allhailbrokeloose · 2 years ago
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the mental gymnastics behind “a wore m’s tshirt for his bd event” is outstanding, so many layers of things that are wrong with you
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chocosvt · 4 months ago
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HER | part one.
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✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.
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pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 23.5k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.
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(!) warnings: drug use (weed, coke, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.
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✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!
the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 
all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates
potentially triggering scenes within the fic are NOT MARKED in advance
the content is already quite mature, so pls heed the warnings!
bolded and italicized text implies characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!
the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts
everyone's patience and understanding has been endlessly appreciated! you have no idea ;_; i give you all shining stars 🌟
⇢ part two | part three | part four | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)
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—MARCH 19TH.
“I have a relatively big favour to ask of you.”
 No. Wonwoo didn’t want anything to do with favours.
The fact that Seokmin had actively picked out his presence in the coffee shop like he was some shiny contortion of plastic had actually offended Wonwoo. He came here for two things: to not be bothered, which his friend knew, and to work on the book he was halfway through typing and had been halfway through typing for the past six months. Call it writer’s block, or an inspiration drought, or an absolutely depressing lack of drive—it had been hanging over the writer with an annoying persistence and it seemed that no number of lemony scones or cold coffees were going to make it vanish.
“Uh, Wonwoo?”
“Sorry… what?” He forced his gaze to shift from the blank page on his laptop to Seokmin’s apologetic, softly expressional face, slightly flushed from his time outdoors in the chilled March weather.
“I was just wondering if you’d be up for a favour—a pretty big one—and I know this is your special creativity spot, but she’s been like, breathing down my neck about it and I can’t put it off again.”
“Whose been breathing down your neck?”
At first, Seokmin didn’t say a word, or even make a sound. His lips twitched for a moment, but then he pressed them together and his chest visibly sucked in with a breath. God, Wonwoo hated the suspense and he hated Seokmin for interrupting him when he had been so stupidly close to putting a sentence down that he probably would have back-spaced in frustration a minute later.  
“Y’know…” he trailed off, “Her.”
Her.
No, not her, you.
But most people—if not everyone—referred to you by an alias that had seemed to stick so well the majority believed it actually was your name. When people said her they meant Her, and so in a confusing mess of finger-pointing they really meant you. Come to think of it, Wonwoo had no idea where the nickname even came from or who gave it to you or what it even meant.
And he was perfectly fine with never knowing.
“What?” Wonwoo deadpanned. “What on earth could she want to do with me? She doesn’t even know me.” He slid down in his chair, fingers pulling at his circle-lensed glasses so they tilted uncomfortably across his nose bridge. “Or, is this a joke?”
“Oh—no! Absolutely not!” His friend was insistent on proclaiming, vigorously shaking his head. “I’m being serious.”
“Why don’t I believe you then?”
“Okay, well, if you let me explain everything, it’ll all make sense. I said I know someone who writes really well—”
“Meaning me?”
“Yes, meaning you. And the only reason that was even brought up is because she wants to write a book.”
Wonwoo couldn’t help it. He laughed a very short disbelieving laugh that flashed a transient smile to his face as he readjusted his crooked glasses. You were the last person he would ever envision wanting to write a book. He then navigated the trackpad on his laptop, deciding to close the document simply titled, 01, that harboured the fleet of pages to his own current work in progress.
“Yeah,” Wonwoo disregarded, “sounds like bullshit.”
“I’m telling you the truth!” Seokmin exclaimed, gripping onto the metal back of the café chair like he was squeezing someone’s taunt shoulders. “She won’t tell me about what, okay? Just that she’s been thinking the idea for a while now. It’s not like I didn’t try to get details. But she refused—said the only person who can know is whoever’s going to help her. Look, y’have to understand, she was pestering me about it nonstop. And you’re my only writer friend!”
“Well, you’re about to have none.” He answered, reaching for his coffee cup but stopping it just short of his lips. “How serious is she about this, anyway?” Wonwoo sighed. “Do you know how much fucking time you need to dedicate to writing a book?”
He stomached a slow, somewhat grimacing sip as he tasted the coffee’s coldness, meanwhile Seokmin swallowed heavily, and at last pulled out the chair he’d been white-knuckling to take a seat.
“Yes, I’m aware it takes time. I know that. And she is serious or else I wouldn’t be here, bothering you. She takes everything seriously.” The boy began unbuttoning his sleek black jacket. “Really, who knows what’ll happen? Maybe you’ll meet her once and she’ll decide she can’t stand you, and then you’re off the hook for life.”
