mouth. he groans out your name as he feel sthe warm liquid meet his hard cock.

he takes his cock from your grip, starting to jerk his own cock up and down, staring right at your worn out face, saliva coerd chst and hard nipples that he had sucked and bit on.

“you wanna taste my cum, princess?”

his words make your stomach coil again, feeling the pleasure, desire and need build up again as you watch sunghoon jerk himself off in front of you. his arm is almost lazy as he pulls on his cock with your saliva as a lubricant. his head is thrown back against the headboard as he watches you, scans your body.

“yes, sir, please. ‘ve been thinking about your taste for weeks.”

sunghoon smiles at your answer, loving the way you’re so honest with him all the time. his smile makes you weak at the knees so you’re grateful you’re still straddling his lap.

“g, gonna cum in a sec, baby.”

“do it sir, wanna watch you cum so bad.”

with a few more tugs on his cock, sunghoon hit his orgasm. he threw his head back and let out deep groans that you knew you would never forget. youor eyes were switching from looking at his face to where his cock was. white strands of cum were dripping down his cock and in his hand. he kept moaning your name, making you close your thighs instinctiely to relieve some pressure that was building again.

when sunghoon’s orgasm had started to fade, you didn’t hesitate to swoop your hand down to his cock, collecting the fallen liquid that you oh, so wanted to taste. sunghoon watched you lick it off your fingers, a deep gutteral groan coming from his chest at the sight.

the taste is salty in your mouth and you keep your eyes entrained on sunghoon until it’s all gone. sunghoon reaches over and grabs a tissue to wipe his fingers off, and then he grabbing another tissue. he reaches over to you, dabbing the tissues around your mouth and swiping it around the wet parts on your neck. the whole time, your heart was beating so loudly there was no way he didn’t hear it.

for tonight, sunghoon carefully slipped your out of your bathing suit bottoms and skirt, giving you one of his shirts and boxer shorts to wear instead. he tried to ignore the achey feeling in his heart when you were fully dressed, and climbed into bed beside you. you rested your head on his warm, bare chest. his arm was kept around you, keeping you close to him. you quickly fell asleep, a soft smile on your face that made sunghoon want to kiss it. but sunghoon stayed awake for hours, scared then when he woke up again, everything would be wrong.

you easily find sunghoon at the beach, despite the large crowd of people among it. it was the hottest day of the summer, and the beach was packed. unlike everyone else sun tanning, playing volleyball, swimming or making sandcastles; sunghoon was under an umbrella, his head thrown down into a book. you walk over to where he was, paying attention not startle him. he turns you before you even open your mouth to speak, like he’s been waiting for you.

“hey, wanna go to the rock?”

the rock is more quiet than the rest of the beach. it’s just the two of you up there, watching everyone else living life on the beach and in the water. it gives you both space to think. neither of you have spoken about what happened a few nights ago. the morning after, you both just woke up and got back to your normal routine as if nothing had happened. but both of you knew and could that something did in fact.

“ever been out of the country before?”

you asked him partly because you knew he had with his affluent background, and because you were curious about other places. you had only ever stayed around the city you were born in. your roots were planted there and you knew you would never go farther than this town you were in now. vacations were a luxury not afforded to families like your own.

“yeah, a lot of places,” sunghoon admitted, “but it’s not as glamorous as it sounds. it’s always about business, never about exploring or enjoying.” he was a traveler by circumstance rather than choice. he had seen the world through the lens of his father’s business ventures.

“if you could live in any country, where would you go?”

“i don’t know.” sunghoon sighed, “somewhere far away. somewhere untouched by my father’s business dealings. maybe like a quiet beach.”

“with hot beach chicks?”

sunghoon scoffed, “yeah girls love a mysterious stranger– and i could be that guy.”

your conversation dwindled, both of you thinking about different things as you watched the beach scene unfold beneath you. the sun seemed to get hotter and dried out your mouth quickly.

“what about you, y/n? where would you go?”

not knowing of any places besides from the stories your dad use to tell you he went before you were born, your mind stuck on the place your dad said he needed to go to again before he died.

“istanbul.”

on one weekend, sunghoon’s dad needed him to accompany him to a business dinner in the nearest city, leaving you home alone for the night. your dad had gone on a weekend fishing trip with his friends, and wouldnt be back until the next day.

the only light on in the house was the tv playing behind you. some sitcom that you were paying no attention to. you sat on a chair looking out the window. you watched as the trees blew in the dark sky, the moon raining down on them. you rested your head against the cold window, cooling down your body.

this was the first night in a month that you had been alone. you’d spend your afternoons on the rock until it was pitch black out. and then usually sunghoon would talk to you from your balcony as you drifted off to sleep in your bed.

you didn’t realize how much you hate being alone until now. maybe that’s why you didn’t want to come here this summer, because then you’d be away from your friends who would always keep you company. you don’t understand why you can’t be alone. you think maybe it’s because then you have to face all the thoughts you ignore and push away. you don’t have time to think about your problems when you’re with other people.

that’s why you like hanging out with sunghoon. your brain completely shuts off when you’re with him. you’re so comfortable with him and know that he doesn’t expect anything from you. you don’t know how you’re going to go back to your hometown, away from him. where you’ll have to deal with everything, every problem, again.

you didn’t realize you were crying until a tear lands on your lap. the t shirt sunghoon had let you borrow had risen up, letting yur thighs be the victim of your tears. you knew that you and sunghoon would have to separate soon, there were only a few weeks left until you had to go back home and sunghoon would have to go back to his fancy private school for the year. the town that holds both of your memories would be empty without both of you in it.

despite the harsh contrast of your backgrounds, you and sunghoon were woven with each other. stitched together with vulnerabilities neither of you had shared with anyone else. you didn’t want to share it with anyone else except for park sunghoon.

“y/n?”

your body stops it’s shaking at the sound of his voice. and you were sure you’ve started to lose it.

“y/n?” he says your name again, this time with a louder knock the wooden front door.

quickly you get up from your place on the kitchen chair, making your way to the door. through the kaleidoscope window you see him. he’s standing there in a suit, but his white shirt is unbuttoned and his tie is wrapped loosely over his neck. when he sees you he tells you to open the door.

when you do, he steps in, his body engulffing your own. he’s mumbling something about how he hates his father and how he had to walk all the way here and how he never wanted to go back home. when he pulls away he stops,

“have you been crying, princess?”

“no,” you wipe your cheeks quickly, “but you’ve been drinking.”

“yeah, and i’m fuckin’ wasted.”

you brought him up to your bedroom, where he sprawled across your small mattress. his pants and jacket are lost somewhere on your bedroom floor as he lays in his boxers and unbuttoned shirt. the edges of the mattress fail to contain his long legs, giving him an air of maturity beyond his years.

from your vantage point on the floor, you observed him. almost a familiar ritual that you’ve always done. in your dimly lit bedroom, he appears almost perfect, submerged in darkness, almost authentically himself if he weren’t so drunk. you had never seen him so toxicated before, but it kept a small smile on your face as you watched him.

“you look so pretty right now, y/n.”

“just right now?”

“no, all the time. of course, all the time.”

as he closes his eyes with a sloppy smile on his face, you imagine what it would be like to live with him everyday, to see more nights like this of him coming home drunk to bed, telling you how pretty you are. you know the parts that you imagine are just fantasies that would never come true, but you let yourself imagine them as memories that have already happened between the two of you.

“got anything else to drink, princess? like some whiskey or somethin’?”

“um,” you pretend to hum in thought, “i think i should just get you some water for now.” you start to rise from your position, balancing on your knees on the floor. your chin rested on the mattress, next to his veiny forearm.

proximity has always defined your relationship in affectionate gestures. but, in that moment, as you exist so closely to each other, it transcends the familiar. it feels as if they are convering into one in this small room. like two individuals are finally completing into one person.

“i’m just gonna go get water.”

sunghoon’s hand reaches out to grab your wrist gently, “don’t go, y/n. the world is awful when you’re not here.” he confesses, his words lingering in the room, merging with the slow rhythm of his breaking, a cadence that aligns with the soft rain that has started outside.

on the night that the town held their annual carnival, you and sunghoon chose to avoid it. you wouldn’t be joining it’s neon lights, laughter and kaleidoscope of colours. instead, you found yourselves at the desolated beach, forgotten by everyone in light of the carnival.

you found a spot where the sand meets the gentle lapping waves. your bodies are laying down adjacent to the ocean. the distant carnival music becomes a faint melody, drowned by sunghoon humming some song you can’t think the name of. your fingers idly trace patterns in the sand as sunghoon gazes up at the stars. the scent of salt permeates teh air, mingling with the aroma of cotton candy you and sunghoon had previously shared.

“what’s on your mind?”

you scoff at his question, but still answer him, now you’ve become use to him knowing when you’re lost in a constant thought, “just, summer’s almost over, and then i’ll have to go back home and to school.”

“i’m sure going back to your home won’t be as bad as going back to my private school.”

you don’t care that sunghoon watched you roll your eyes at his answer. because both of you knew that you would rather go to a rich private school than your awful public school.

“but still,” sunghoon admitted, “i’m glad we had this summer.” the vulnerability in his words weaving a thread in your heart of affection for him.

your eyes met each other’s, exchanging a look of understanding as the weight of reality pressed upon you. unspoken fears of the looming distance and unfulfilled promises in the future. sunghoon can see the gratitude and longing mixing in your eyes as they reflect his.

sunghoon entangles his hand in yours, stopping you from tracing your usual shapes in the sand. his hand is cold compared to the summer temperature around you, but you don’t mind, you welcome it. his hand is large compared to yours as he drags his thumb over yours. you keep your eyes on eachother, full of longing and inevitable sadness.

“come here.”

you do as he says, rolling over in the sand so you’re half laying on his chest, your faces close together as your legs entangle so naturally, as if you’ve done this everyday for years. you think you use to shy away from not only sunghoon’s, but everyone’s physical affection. but with sunghoon’s, you gladly accept it before you can even think about it.

like you don’t even think about it before you’re meeting sunghoon’s plush lips in a tender kiss. it was a promise sealed in the taste of salt and cotton candy on your lips, an unspoken pact to carry the warmth of the summer through the chill of the coming weeks. the ocean, a silent witness, cradled your fleeting connection– a memory etched in the sand.

you keep making out gently. different from the last time when you were drunk and in his bed. it’s softer, like you’re scared the other is going to break. his hands are wrapped around your waist, keeping you tucked into his side. it feels so safe and natural to be with him like this that it almost scares you.

you swing your leg up and over sunghoon’s hips, straddling him now. his hands stay on your waist as he looks up at you, the sand cushioning his head. again, without a thought, you slide his shirt off of your body. you hear him curse under his breath as your bikini top chest comes into view. neither of you really mind your hips grinding down onto his crotch.

“should we go somewhere private, princess?”

you shake your head no, “want you here, right now. you know there’s no one around.”

sunghoon lets a deep grumble out from within his chest. one of his hands coming up to your head, pushing it down to meet his own, your lips meeting more intensely this time. the sounds of your lips smacking intrude on the sounds of the ocean behind you.

your hands start to untie his bathing suit bottoms, he moves his hips upwards to help you slide them down his thighs. his semi-hard dick is in your view then.

“spit on it, baby, like a good girl.”

you let a drool of your saliva drop down onto his member, and then your hand meets it. it slowly starts to pump his cock up and down. sunghoon doesn’t take his eyes off of where your hand meets him. he lets out mumbles of praise as you continue. neither of you worry about being too loud as the sound of the waves and faint carnival music drown anything out from your corner in the beach.

he tells you to keep going, making you speed up your movements of your hand. when his cock was fully hard he decided then that he quickly needed to be inside of you.

“want you to ride my cock, princess.”

“yes, sir.”

you start to move to unbutton your shorts. sunghoon helps you slide them off with your bathing suit bottoms. when you straddle him again, both of you moan at the feeling of your wet pussy against his cock. you grab his cock, rubbing it through your wet folds.

“no teasing, baby.” sunghoon grunts through his gritted teeth. you didn’t know that you could have this big of an effect on him.

he helps you slide his cock inside of you. you sink down slowly on it, feeling every inch and vein of it. sunghoon’s other hand remains on your waist, squeezing tightly as the pleasure takes over him as well. when he’s hit as far as he could fit, he stops. he lets you adjust to his size as you swear to him under your breath that he’s the biggest you’ve ever felt.

“yeah? i fill you up so good already, y/n?” he has a teasing smile on his face that you half want to punch and half want to kiss. but, you do the latter and press your lips onto his once more. the kiss is soft and innocent compared to how lewd the action was between your legs.

you let out moans of his name mixed with curses, that let him know you were feeling just as good as he was. his hands stayed on your waist, helping you move up and down on his cock.

“you’re so wet, fuck.”

he licked and bite his lips, grunting as you slammed your ass down onto him. you could faintly hear the sound your wet core was making everytime your bodies collided. you planted your palms onto his bare chest, keeping yourself steady for your harsh and fast movements.

sunghoon let his hand trail up from your waist to your tits, grasping them in his hand, tweaking your nipple through the bathing suit top. he smirked at your response, finding it amusing how sensitive your tits were. his hand moved to your throat, squeezing it with just the right amount of pleasure. you cry out how name at his gesture. your own hand snaking down to play with your clit, rubbing it in fast circles as you don’t stop bouncing down on his dick.

sunghoon is in pure heaven at the state of you. you look so desperate as you slam your ass against his thights. your eyebrows are pushed together and your mouth is wide open. his hand keeps still on your throat, loving how it makes you move slopppier. your walls started to clench more around his cock; your name slips out of his mouth so beautifully.

“you gonna cum, princess? gonna cum all over sir’s cock?”

you let out a mumble that sounds similar to ‘yeah’ as you continue to reach the edge with his cock shoved deep inside of you. your body shook ontop of his as you came. your thighs clenching around his hips as you threw your head back into the night sky.

sunghoon’s eyes became sharp set at the feeling of your silk walls pulsating. he started to force his cock up into your wet pussy at a speed you could barely comprehend. his hands were tight on your waist as he forced his hips up and down.

sunghoon’s jaw was clenched as he focused on reaching his own high. his hard cock practically ripped you open. your cries started to become louder from being overstimulated from the pleasure. sunghoon could only focus on you and your pussy and how good you were making him feel.

“fuck me sir just like that! so good! please!”

your begging pushes sunghoon over the edge, your walls and cries too much for him. he releases his warm cum into you with a final, push into your pussy. you moan out his name as you feel him cum inside of you. his fingers stay tight onto your waist, for sure leaving nail marks from how tight he’s gripping your skin.

your body collapsing onto his. both of your breaths mixing with the sand as you try to catch your breaths. both of you listen to the ocean and your uneven breaths as you relax from the sex. you feel his fingers trace shape on your bare back as he keeps his cock deep inside of you.

neither of you bother to try to move for a while, finding comfort in each others presence– loving the way you felt so close to each other with his cock still inside of you. even when it’s gone completely soft, you both stay there, holding each other, trying to stop the minutes from ticking.

for the rest of the summer, the days melted into the nights and the summer sun continued to beam down on both of your skins. you and sunghoon became even more inseparable and irresistible of each other. each moment was something you wish you could remember vividly for the rest of your life.

you spent more time exploring each other’s bodies. both of you liked the risk and adrenaline that came with almost getting caught. which lead to more sex on the beach. sunghoon sneaking through your balcony at night to make you cum. giving him blowjobs on the beach under the umbrella. following him up to his bedroom at night, avoiding the eyes of his parents and house workers.

the nights were always alive when you swam against the waves. the silver glow of the moon, you and sunghoon would slip into the ocean, taking in the cool embraces of the waster as you revealed in the serenity of the night. sometimes, you’d find yourselves huddled around a bonfire, roasting marshmallows until they were golden brown. the sweet scent of toasted marshmallows lingered in the air and on your tongues.

other nights, you’d find yourselves lazing around your bedroom, your head in sunghoon’s lap as he read richard brautigan to you. his voice weaving through the air like poetry. the words painted vivid images in your mind. every so often, you’d be following sunghoon around his mansion, a grant labyrinth of corridors and hidden rooms. each corner would reveal a piece of his world. with more exploration, the vast mansion turned more into a cozy home.

the more fun you had with sunghoon, the more the bittersweet reality set in. responsibilities loomed in the horizon, promising to pull you both in different directions. the summer became a haven that you wished could be eternal.

the night before you had to separate, your bedroom lay hushed in the muted glow of your bedside lamp, casting gentle shadows on the walls. the air was thich with the unspoken weight of impending farewells as you and sunghoon shared a quiet moment. a silent acknowledgement of teh fleeting hours left before needing to part ways for an unknown amount of time.

laying side by side in the dimly lit room, the creak of the mattress beneath you was a subtle reminder of the transient nature of your togetherness. the soft hum of an old melody played from a distant radio outside your open window, filling the gaps between words with a melancholic undertone.

sunghoon’s fingers danced idly through a strand of your hair, his touch feather light yet laden with a somber tenderness. the strands twirled and looped around his fingers like a silent dance. he tried to take in all the details of your hair, so he could remember every detail about you.

as you traced abstract patterns on the ceiling, listening to the sound of sunghoon’s heartbeat, the atmosphere seemed to thicken with unspoken words and unshed tears. the scent of summer lingered, encapsulating the essence of your days spent together.

the night outside remained still, save for the distant murmur of waves and occasional rustle of leaves. in the quiet room, it held the weight of goodbyes and resonance of shared laughter and whispered confessions. words that you knew neither of you would be able to speak to another soul.

the summer cast long shadows across the driveway as sunghoon stood at the end, a silhouette etched against teh golden hues of the warm evening. the atmosphere was saturated with unspoken emotions, heavy witht eh weight of impending goodbyes. you stepped off of the porch, the worn wooden planks feeling cool beneath your bare feet.

sunghoon’s gaze met yours, a silent exchange that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. the air seemed to hum with the poignant awareness of an ending, and the usual busy neighbourhood hushed as if it, too, understood the gravity of the moment.

the lowering sun cast long shadows across sunghoon’s handsome face, acentuating the contours of his features. his eyes held a mix of reluctance and acceptance, mirroring the conflicted emotions swirling within you both. the echo of shared laughter and whispered secrets lingered in the air, a symphony of memories that played softly in the background.

you met him at the end of the driveway, your mother’s idle car waiting for you just meters away.

“i’m going to miss you,” sunghoon practically whispered, his voice carrying the weight of too many emotions for either of you to handle.

“i’ll miss you, too.”

the town held its brath as your lips met in a tender, bittersweet kiss– a farewell painted with the colorus of sunset and promise of a tomorrow that belonged to different worlds. neither of you knew when the next time you would feel the others lips on your own. the kiss was as slow as possible, as if time stopped when you were connected.

breaking away, your eyes locked onto his brown ones that you’ve had weeks to memorize for eternity. a lump formed in your throat as you struggled to find words that could encapsulate the depth of your feelings in that very moment.

sunghoon speaks for you, “i’ll never forget you.” his fingers trace your jaw, feeling your soft skin he’s kissed a hundred times, for the last time. “or how overly idealistic you are.”

“shut up.”

the small amount of humour you both embrace hurts more than it should. both of your souls reluctantly embracing the inevitability of your separation.

you start to backup towards your car, where your mom waits to leave for home, your fingers slowly loosing grip of sunghoon’s as the distance between your bodies increases.

you only lose sight of him while you get into the car, telling your mother that you’re ready, even though you’re not. the engine hummed to life, the vibrations beneath the chassis resonating with the subdued rhythm of your heart. as the car began to pull away, your turned to face the back window. the neighbourhood unfolded in reverse, a mosaic of houses, trees and streetlights that once felt so comforting.

through the glass, sunghoon stood on the gravel dirt road, a silhouette painted against the backdrop of fading daylight. his hand lifted in a half hearted wave, a mirror image of your own farewell. matching tear streaks adorned both your faces, glistening traces of emotions left unspoken in the twilight air. the sunset light covered his face in the most beautiful, devastating way.

as the distance between you and him widened, the world outside blurred into a montage of colours and shapes. the weight of the unknown future hung in the air, a quiet ache taht nestled in the hollows of your chest. the car carried you further away, navigating the streets you once hated.

you stole one last glance at sunghoon who was joined by your dad at the end of the driveway. both of them having sad smiles on their faces as they watched your car disappear into the distance.

the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a final burst of golden streaks across the evening sky– an ending to summer. as the car turned a corner, your gaze remained fixed on the fading landscape, the remnants of a summer love etched in the recesses of your memories. each passing scenery of a familiar landmark was a reminder of moments shared with sunghoon. the quiet far corners of the town held the resonance of laughter, clandestine meetings and the stubble brush of fingertips that danced in the delicate way you would always remember.

the ache in your chest matched the quiet tears that streamed down your cheeks, glistening in the soft glow of the streetlights. in the solitude of the car, you allowed yourself the vulnerability of grief, mourning the passage of summer and love that felt like a fleeting dream.

you longed for the ability to rewind time, to relive the summer with sunghoon over and over again. the desire hung in the air, palpable and unspoken as the car glided toward the destination where the echoes of laughter had once been a symphony, now reduced to the gentle cadence of your own tears.

the outside, familiar world had become a blur, and the quiet of the night seemed to mirror the hollowness you felt within. the knowledge that you might never see the silhouette of park sunghoon against the backdrop of summer’s fading hues was a devastating ache, a void that lingered in the spaces between breaths. the gravity of the impending absence seeped through your veins, leaving behind the remnants of a season that had slipped away, leaving you with nothing but the echoes of goodbye and memories that you hoped you could remember forever.

the days that followed morphed into long, awful monotony. your once-familiar routine, once a source of comfort, now felt like an oppressive weight. each step echoing the absence left in the wake of summers ephemeral bliss.

you and sunghoon had texted for as long as you could, before he had to hand in his phone at private school because of the strict rule that everyone hated : no phones allowed. how you ached to hear his voice once more.

you continuously looked at pictures you had taken on your phone through the summer. tears streaming down your face as you looked at the digital face of park sunghoon– the face that you had kissed and touched and admired so many times just weeks before.

the pictures became a tormentous reminder, and the once cherished routine back at home now felt like a cage, every corner haunted by the echoes of park sunghoon’s absence.

weeks continued to pass since you had to say goodbye to sunghoon, and each day in your hometown felt slower and slower. your school that you once loved, felt like hell. the faces around you that were once your closest friends, blurred into a sea of strangers, and the classrooms became chambers of detached voices you couldn’t bare to listen to. your thoughts kept drifting back to sunghoon, the only person who seemed to every understand you. his absence cast a shadow over you that nothing seemed to fill.

in the hallways, you found yourself thinking you had caught glimpses of sunghoon. his familiar silhouette passing at the end of the hall, only for there to be no one once you reached the end of it– or it was someone else who was very confused at your actions. every time, your heart raced, hope and anticipation intertwined– only to be shattered once reality settled in. sunghoon was miles away, across the country in a school you could never afford.

at home, you found yourself imagining his presence beside you. every night, while you sat in a warm bath, your wet hair sticking to your nude back like it did in the summer when you would go swimming, you imagined him sitting across from you. the tips of his black hair wet as it dripped down his face and stuck to his forehead.

you imagined talking and laughing with him. it was a mixture of conversations you already had with him, and ones that you wanted to have with him. the mirage of him would laugh when you wanted him to. you could almost feel his skin on yours when you imagined he would reach across the distance between you in the bath and brush your wet hair out of your face. you could hear his voice calling you his princess, and how pretty you are.

and everytime, you would come out of your imagination with tears streaming down your face. knowing that you would never be able to speak with sunghoon again. he would never actually be across from you in the bath like how you constantly imagined and wished. it hurt everytime.

it seemed that everything you did reminded you of sunghoon. your favourite books, like anything by richard brautigan, reminded you of him. you could only hear the words written across the pages in sunghoon’s voice. the memories of him reading those exact words to you in your bedroom or on the beach flashed through your mind. you swore you could smell the ocean’s sea salt on the pages when you flipped through them.

you ended up having to shove all of brautigan’s books under your bed so you couldn’t see them.

the sunsets in your hometown were no match to the ones that would set in your father’s town. you couldn’t imagine the ugly colours of your hometown’s sunsets fading into sunghoon’s skin.

sometimes, you cursed park sunghoon– for ruining your favourite books, favourite smells, favourite sunsets.

your mother told you that with time the pain in your chest would fade– but how much time would be needed for you to forget every single beautiful detail of park sunghoon?

the weeks rolled on as they must do. and gradually, the familiarity of your old routine began to reclaims its space in your life. the once pervasive memories of park sunghoon were now relegated to the corners of your mind. with a quiet acceptance, you found comfort in the routienst aht had defined your life before summer.

in the company of your friends you had welcomed you back so easily, laughter echoed through familiar hangout spots. the school activities you took part in became a buffer against the persistent ache of longing. you enjoyed walking into all the classrooms with your friends as you focused more and more on your studies during your final year of high school.

acceptance came not as resignation but as a gentle acknowledgement that there is more to life than that town and summer with park sunghoon. the mundane moments, once overshadowed, now stood as peaceful moments that you found happiness in. you discovered a semblance of normalcy, a balm for the heart yearning for the touch of a distant memory that would only stay as a memory.

when winter break arrived, so did the crisp chill in the air that you had seemed to have forgotten.

on christmas, you called your father.

you picked your nails as you gave in to the compelling inquiry of the park mansion. your dad’s response was delivered with a heavy sigh. as he stood by the window, his phone against his shoulder and ear, he gazed toward the distant hill where the mansion nestled. there was only a scattering of lights flickered in the windows– only the wait staff resided there now.

“the town’s different now,” your father muttered, his eyes fixated on the silent mansion. “people are huddled up in their homes, or they’ve retreated to their own cities for the year.” his words painted a picture of a community cocooned in the winter’s embrace, a far cry from the lively canvas that had coloured your summer days.

attempting to conjure the image your father described, you strained to envision the town shrouded in winter’s hush. streets once bustling with activity, now empty and serene. shops that echoed with laughter and music now adorned with boarded up windows. the once welcoming cool ocean water, was now empty and freezing.

yet, despite your efforts, the mental image eluded you. the town you had known only as a summer haven resisted transformation in your mind. you could almost hear the distant echo of waves crashing against the shore and feel the warmth of the summer sun, rendering your attempts to superimpose a winter veil futile.

you avoided your father’s questions about park sunghoon.

spring unfolded its tender embrace, and with it came a cascade of changes that wove into the fabric of your life. as the days lengthed and the air became infused with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, you found yourself navigating a labyrinth of new worries, memories and responsibilities.

graduating high school loomed on the horizon, a monumental milestone that carried the weight of farewells and unknown futures. the hallways now echoed with teh eancitipatory whispers of change. faces you had known since childhood broe expressions of both excitement and sadness, mirroing the kaleidoscope of emotions within you.

with each passing day, the gravity of adulthood settled like a spring mist. responsibilities sprouted like delicate buds, demanding attention and nurturing. the carefree days of childhood were replaced by the dawning reality of independence.

amidst the new chaos of growing up, memories of that fleeting summer lingered like the fragrance of blossoms that carried in through your open window. you had started packing your childhood bedroom into boxes for college, the smell of cardboard intoxicating.

the closer to college got to starting, the faster spring was ending and summer was beginning yet again.

summer started with a cool breeze and a familiar conversation between your father and you. the invitation, as inevitable as the changing seasons, beckoned you back to the town where memories of sun-kissed days lingered in your mind.

the journey back was like deja vu. the road unfurled before you as your mother drove you. a ribbon of asphalt winding through fields and quaint houses. the rhythm of the tires on the pavement was the exact same as the year before. but your emotions were different as you approached your father’s house.

the scent of the town wrapped around you in a comforting embrace as the car stopped in front of your dad’s house you had grown to cherish. you didn’t hesitate running into the house, throwing yourself into your father’s arms, feeling like a child in them as he squeezed you tight.

dinner that first evening back, carried an unspoken tension as you hesitated to broach the subject that had been gnawing at you all day. your dad, sensing your unease from across the table, cast a discerning glance your way before setting down his fork and signalling you to ask him whatever it was.

“what’re the park’s up to?”

the sigh that escaped your father’s lips held the weight of the room.

he spoke of the parks, usually a steadfast presence by this time of year, but were absent from the familiar mansion that sat on the hill.

you glanced through the window, catching sight where the park mansion stood, a silhouette against the backdrop of the evening sky. the absence of lights within the mansion mirrored the void left by the infamous parks. your heart skipped a beat at the disappointment that settled within you.

you spent the week trying to find the familiar silhouette of park sunghoon. the cafe where tendrils of his cigarette smoke lingered, was only vacant, devoid of his casual presence and the acrid scent of tobacco you had learned to tolerate. the quiet rustle of pages turning under an umbrella at the beach failed to mask the silence left by his absence.

evenings, once painted with the warm hues of sunset witnessed from your shared perch on the rock, now felt incomplete. the horizon, bereft of his mysterious gaze, seemed to echo the hollowness that reverberated within you. the eaves, crashing against shore were reminding you of the tears you had shed for him.

seated on the familiar rock, where laughter and secrets were once shared with the sea, you felt the weight of his absence you once never knew you needed. the contours of the rock, etched with the memories of shared sunsets, cradled you with comfort you knew only park sunghoon could give you.

in the quietude, with only a handful of people still playing in the water below you, you yearned for teh silhouette that had seamlessly woven itself into your summer memories. the absence of sunghoon cast a somber hue onto the familiar landscapes that had once been so comforting and alive. now, seated alone on the rock, you became an inadvertent observer by yourself. a lone tear fell down your sunburnt cheek.

you thought of all the memories you had with sunghoon, and how they unfolded like a series of bittersweet snapshots. there was an anger and frustration bubbling up within you. a visceral response to the stark absence of his once-constant presence. yet, you found yourself unwilling to relinquish in those moments.

the touch of his pale skin against yours lingered in your thoughts like the imprint of the summer sun on your skin. it was a sensation that spoke of lazy afternoons spent together, where time stretched and contored into your favour. anger brewed at the realization that such moments had become a repository of longing, each memory a testament to the void he had left.

despite the storm within, you marveled at the resilience of of the feeling his lips had left on your own. within stolen kisses or passionate ones that never seemed to end. anger and frustration gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, teh desire for one more stolen kiss persisted, a silent plea that you knew he would never hear.

you soon realized your cheeks were as wet as the times you had gone swimming in the ocean with sunghoon, or imagined him talking with you in the bath. tears were streaming down your face at the lost memories with park sunghoon that you would never get to relive.

you put your head in your arms, cradling your mind as it physically poured its sadness onto your skin.

“y/n? i knew you’d be up here.”

a voice so achingly familiar sent shivers down your spine.

the words hung in the air, resonating with a surreal quality that danced in disbelief. turning slowly, as if caught between reality and reverie, you met the gaze of the person standing behind you.

“sunghoon? is it really you?” the question trembled on her tongue, you half expected him to vanish into the ether like the other mirages you had seen of him.

“well yeah, how many other hearthrobs are in this town?”

you thought he ought to be another twisted figment of your imagination– but he stood before you with an undeniable solidity.

“say my name again,”

a desparete plea to ground yourself atop the rock that was so high.

“y/n.”

the syllables rolled off his tongue, and with each utterance, the knot of uncertainty in your chest loosened. yet, his eye straced the tear-streaked canvas of your face, concern etched across his features, he asked, “what’s wrong?”

within just a moment, the vulnerability of your emotions overcame the barriers that were once so high. rising from your rocky spot, you ran toward him, a blur of motion against the backdrop of the sun’s dying embers. in his arms, you found the familiar safety you had ached for for so long. the warmth of his embrace eclipsing the silent ache of separation. the sunset bore witness to a reunion, a collision of two souls that belonged together.

as the final embers of the sunset retreated beyond the horizon, you and sunghoon lingered on the weathered rock, their bodies entwined in a shared desperation to erase the lingering echoes of separation. the world around them, now cloaked in the soft hues of twiling, seemed to fade into insignificance compared to the gravitational pull of their intertwined existence.

“i missed you,” sunghoon’s tender admission hung in the air.

“missed you, too.”

as you gazed at sunghoon, his features etched in the soft twiling, you drank in the details like a parched wanderer, sumbling upon an oasis. his eyes, a familiar tapestry of brown, spoke volumes that only you could relate to. a subtle play of light and shadow danced across teh contours of his face, creating an ethereal portrait that she committed to memory as if this moment was too precious to last.

the disbelief lingered, a nagging whisper that quesitonned and ruined the reality of this reunion. as if unable to fully comprehend taht he was here, tangible and real. you traced teh outline of his features with your finger, fearing that he might vanish like many of your dreams before.

“i got caught up with family stuff and graduation, you know how they like lavish, grand events that never end,” sunghoon confessed, his words fixing the anger and frustration that had been boiling up in your chest for months. “i thought about you every day and prayed you wouldn’t forget about me.”

“i could never forget you.”

in the pregnant pause that followed as sunghoon took a breath, “ i want to take you to istanbul, as soon and as long as possible.”

you didn’t hesitate to say yes. a pact so easily forged between a kiss.

the prospect of more sunsets with park sunghoon in a city you had only dreamed of filled your future with excitement and adventure as you felt the gap between you and sunghoon melt into the rock underneath you.

the gentle rustle of leaves in the evening breeze seemed to echo the murmurs of your hearts, both carrying a weight that sought release.

“i love you,” the words hung in the air as you spoke it back and forth to each other until your cheeks both hurt from smiling.

your eyes, reflective pools that mirrored the emotions swirling within, didn’t leave sunghoon’s gaze. his hand found its place in your own, your fingers intertwining between your bodies.

as you layed together on the familiar rock, overlooking the town that had witnessed teh intricacies of your journey, a sense of completion settled over them. the warm season had been a net that carried all over your quiet revelations and discovery of love that neither of you had searched for.

the echoes of richard brautigan’s words and the smell of sea salt in the air, a reminder that in the ordinary moments, profound happiness could be discovered.

and so, with the setting sun casting a final golden glow, they embraced the conclusion of a chapter that had unfolded with the grace of a young, summer love. in the quiet symphony of the evening, sunghoon and y/n had not just found an end, but a beginning– a promise to find more sunsets and love together. hand in hand, the story of their summer love whispered its conclusion to the tranquil waves of the ocean, leaving behind a lingering feeling of each others lips, shared sunsetz and the acceptance that maybe being too idealistic was okay.

the end.

@ taeghi, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

stay safe everyone :)

#smut #enhypen #enhypen smut #sunghoon #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon #park sunghoon smut #fanfic #hard hours #enhypen hard hours #series #pwp

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bakuhatsufallinlove · 14 days

Text

Let's talk about Jump GIGA

Jump GIGA covers, 2016-2024. Volumes are published (left to right per row) as Winter, Spring, Summer, and Autumn releases, with 2018 and 2019 briefly breaking the pattern by having three Winter and three Summer volumes each. 2023 has an Early Spring volume in addition to the standard four.

So, people have pointed out that the 2024 Spring cover is, uh, not like other covers.

But I've only seen comparisons to other MHA GIGA covers and MHA Weekly Shonen Jump covers. Out of curiosity for what GIGA's typical marketing aesthetics might be, I put together a comparison between all of Jump GIGA's covers to date.

And, um. Some things stand out, to say the least.

First, let me clarify what Jump GIGA even is: it is a seasonal magazine from Shonen Jump, published separate from Weekly Shonen Jump. SJ is an absolutely massive brand and they have a number of magazines serialized outside of the most well-known weekly magazine.

The content of Jump GIGA is primarily made up of one-shots and spin-offs. From the beginning, a lot of the appeal has been the cool cover illustrations which showcase special merchandise that comes with the purchase of GIGA. Usually the cover also promotes big things going on related to the WSJ series, like movie events, new games, or special figurines for sale.

The marketing aesthetic has been clear from the start: the cover consists of one core illustration and a number of ads surrounding it. Most often you get a cover illustration of a protagonist, and then ads and merch for other series, e.g. Food Wars protagonist cover with One Piece film promotion and Haikyuu!! merch.

The purpose of this marketing direction is pretty obvious. Spin-offs and one-shots are not likely to generate a ton of interest consistently, so they lure people in with the cool covers and tempting limited edition merchandise of the series they already know and love. In this way, highlighting one series with the cover and different series with the merch makes sense, because maybe somebody doesn't care about Food Wars, but they definitely want those Haikyuu!! stickers, stuff like that.

Starting from 2020's Autumn volume, you can see a shift. For the first time, basically all of the merchandise is for the cover series. The Demon Slayer manga had already ended five months earlier in May, but a two-chapter spin-off was scheduled for release in WSJ during October. This GIGA was released exactly one day before the second chapter was published and it capitalizes on the hype.

After this point, only MHA and Jujutsu Kaisen dominate the cover and the merch in quite this way, with Black Clover getting attention last volume as a way to highlight the fact that it actually switched syndication from WSJ to GIGA.

Anyway, most commonly the cover illustration is a solo shot of a core cast member (usually but not always the protagonist), and if it's not a solo, it's a big cast illustration.

Only a few covers focus on two characters, and usually it's a crossover as opposed to characters from same series sharing the limelight.

Here we've got Food Wars' protagonist with the main characters from Dr. Stone and Act-Age.

The two covers most similar to the Izuku & Kacchan cover are 2022 Winter and 2023 Autumn.

Winter depicts the main trio of Blue Box in a seasonally-appropriate aesthetic. Not gonna lie, this one kinda makes me laugh--Blue Box is a romance and sports manga, and even though Christmas has a romantic air to it in Japan, instead of depicting any sort of like, hesitant but hopeful romantic energy between the heterosexual couple that actually get together later in the series, they focus primarily on the two girls being cute with the guy is a wee footnote? I mean, all right.

Meanwhile, Autumn depicts one of the protagonists with the series antagonist with a typical cool action style. I'm not very familiar with JJK, but I hear these two have got Some Drama going on, so, there's that.

The merch itself has also evolved over the years. Stickers and posters were present early on, but they have since expanded to decorative folders and now acrylic stands and coasters. 2021 Summer sees the first time the cover illustration is marketed as merch, with the Jujutsu Kaisen cover included as a decorative folder.

Right after that, the Kacchan cover of 2021 Autumn is included as a poster alongside earlier covers featuring Todoroki and Izuku.

2023 Summer's cover is a huge, wrap-around MHA cast illustration and it was published three days after chapter 396 came out, strategically timed to highlight the big shift in the final battle as Ochako vs Toga ends and All Might vs. AFO begins. Merch includes a decorative folder of the wrap-around cover and character motif stickers.

And then we get this!?

A duo cover illustration where the cover art itself has been merchandised to hell and back!?!?

Acrylic stand and pin set!?

Double-sided coaster showing bkdk greatest hits!? With volume 29's river scene cover!?

There's also a double-sided poster featuring the Spring cover with the ninth popularity poll art and a decorative bag with the anniversary art. The cover art itself is plastered all over the volume, front, back, and spine, apparently a total of 19 times.

I honestly don't know what to say about this. It feels wild that this is actually what the cover is. Obviously it is a huge marketing push in anticipation of season 7, and Izuku and Katsuki are the most popular characters, but. it just feels... unique.

In the course of Jump GIGA's publication, this direction is kind of unprecedented. Genuinely no one could have expected this. This seems to be the first time there's been this much merch for a cover. And it was a solid fucking move, marketing-wise--it's sold out basically everywhere, everyone is talking about it. And even people who don't follow the series or ship these two can't help but comment on how strikingly romantic it looks!?

I don't know how much say Horikoshi had in what the cover was, but damn it sure feels like he drew this with immense affection. I kind of wonder if he personally pushed for it to be these two, rather than the typical solo shot, cast shot, or even a protagonist vs. antagonist shot.

I'm KO'd, man. idek if this post is useful to anybody I'm just on my hands and knees here.

Everybody knows what we're all here for, and it's these cute boys finally getting their happy ending.

#bkdk #i'm losing it #idek how to go on #they're so beautiful #I was trying to be all thoughtful and intellectual about what kind of marketing game GIGA plays in SJ's arsenal of branding #but #this is just such a divergence from their typical approach #why are there basically no other duo covers #did the other mangaka just not particularly push for it #did other duos just not serve as attention-grabbing enough #there's nothing else like it #what am I supposed to do with this knowledge

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klausysworld · 5 months

Note

Hello gorgeous!

Sooo I had this idea of Klaus and reader being married (she wants a divorce) but currently separated. She starts seeing Damon. Klaus lets her have her way for a bit as nothing has crossed the line, but then he finds out reader slept with Damon and Klaus goes absolutely feral over it and tells his wife that’s enough of this and drags back reader home and slides her wedding ring back on her finger.

Not His, Not Yours.

Klaus and I had slowly but surely grown apart.

We had married for decades for now, just over a century actually and to begin with it was all but a dream.

He had hundreds of thousands of gifts and words to express his love. Paintings and poems to show how pure his feelings were.

He was gentle when I needed and only ever rough when I wanted when him to be.

There wasn’t a question of doubt between us both. I loved him with all of my heart and he loved me with all of his soul. So much so that he actually proposed to me. Elijah and Rebekah couldn’t believe it but were unbelievably supportive. I even turned into a vampire so that I could be with him forever.

And for a nearly eighty years, everything was okay.

Of course the gifts were less frequent but I didn’t care about that so much. Not if I still had him. Even if he forgot to tell me he loved me, I didn’t need him to, deep down I knew that he did.

One thing I didn’t like, was when he would get flirty with other women. Especially because of how he behaved when I, heaven forbid, smiled at a man.

But still, with reassurance from his siblings and Elijah’s promise to talk to Klaus about it, I dropped it and didn’t speak of it. So he flirted, it didn’t mean anything. What’s a kiss when I have his heart?

Surprisingly Klaus never slept with anyone else. I suppose it’s unfair to say surprisingly but to be honest I had feared and expected him to have from time to time.

Especially when he became more distant. When he would disappear or return in the early hours of the morning. I would beg to know where he was and after a series of repeated yelling, he would grab me and show me his memories of the night before. Often he just got drunk and would pass out somewhere random or wonder around for inspiration, sometimes he’d attack a village and slaughter hundreds in mere hours. When finished showing me, he would give me that same look and tell me that I shouldn’t look so surprised. He may love me, but he wouldn’t ever be better for me.

And I would just nod and told him I already knew that.

And I’d wait for the next time that would happen.

We went days between sex, then weeks, gradually months and eventually we just didn’t. We slept beside each other mostly out of habit but we wouldn’t touch.

I never stopped loving him, I don’t think I ever could but I wasn’t sure if I loved him the same way anymore. And I certainly didn’t think he loved me that way. But we weren’t exactly friends either. It were as though we were just strangers at this point, strangers who held each others hearts.

And I had accepted that perhaps that’s all we would be. We lived that way for a couple of years, I’d stay with him like a shadow but that’s all I would be.

Until Mystic Falls.

So much happened in not enough time. Klaus became his true self and for some reason part of me thought perhaps that would rekindle something but he showed no more nor less interest so I just went on.

Until one day, his eyes held a spark. But it wasn’t for me. It was for Caroline Forbes.

She was blonde, young and new to vampirism but still bold and confident in herself. I was like that once, before I grew quiet and obedient to Klaus’s will.

So I took another step back and let him chase her a little. I sort of wanted him to sleep with her so that maybe he would just divorce me and I would know that what we had was really over.

But he didn’t. He gave her a present, drawings and spoke poetry to her without her realising but he didn’t kiss her or even lean in.

He still would come back to bed and lay beside me like usual.

I didn’t want him to think I would hate him if he fell for someone else. I’d rather he be happy with another than miserable with me. I knew he craved more, so did I.

And so with a lot of courage, I asked for a divorce but he refused me. That I didn’t understand.

“Why?” I asked, my brows pulling together as he scowled

“Because you’re my wife” he answered as though that meant anything anymore “I have loved you for a century. I will not just be done with you”

“Loved, Klaus. Loved. It’s in the past.” I argued

“I love you now as much as I did then” he told me, his voice raising

“No Klaus…you don’t” I whispered, my eyes glancing to the floor as I let out a small sigh. This was probably one of the reasons he liked Caroline more. I showed weakness and submission too easily to him. The difference was that I knew he wouldn’t kill me if I fought back but I feared it would be worse.

“We’re not getting a divorce. Ever.” He stated calmly, though I could feel his anger.

“I can’t do this Klaus” I mumbled. “I can’t just be known and your wife and hide in the house all the time”

“Then go out” he grumbled

“You don’t let me” I answered, remembering the last time I went out without telling him and he yelled at me for being inconsiderate and stupid. Apparently it wasn’t safe for me without his protection due to being so intimately associated with him.

“Well…now you can” he replied matter of factly.

“You should ask Caroline out” I whispered “She likes you too, Rebekah heard her talking to Bonnie about you”

“I wouldn’t-“

“But maybe you should” I sighed, hesitantly looking him in the eye once again. “You should at least try…you might like to be with someone…” I paused and swallowed dryly “someone else”

“Are you seeing…someone else?” He asked quietly, his eyes flicking between mine.

“No…not yet” I whispered and he nodded

“But?”

“But I think I should” I murmured before falling back into silence.

We stood there for a while, uncomfortable and guilt ridden before his phone went and he reluctantly left.

He didn’t come to bed that night.

To me that seemed like his way of confirming that we wouldn’t be together anymore, or for a while at least.

When I saw he had made up a bed in one of the guest rooms, it was clear that was the case.

So I started to go out a little.

When I saw Klaus with Caroline at the grill, I realised I needed to leave. Leave town, his life so that I didn’t ruin his chances.

But as fate would have it, when I rushed out of the building, I walked straight into Damon Salvatore. He recognised me in an instant and was grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

“What’s Klaus’s wife doing out and about?” He snickered and I sighed

“I’m not” I mumbled and he raised a brow

“Not what? Not his wife or not out?”

“I’m going home” I whispered, walking outside but he followed.

“Oh come on, I didn’t mean to scare you off so quick” he chuckled and I rolled my eyes

“Please. You couldn’t scare me” I muttered “have you seen who I’m supposed to be married to?”

“Supposed to be eh? Things not turning out?” He pressed, walking backwards beside me as I made my way back to the mansion.

“My marriage falling apart won’t benefit your precious Elena. It’s been broken for years.” I grumbled, and he rolled his eyes

“Forgive me for being curious” he muttered, his annoyance shining making my heart sink. I didn’t like it when people were rude and now I was the one doing it.

“Sorry” I whispered “I didn’t mean to sound so snappy”

I could feel his eyes on me as we neared the manner and before I could get it the door, his hand reached for mine which however pathetic it may seem, made my smile. Nobody had touched my skin for months.

“You should come out more, I’d like to talk with you some more” he told me and I faltered

“I wouldn’t tell you anything- not about him”

“I didn’t think you would” he answered, before leaving.

After that I went out a little more.

Damon would tease me and make me laugh. He would draw out the little confidence I had left and have me use it. I’d taunt back at him and go so far as to flirt once I’d had a few drinks.

After a while he asked to take me out. I thought he was joking.

“Oh will Elena be joining us? Perhaps Stefan to?” I laughed but he didn’t even smile

“I’m serious” he stated, his hand squeezing mine “just us…anywhere you want”

I stared at him “I um…I don’t know” I whispered, nervous and confused.

“I can wait” he answered as he caressed my arm softly.

When I got home Klaus was already there, his eyes on me in an instant. Without a word he placed his wedding band on the table before him and walked out the room. I felt a lump form in my throat as I shakily slid both my wedding and engagement rings off and put them beside his.

I went upstairs and cried. And I felt stupid for it because I was the one who asked for this.

So after a moment I pulled myself together and grabbed my phone. I took a breath before sending Damon a message

I like the Italian the next town over?

He replied quickly

Friday, 7?

I’ll meet you there

I’ll see you soon

I swallowed thickly and closed my messages before searching for apartments near me to rent.

If Klaus and I were actually ending this then I wanted to do it right. That meant I needed to live without him fully, so I sent in some applications to a couple of places.

Before any of them could come back, my date with Damon came around.

It went surprisingly well. We ate, spoke, joked and laughed. He paid, insistent that I shouldn’t. He then drove me back to the mansion and kissed me goodbye.

I refused to look anywhere near Klaus when I went up the stairs. He never said anything either, we spoke only if we absolutely had to and on the occasion that Damon and I would see Klaus out, we would instead go to his house for a while.

I spent a lot of time with Damon, he made me feel more alive. He brought back the spark in me that I thought I had lost and built my confidence back up. He made me feel more things in a couple months than Klaus had in the past fifteen years.

I knew it was wrong to compare them, but when all I had ever known was Klaus…he was all I had to know how a relationship worked to be able to tell if what I had with Damon was really something.

It progressed quickly, it scared me somewhat. I worried that it was a trap to make me help him with everyone else. However when I heard him defending me to both Elena and Stefan, I double guessed myself.

Slowly I felt myself begin to trust Damon, I felt as though I was learning to love and desire once more.

It was because of that feeling that I didn’t stop him when he began to take my clothes off. Or when he trailed his lips down my skin and pressed his mouth between my legs. I cried out for him when his fingers curled inside me and I clung to him when he finally took me as his own.

I stayed beside him for the rest of the night, pressed to his chest with his arms around me. It was a warmth that I wasn’t used to anymore but that I needed and yearned for. I stayed at his house for days after, wearing his clothes and living in his arms. But unfortunately I knew that I couldn’t just move in there so soon, so I had to go back to the mansion.

————————————————————————

(3rd person)

Klaus found out that Y/n had slept with Damon the day after it happened. Stefan had told him so when in the heat of an argument.

To begin with he thought the Salvatore was just trying to piss him off but when Stefan’s face dropped and his heart sped up, Klaus realised it was true.

Immediately he went home and smashed every item in her room. Shredded her clothes and tore up every flower Damon had gifted her and the little photos she had printed of them. It was after he broke apart her bed and found the box of forgotten memories did he calm down. He found all the poems and pieces of artwork he had ever given her, love letters and other tokens of their love kept safe and close to her. It broke him.

Klaus never meant for their marriage to deteriorate so badly. He loved Y/n, truly. But throughout the years he got distracted. Whenever his family got to town, his focus was off her and whenever a threat showed up he made a point of being distanced from her to ensure they wouldn’t attack her. After the first few times he’d done that, she got upset and wouldn’t want to kiss him, not when he would go weeks of ignoring her and then expecting her affection.

So he began to drink some more, to forget her touch and her voice for just a moment. But it made everything worse. She began to worry he was cheating on her and to be honest he couldn’t blame her for thinking that but in the moment when she would accuse him, he would be outraged.

He couldn’t stop himself from yelling, being offended and snapping. But after, when he would hear her cries and see her curled up in their bed, he would push himself further away in hopes that he wouldn’t be able to hurt her as much from a distance.

It only got worse.

And now he was on the floor of a room that was once his aswell, crying for his marriage that would no longer last.

Eventually he dragged himself up from the floor and went back to his own room, or rather the spare room that he had been sleeping in. He dug through his drawers to find their rings that he took after they both removed them and put his wedding band back on, smiling sadly at the fond memories of the first time she had put it on him.

He held her rings in his hand tightly as he heard the front door open and closed quietly before soft footsteps sounded up the stairs.

————————————————————————

(1st person)

I moved as quickly but as quietly as I could up to my room. I was in jeans and one of Damons shirts so I really couldn’t let Klaus see me.

Hurriedly I opened my bedroom door only to come to a standstill. Quite literally everything was on the floor. If I didn’t know what Klaus was like, I’d have thought a hurricane had passed through the room. I stared blankly for a moment before I both heard and sensed his presence from beside me.

“What did you do?” I whisper, staring at all the little things that meant so much to me scattered and broken into pieces.

“I don’t want you seeing him” he told me, his voice firm. My head snapped to his and I felt both anger and sadness swirl inside me.

“You ruined everything I have” I uttered, my voice still barely above a whisper

“You slept with him” he stated his tone cold but his eyes showed hurt and I part of em felt guilt but the other side just wanted to smack him.

“And?” I asked, my volume increasing slightly

“And? And you’re mine. You do not get to sleep around-“

“For crying out loud Klaus! I am not yours!” I yell, pointing my finger at him “And I do not sleep around! I slept with one person”

“I should have stopped you seeing him ages ago, this shouldn’t have happened” he muttered

“You can’t control every aspect of my life Klaus. We are not together anymore. We agreed on this” i whispered, my tone tired.

“We have not agreed on anything! I never wanted this-“

“Klaus we haven’t agreed on something for a good twenty years! It’s why we’re here” I exasperated

“That does not give you the excuse to fuck someone else” he growled and I glared

“Why? Did you plan on fucking me? Because I highly doubt it Klaus. And even if you wanted to, I wouldn’t have your hands anywhere near me now” I retorted.

I knew immediately that he would speed at me and so moved out of the way, he continued to chase me round the house until eventually he had me against the wall. Both of us were panting heavily, my hands pushing at his chest but he kept me caged.

“Get off me!” I cried, kicking my feet at his legs but he only grunted and held me as still as he could. I shoved at his chest with as much strength as I could but it was obvious that I couldn’t overpower a hybrid. He faltered only slightly at the impact before his hands were grabbing my waist to lift me. Without thinking I brought my hand to his face, smacking him as hard as I could manage.

His head cracked to the side and my eyes went wide. Slowly, he turned back to me. His expression was one of surprise as he stared at me. I felt myself grow meek under his gaze and my bottom lip wobbled.

“I’m sorry” I whispered “I didn’t mean to do that- I didn’t…” I felt his hold on me weaken but I didn’t move this time. My hand tingled from where I’d hit him and so did the guilt that pooled in the pit of my stomach.

His arms slipped around me, hugging me to him and I just didn’t know how to react.

I love Klaus. I do, I always will. But I couldn’t just pretend that every bad thing hadn’t happened and fall back into his arms. I wondered if in Klaus’s mind, if he thought that just sleeping with me and telling me that he found me pretty would be enough to fix this marriage. I knew it wasn’t but I worried for what he thought.

Still, I hugged him back gently. By touch reluctant but there. His warmth enveloped me and I felt my eyes water at the once familiar sensation.

“I missed you so dearly” he mumbled, his face lowering to nuzzle the crook of my neck. He pulled away slowly and grabbed my left hand, I looked to him blankly as he slid both rings back onto my finger. “I’m gonna fix everything” he whispered

“Klaus-“ I sighed

“Just let me try” he murmured

“I-“

“Please” he whispered and I sighed softly. Only the lords know whether I was going to make the right decision or not.

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undercoveravenger · 7 months

Text

The Haunted House

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Male!Reader:

Requested: Yes

Request: “getting dared to go into the shrieking shack on Halloween (wow, a full moon on Halloween? How weird...) and finding a big scary werewolf waiting for you. Except he's really not all that scary, he just won't let you leave because Remus really likes you and his wolf form can't quite say that, just wants to keep you there.”

A/N: This is post number 4 for the 2023 Spooky Month event. Y’alls trick or treat is coming next Tuesday, October 31st. Hope you’re ready.

-----

The Shrieking Shack had well earned its name throughout the years you’d been at Hogwarts, with guttural screams and groans echoing from it each month around the time of the full moon. You’d heard dozens of different stories- ghosts, ghouls, poltergeists like Peeves. Someone from your Transfiguration class even thought it was some long-abandoned merfolk in a tank that’d grown too small.

Whatever it was though, you were going to find out. The lot of you had had to sneak out of your commonrooms and were nearly caught by patrolling professors or prefects a couple times, but now here you are with your friends crowding around behind you clamoring encouragingly, you stand just past the fence separating the Shrieking Shack from the rest of Hogsmeade. The full moon looms ominously just over the ramshackle eaves of the decrepit building, providing just enough light for you to pick your way through the snowy yard and up to the front door.

A mumbled spell is enough to break away the locks and rotting boards holding the door closed and you’re able to force it open the rest of the way with a forceful shove. You only allow yourself one fleeting glance over your shoulder at your friends before making your way into the house and closing the door behind you, resolved to completing your friends’ dare and staying the night in the haunted house.

The floorboards creak with every step you take, wavering slightly under your shoes as your weight puts pressure on long-damaged planks as you make your way deeper into the house, each room revealing deep gashes carved into the walls and floors. Tattered strips of fabric from what might have been blankets or clothes are strewn about, stained a dark rust color in places from what you can only assume is blood. Some rooms even have shards of what would have once been furniture, a splintered chunk of wood that may have once been the arm of a couch tossed thoughtlessly against one wall of a ruined living room and the stuffing from a gutted chair cushion decorating an old bedroom, but no matter how many torn apart rooms you explore, you aren’t been able to find the source of the screams.

It finds you.

You’d wandered into what you think was once-upon-a-time a study, an ancient oak desk sitting on two broken legs in the middle of the room and its chair upturned nearby. The contents of the desk had proven uninteresting by the time you’d dug through the second desk drawer and you’ve gotten to the point of boredom that you’re considering just leaving altogether when you see it standing in the doorway. You’re not sure how long it had been watching you, but it stands, still as a shadow, with pitch dark eyes locked squarely on you.

You can see the beast’s raised hackles over the top of its head, lowered so it can fix you with a brutal stare, and a growl so low it rumbles through you like thunder fills the room as it takes a looming step closer. As it creeps forward, a brush of moonlight from the cracked window pane behind you catches it, giving you just enough light to make out further details of the creature.

At first glance, you might’ve thought it was just a wolf, but the longer you look the more your situation begins to sink in. The creature before you was nearly double the size of any wolf you’d ever heard of, back easily brushing the doorknob as it stalks into the room. Its legs are long and its paws splay when it walks like they’re not quite right, but the real telling point are its eyes. It doesn’t look away from you as it approaches, not even for a second, weaving through discarded furniture and debris like it was second nature until it stands just on the other side of the desk from you. It doesn’t look like it’s questioning whether you’re a threat like any other wild animal would, and the growl has started to subside now that it’s gotten a good look at you. The look in its eyes, while certainly somewhat wild, is too human to be anything else.

You’re not quite sure what to do at this point, not with a massive werewolf between you and the door, but being in a werewolf’s den during the full moon certainly can’t be a good idea. With that in mind you begin to move, edging slowly around the corner of the desk in order to not spook the wolf, already surprised by its calm demeanor and unwilling to test its good graces. The wolf allows you to pass by it and slip from the room, though you can hear the heavy footfalls of its paws as it follows you. You move back toward the front door, intent on leaving the same way you’d come, but you’re stopped by the massive wolf letting out another thunderous growl and shoving its way between you and the door. It bullies you on with more furious growls and pointed nips to your heels and hands, further into the house and up a narrow back staircase into a near demolished bedroom.

You obey when it gives you a pointed glare, settling down against the wall opposite the door. A satisfied huff escapes the wolf and it pads after you, flopping carelessly down to lay beside you and resting its large head heavily on your lap. The reason behind the werewolf’s behavior was confusing, certainly, but werewolves had been known to be territorial and prone to violence from what you’d heard, so if sitting here for a few hours while you waited for the wolf to shift back meant it’d keep you safe, then that was a small price to pay.

-----

It’s not the watery morning light that wakes you, but the shift against you. The aching, tortured gasp of pain that escapes as the person curled against you moves. The sound has you on high alert straightening against your back’s own cry of pain from sleeping sitting up all night, eyes blinking open blearily and finding the now-human werewolf trying to shift away from you.

It takes you a moment to recognize him without his signature posse of idiots and the bright red Gryffindor robes, but you are able to place the jagged pink scars across his face and his curly brown hair from some of your shared classes - Remus Lupin.

“Remus?” His name escapes you before you can stop yourself from speaking and you can see the way the tension takes root in him, joints and muscles coiling under his skin like he was preparing himself to run from some threat.

He seems to have to force himself to settle before he can speak, dark chocolate eyes examining you thoroughly. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? When I was-” He cuts himself off with a clear of his throat, eyes dropping back to his lap. He must’ve managed to track down his clothes from before he’d shifted since he was using them to cover himself. “I can’t really remember anything when I’m… like that.”

“No,” you say, and you can see the relief wash over him, tension easing in his shoulders and he no longer looks like he is going to accidentally shred his jumper. “No, you, uh, well you brought me here and then decided it was a proper time for a cuddle apparently.” You try to force a laugh, though the situation is certainly still awkward, “I thought that werewolves were s’posed to be scary, y’know? Think you’re just a were-lapdog instead?”

A startled laugh slips out of Remus and he looks almost as stunned by it as by your words, “I- I don’t know. This is kind of a new reaction? I’m, uh, I’m usually not so nice when I’m not myself.”

“Huh,” you say, more curious than ever about the wolf’s odd behavior, “I wonder why you were acting like that then? It didn’t really seem to be aggression, even when you growled at me - more like herding behavior like my uncle’s collie.”

Remus flushes at that. This close you can see the dozens of tiny freckles that scattered over his cheeks and down his jaw and neck. “I… have a theory,” he says quietly, like he almost can’t bring himself to say it. His gaze drops back to the bundle of cloth in your hands and you almost wonder if he would’ve tried to sneak out before you had woken up. You wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. “I think it’s some sort of passively shared consciousness? I can’t really connect to it at all, but maybe it can get a sense of my feelings? Like if I strongly disliked someone, it would probably act accordingly, and if I liked someone…” Remus trails off at that, flushing impossibly redder.

An amused little snort escapes you then and you lean forward, supporting yourself with your arms as you push yourself into his field of vision. “Is this you saying you like me, Remus?” You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you at the way you can already see him scrambling for a response, but you lean forward to press a light kiss to his cheek before he can find the words. “Cute,” you say, grinning as you watch the realization hit him. “Sit with me at breakfast?”

He nods slowly as he wraps his mind around your words, eventually letting you help him to his feet and back into his clothes. The two of you eventually make your way back to Hogwarts through the secret passage under the Whomping Willow that he shows you, taking breaks when he needs them and trading banter and kisses all the way.

And while your friends were curious about the shy Gryffindor sitting beside you at breakfast with his hand curled tight with yours, none of them questioned what really happened to you during your night in the haunted house.

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weasleyreidstyles · 2 months

Text

Serendipity Headcannons; Mattheo Riddle

series masterlist

A glimpse into our main boy's life leading up to sixth year (where Serendipity kicks off) – eventually going to do them for each character (the ones who are a constant in the series), except meadow since that's more reader-centric but let me know who i should do next (this is me putting off writing chapter 17 because its making me want to rip out my hair)

It actually ended up being so long (i got carried away) that i'll have to do a separate post for the nsfw😏 hcs that i also wrote down - if that's something that people want to see of course

warning(s): cannonical violence, mentions of parental death, menions of torture and abuse (tried to make this as mild as possible), allusions to self harm (literally one bullet point), mentions of blood supremacy/cannonical pureblood madness, mentions of alcohol consumption/drug use, mentions of being sick (sorry fellow emetaphobes), allusions to an ED

Obviously he's Voldemort's son (its a known fact; when his name was called shortly after Harry's during the Sorting Ceremony, people immediately began to fear him for his last name – avoided him in corridors and older students were horrible to him)

His mother died when he was born, so he never got to meet her. But she had loved Tom Riddle with all her heart, despite knowing what kind of person he was (I like the tom hughes fancast for an older version of him – TikTok editors have me influenced)

When he failed to kill baby Harry, Theodore Nott's mum took it upon herself to care for Mattheo (who was only several months older than Harry at the time) – she was close friends with Matt's mum

They may not be related by blood, but Matt considers Theo to be his brother as well as his best friend

Mattheo's childhood (up until he was eight) was relatively acquiescent, but obviously being the heir to the Dark Lord comes with its own traumas – he was plagued with nightmares he swears were real conversations with his father

When Theo's mum died, his father wasn't the nicest to either of the boys; they both grew to resent him – the man either ignored them, shouted at them or beat them senselessly (to build character)

They had a Governess in the years after Theo's mum died, so that they'd be well ahead of their peers once they got to Hogwarts - also a way to keep them out of Theo Nott Senior's way

During his sorting, the hat immediately placed him in Slytherin, but it wasn't as quick to choose, like it was with Draco or Blaise.

Harry had unconsciously made him public enemy number one when he found out who he was (I mean his dad did kill Harry's parents so) as well as Draco and co

Mattheo doesn't believe in the blood supremacy that is spouted around pureblood families – has never used 'mudblood' to insult anyone (draco take notes fr) – but thats only due to theo's mother and the way she raised her boys – also it would be so hypocritical because he's a halfblood (i think, idk the twisted lore of purebloods too deeply)

Professor Quirrell took a particular interest towards Mattheo (his dad was literally playing house on the back of the guys head)

He found out that Quirrell was Voldemort (?) pretty quickly when the Dark Mark was burned onto his left forearm – something that continuously happened in his nightmares so he thought he was in one when it happened

Partly why he didn't say anything – he was also weary that no one would believe him

He tried everything to get it off his skin – burning, scratching, spelling, even carving it out, but nothing worked. The Dark Mark was engraved onto his arm like it had buried itself within the very cell structure of his skin

He didn't gain as much attention as Harry did in first year. He went practically under the rader after the first couple of months, only interacting with his small group of friends (Theo, Draco, Blaise, Enzo and Pansy) and competing for the top academic spot in class – when Theo's father found out that both boys were being beaten for first place by a muggleborn (go Hermione!), he used the cruciatus curse on both of them - moreso on Theo :(

Second year was a completely different story however

When the Chamber of Secrets opened, people whispered that he could be the heir of Slytherin (because his father is literally Voldemort so technically they weren't wrong) and he didn't go as unnoticed as before

He developed a thick skin towards the insults and returned them with steely looks that sent people scurrying the other way

He began physically fighting some people when his restraint snapped at times though – he didn't have a way to relieve the tension from all the agression at this point

The only people who spoke to him with no fear were his friends

When the first student was petrified, he was brought into Dumbledore's office for questioning

During the dueling session, he watched in awe as Harry spoke to the snake but didn't dare say a word

He was the only one in his group that didn't bad mouth Harry at this time or call him the 'heir of Slytherin'

He's actually really smart (not at Ancient Runes though lol) and is among one of Professor Flitwick's favourite students

When Harry and Ron posed as Crabbe and Goyle you (Meadow) had posed as Pansy and he had thought it was strange to see her with the two of them, but she had a small crush on Draco in first and second year so he brushed it off as her trying to impress his friend

But he knew it wasn't her when Draco had mentioned Hermione (calling her a mudblood) and 'Pansy' had gone deathly still

He's been skilled at Occlimency for as long as he can remember, as has Theo. But Mattheo has a certain affinity (he calls it a curse) for hearing people thoughts without even uttering the spell – also why he's so good at preventing people like Dumbledore from using it on him

Wasn't aware of his father's diary being used to lure Harry to the Chamber of Secrets, but at one point he heard the whispers in the pipes and vehemently ignored it until it eventually stopped (big mistake, cus voldy holds grudges very well)

Once Ginny was rescued from the Chamber, he felt incredibly guilty even though he literally had no control of the situation – sent her an 'anonymous' gift basket as an apology (he knew it would never make up for what happened to her, but he hoped it would at least make her smile) – it did, she thought it was a gift from dumbledore though

One of the only times he was even a little kind to the Golden Trio and their friends

The summer after second year was hellish for him and Theo

The basilisk was obviously meant to kill Harry so Theo Nott Senior was angry that his master's big plan had failed (2 years running🤝)

Third year was more mild than the last (thank God, honestly)

Mattheo had made it onto the quidditch team now that half of them had left the year before

He's a beater and proud of it – lets out all that pent up agression on the field, which makes him one of the best in his house (dare i say whole school🤭)

Quidditch became his whole personality basically (he's a teenage boy duh – it's like the football obsessed idiots in the pub levels) and he came to love the attention it brought him – he was starting to be noticed by girls outside Slytherin and making enemies with the rival players

He decided then that he wanted to play quidditch professionally in the future – he would not be caught dead behind a desk in the Ministry (they probably wouldn't hire hom anyway, simply because he's a Riddle)

Because he was on the team, he was invited to more parties which he also enjoyed – the man can drink!

But he wasn't one to jump around like a madman like some people he saw at the parties. He and his friends (those on the team – Theo, Blaise and Draco) would sit around the sofas and play drinking games with others who were sat down – including you and some of your housemates at times – but never the Gryffindors

Sirius Black was on the loose which took the pressure of being Tom Riddle's son off his shoulders somewhat – no one actually dared to fuck with Mattheo now that he was a beater either

Buckbeak took a liking to him, surprisingly, as did the thestrals that only he, Theo and so few others could see

The dementors affected him as much as they affected Harry – he could hear his own mother's cries

During the boggart lesson, he was apprehensive of what he would see – would he see what he sees in his most horrifying nightmares? Or would it be something as trivial as a grindilow or something?

Safe to say he was glad that Professor Lupin stopped the lesson after Harry's turned into the dementor

Speaking of dementors, one of the only spells he cannot cast is the Patronus Charm – even his happiest memories are not strong enough to envoke the magic

People thought he helped Sirius into the castle at one point (absurd, i know)

He and Harry got into some arguments at times – Mattheo liked to provoke him for the fun of it, mostly so that competition on the quidditch field was filled with extra tension, but also because Harry and Ron are dickheads who like to talk shit about him and his friends (hypocrites because the Slytherins literally do the same thing lol)

This is the point where you're on his radar a bit more frequently – you, Ron and Hermione went to Hogsmeade a lot and were frequently in the same places as Mattheo and his friends

He does not like you at all, partly for the fact that you follow Harry and Dumbledore so blindly but also – you are one of the reasons he and theo get so much stick at home, along with hermione being top of the class, you are as well so he grows to resent you a little

He's always there when you're yelling at anyone who says something against your friends (usually Crabbe or Goyle – our mortal enemies fr)

When Sirius escaped the dementors people genuinely thought he helped (again, absurd i know)

Moving onto fourth year...he went to the Quidditch World Cup with Theo and Nott Senior disappeared after the match ended and festivities began

We all know what happened but when the Dark Mark appeared in the sky, Theo, Draco and Mattheo all looked at it in absolute horror, having heard the harrowing stories first hand from their families

Mattheo had a panic attack at the thought of his father returning – after the run in with him in first year, he's been certain that Voldemort isn't really dead, and this confirms it for him (because why the fuck would his father's mark appear out of nowhere?)

Because of that, the school year is off to a great start

He gets into fights left, right and centre – especially since quidditch has been cancelled in favour of hosting the Triwizard Tournament (i've obviously aged up the characters but lets pretend the age limit still exists in some capacity)

The Durmstrang students practically worshipped the ground he walked on – which was ego boosting to start with, but Mattheo quickly grew irritated by their constant infatuation with him – especially Karkaroff who always compared him to the great Tom Riddle or the 'Dark Lord' interchangeably

Whenever Professor Moody stared at him for too long, he got an odd sensation on his left forearm, where the mark sits, like spiders were scurrying and crawling around – he decides after the very first DADA lesson (unforgivable curses) that he did not like this professor.

There was just something off about him, but Mattheo couldn't quite figure out what – foolishly tried Occlimency but obviously it didn't work on the most infamous auror

Wasn't even surprised when Harry's name came out of the Goblet – he is coined 'Saint Potter' by the friendgroup (started of course by Draco)

He and Theo snuck out to the forbidden forest to see the dragons up close before the first task – almost got caught by Charlie Weasley, had Hagrid and Harry not showed up with Madame Maxine mere moments before he could spot them

He took a random girl from Beauxbatons to the Yule Ball because he did not want to deal with the hassle of Hogwarts gossip – but everyone gossiped about it anyway (busybodies)

Rumours went around about the two of them (you know like how Snape caught two people in the carriage🤭)

At this point, you were just his arch nemesis' best friend so you were not fully on his radar past sneering comments and jibes, but a small part of him can admit that you looked beautiful in your glittering dress (think Feyre starfall dress vibes)

The rest of the year went by uneventfully – he got on with his school work and remained one of the top of class except in Ancient Runes which theo tried to tutor him in....unsuccessfully

In the months leading up to the third task, Mattheo noticed Moody's skittish behaviour (also Karkaroff and weirdly...Snape) especially after Crouch was found murdered in the Forbidden Forest after the second task

On the day of the first task, he had the worst gut feeling he's ever felt – bigger than the day he found out that his surrogate mother had died

Sitting in the stands with his friends, near the back of the stadium, his arm begins to burn so painfully that he has to fight physically crying out at the crippling pain (Voldemort just got resurrected as a noseless alien)

Excuses himself to his friends' utter confusion and concern – Theo stops Pansy from running after him, letting him have space, somehow just knowing what Matt's sudden departure meant (he saw Mattheo cradle his left arm while he walked away)

Just before Mattheo walks through the exit, Harry apparates back with the trophy (portkey) and Cedric's dead body beneath him screaming that "Voldemort's back!"

He couldn't hold back the contents of his stomach at the statement because he knew it was true. He just knew it deep in his bones.

He had to hide behind the bleachers of the quidditch pitch while everyone was stampeding to leave, where he just sobbed and sobbed because he knew then what his future would be.

Theo found him an hour later and together they mourned for the future Mattheo had desperately always wanted

That summer was the worst he's ever experienced to date.

He met this snake-like version of his father, his only other memories being of a handsome man (Tom Hughes vibes) not whatever this thing was.

His father thanked Theo Nott Senior personally for taking such good care of his heir – this was such an ego boost for that horrid man

Mattheo was tortured into the perfect soldier that summer – tasked with training other Slytherins/purebloods into the regime

Its not very discernable but if his hands are still for long enough, they begin to shake unconsciously due to just how many times Voldemort used the cruciatus curse on him

His nightmares had become a reality that summer – he no longer slept, and only ate when Draco had to force him to

There was one silver lining at least

No one believed Harry Potter.

So Voldemort's army grew exponentially in secret, as did their knowledge of certain prophecies

We know that Professor Trelawney had the vision but Voldemort has a seer of his own – who made him aware of the order being in possession of a siphon but not able to say who it is (its meadow of course🤪🤪🤪)

His fifth year marked the start of the war, even if the otherside didn't know it just yet

At school, Harry started many explosive arguments with him, that he admittedly fed into a little bit out of pure amusement

His stoic facade was ever present this year. Not an expression painted his handsome face in the public eye. Rarely did anyone catch a glimmer of joy in those onyx eyes.

It was around this time, when he discovered that Harry was being taught Occlimency that you were doing some studying of your own

He heard the soft whisper of your thoughts in his head – a pleasant sound – mumbling little bits and pieces about the art, as if you were revising them over and over like a broken record

He knew you were Theo's patrol partner because Theo would not stop complaining about having to deal with one of Saint Potter's loyal followers (the two of you did not speak for 5 whole patrol sessions – lets say between September and November)

Thats when the idea sprang

Admittedly it started out as a way to satisfy his curiosity

He wanted to know why you were learning Occlimency and actually doing surprisingly well, despite not having someone to actively practice it on/with you, while Potter was not taking it seriously at all

So he asked Theo to try and befriend you – when asked why, he explained that he was curious and wanted to know if he hunch he had was right – his gut feelings are almost never wrong

Theo begins his task of slowly befriending you and relaying anything remotely important to Mattheo – no progress at first, until the two of you happen to bond over your hatred for the new DADA professor

He joins the Inquisitorial Squad because Theo's father wanted him to, and by extension said that the Dark Lord wanted his son to set an example too (lets not forget, in his prime Tom was literally the smartest in the school – was definitely head boy as well as an academic weapon)

This is how he finds out what Umbridge's detentions truly entailed

Speaking of Umbridge (she deserves her own tw actually), she had shown particular favouritism towards Mattheo and his friends, to anyone who was against Harry, really – never gave them detentions and let them off easily, even defended Mattheo's honour against Harry's 'heinous' accusations

But back to the detentions – both he and Theo found out about the blood quill around the same time

He was waiting for Theo to finish patrols so they could go smoke in the Astronomy Tower, when he overheard Umbridge talking to the two of you

Well actually she was talking to you – because apparently it was now against the rules for prefects to walk around past curfew (even though thats their literal role?) and she gave you a detention for it

When you asked why in Merlin's name Theo wasn't being treated the same, she said it's because he's on the Inquisitorial Squad and was therefore exempt from her detentions

You had detention the next day and did not show up to your next few patrols, but Mattheo saw the hints of a glamour covering your non-dominant hand (he would know because he's had a glamour over his scarred forearm for years)

Theo told him that you refused to admit that something was wrong - you hadn't even told your friends about whatever was bothering you

They found out by chance – a first year that had gotten lost was cradling their hand and the boys saw the words of the boy's own scrawl etched harshly into the flesh of his hand

When Matt was observing you in the library one day (happenstance, he's not a stalker lol), he was deducing how far along you were with Occlimency but found that you winced and held your head when he actively tried to enter your mind – not good for how long you'd been teaching yourself the art

So he gets Theo to talk to you mentally and the first time it happens is actually comical – you drop the contents of your potions incredients onto the floor out of shock before you whack Theo across the head with your hardbacked potions textbook

That's really how the two of you became friends, your friendship with Pansy following soon after

Now you're slowly building up the tolerance for Occlimency with a little help from a friend

Leading up to Christmas, the mark burns wickedly against his skin at all hours of the day

Then Arthur Weasley is attacked and Mattheo is surprised that no Weasley has come to deck him in the face for simply being Voldemort's son

Obviously no one does because everyone (barring you and Hermione) have been swept away to 12 Grimmauld Place

After Christmas he does get decked – George sends a bludger his way that most definitely had the power to break his entire arm (and definitely a few ribs); after the abysmal Christmas break he's had, he's almost tempted to let it happen – but his beater instincts kick in and he's pelting the bludger and all its momentous energy towards one of Gryffindor's chasers instead

His Dark Mark burns every time his father fails to retrieve his and Harry's prophecy

He begins to suspect that you are the siphoner when you perform wandless magic like its a second nature during breakfast one morning (you're using your magic to flip through the pages of your book, while you leisurely sip coffee, probably awaiting Granger's arrival)

His suspicions are more than confirmed when your magic seems to literally pulse like your pulling more of it from the air – it's almost indiscernible, but if he paid attention, he could see the symphonic ripple of your magic and the Great Hall's magic mingling in the air (and he knows Dumbledore can see it too)

He explains this to Theo without telling him so much that'll get him involved with what knowing this will mean for his brother

He passes all his O.W.Ls with a plethora Outstanding and Exceeds Expectations grades, except for Ancient Runes where he gets a mere Acceptable (which somehow still allows him to retake the class in his N.E.W.Ts options, funnily enough)

What's not funny is Voldemort's reaction to this anomaly of a result :(

Lets rewind to june 18th (aka battle of department of mysteries; RIP Sirius Black you icon, you legend)

The DA have just been busted (like two weeks/a week prior to the date above) and you're all in detention writing out the line "I must not disobey the Ministry" over and over again – to the point where it has become a permanent scar that you see everyday

Exams are happening and Harry has just been delivered a vision by Voldemort (he just passed out in a DADA exam🫣)

Saint Potter and his band of followers try to break into Umbrige's office and fail exponentially

The Inquisitorial Squad catch you all in the act of guarding the corridor outside her office while Harry, Ron and Hermione try and contact Sirius

You're all trapped in the office and everyone (including the Inquisitorial Squad) is shocked when she goes to cast the cruciatus on Potter – internally Matt is cringing and fighting the instinctive flinch

"You can't do that! It's illegal!" Your defence of harry is ignored as Umbridge puts Fudge picture face down – Matt swears your eyes burn a violent indigo, but it's gone in a blink

Hermione and Harry end up taking her to where 'Dumbledore's secret weapon' is and you lot are now all stuck with the Inquisitorial Squad

Theo actually only holds you loosely, and he's the same with Ginny – not forcefully holding her, but also not allowing her to break free at the same time

Crabbe and Goyle take Ron's bate and eat the Puking Pastilles from the Weasley twins' personal collection and you all escape

Then the battle eventually takes place and everyone knows that Voldemort truly has returned

Now onto the current timeline of Serendipity!!

Mattheo decides over summer that he wants to help the otherside desperately

Especially because Draco is now a Death Eater

And Enzo and Theo are set to become Death Eaters the following Christmas – punishment for what happened during the battle in June

Proposes the idea that he teach you Occlimency in exchange for you helping them get out – the group agrees and Theo and Pansy set out to persude you to help

Roll on the Serendipity plot where he slowly begins to actually care about you (scary feelings; unknown territory)

He's never felt this strongly about someone before, not in the way he feels about you

At first he enjoyed how infuriated you became with him; he also despised how many questions you would ask (but that was your nature and he grew accustomed to it)

You're the only one whose ever called him Théo, after the death of Theo's mother, the name was as good as dead to him, until you started calling him it – he never wanted you to stop

The feelings you invoke in him are what finally allow him to produce a full patronus – when the majestic form of a Hippogriff bursts from the tip of his wand, swirling and spiralling at the thought of you, he let out a genuine laugh

He's so soft for you – his persona changes in the blink of an eye at times – from cruel and brooding to gentle and compassionate

His friends have never seen him happier – admittedly were surprised to learn of your relationship, but when they watched the way the two of you interacted after you'd become a pariah to your old friends, they understood.

Mattheo is so protective of all his friends, and somehow he's even more protective of you – he had wanted to incinerate Harry and Ron on the spot for how they'd made you feel, but knew you would never forgive him for it, despite how badly they'd hurt you

He'd burn the world down if it meant you'd be safe, especially because you had the one power that his father desired to have in his ever growing arsenal

Mattheo always has to be touching you in some way (he's a physical touch kind of guy), whether that be a hand on your thigh when you're seated; an arm wrapped around you as you walk; interlocking pinkies, etc. He just loves feeling you near him.

You're such a typical Slytherin/Ravenclaw couple – your intellect amazing him all the time, and he's no longer miffed that you always beat him for a spot at the top in class – his ambitions and adamant loyalty are something that you admire dearly, and hold close to your heart

You both know without having to voice it that your love is unconditional and eternal. Its a love as rare as your magic.

~∞~

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(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag)

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