“Yeah, well have you ever considered what might happen if I can’t stand her? Are my feelings even being considered? Minutely?”
“Minutely, they are being considered.”
“Liar.”
It wasn’t that Wonwoo disliked you.
In actuality, you scared him more than anything. But to be associated with you was to be drawn into your life and caught like a firefly in a glass jelly jar. The proof was right in front of him—to Wonwoo’s eyes, Seokmin was basically your little mailman that scrambled around in hectic nature to do your bidding, because most tasks apparently weren’t worth the time or effort.
“I can’t believe you’re trying to rope me into this. You know I can hardly write my own shit, right?” Wonwoo said bitterly, wishing it was the opposite, “my mind is a desolate, blank canvas of fuck-all and if she thinks I’m writing it then she needs a reality check.”
“No, no—of course you won’t write it!” Seokmin reassured him with his big, opalescent smile. “Really, you’re just giving tips, maybe guiding her process, helping with the planning… you know, this could be facilitated so much easier if you spoke to Her yourself!”
“So, my nightmare?” Wonwoo huffed, shaking his leg.
In an instant, Seokmin had whipped out his phone, tapping around the screen quickly using his thin pointer finger.
“I’m just going to pull up her schedule. It’s always pretty packed, but more into the summer break, it thins out a little. “
Wonwoo exhaled, staring off into the warm, afternoon sunlight that hailed in through the windows, striking all the shimmering flecks and pieces of dust afloat in the café air. When he breathed in again, he could smell the luxurious coffees brewing in their rich and distinctive notes. It was such a beautiful day—still chilly as the snow outdoors began to thaw—but pleasant nonetheless.
“This is such a fucking waste.”
And Wonwoo spent it being miserable.
“No, it’ll be useful. Trust.” Seokmin chirped.
“You’re trying to dip me in your optimism gloss again.”
His friend smiled affectionately, tilting his head.
“This will be good. You’ve been a hermit since I’ve known you.”
“Yeah,” Wonwoo scoffed, “so you think it’s a good idea to shove me with the person I relate to least on the entire planet?”
“Really? The least? So, what you’re saying is, you relate more to serial killers? Or animal abusers? Or like, literal fasc—”
“Stop.”
“You want to do this. I can see it in your eyes. I’ll set you up.”
A part of Wonwoo knew there might be no wriggling out of the situation, especially with Seokmin sitting across from him, characteristically eager and brightly pushy as always, like a goddamn salesman. For now, it could be easier to let himself get cuffed.
“Can I at least have some time to think it over?”
“Uh… well… the thing is… the thing with that is—”
“You’ve cornered me?”
“I wouldn’t word it like that.”
“… Okay.” Wonwoo removed his glasses, shoved his knuckles tender but deep into his eye sockets, massaging through flashes of white as he came to accept a fate he didn’t know even existed in his astrology. “Just, I don’t know—fuck—schedule me in wherever.”
“Ha! It doesn’t exactly work like that.”
“I really don’t give a damn how it works, Seokmin.”
“Right,” his friend laughed nervously, “I promise that I’ll get back to you pronto. Sorry for the disturbance. And, uh, good luck.”
 “With what part?” Wonwoo grumbled, fixing his spectacles back on to clarify Seokmin’s sympathetic face, the light bouncing off his head of brassy hair like a disco ball. “My incapability to write a goddamn thing or the fact I have to help your perfectionist friend who’s probably going to chew me up and spit me out?”
 “Both parts.” Seokmin grinned. “It can only go up from here.”
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Wonwoo had one very distinct memory of you: creative writing with Mr. T. It had been an elective class he took amongst all his compulsory maths, and at the time it was a much appreciated break when Wonwoo grew apathetically bored from looking at matrices and confidence intervals and equations that engulfed the length of his notebook. Professor T was late one day in the fall.
And that’s when Wonwoo remembered you walking in.
There was a sort of sharpness about your presence that pulled everyone’s spines straight. People tended to angle themselves away from you, though they did it subtly, feigning an adjustment in their seat or a plunge into their bookbag for something that wasn’t even there. Wonwoo lacked the words to describe you. To be honest, he most likely could if he put that infinitely expanding lexicon of his to work, but even then, he feared that everything would fall flat.
Some scruffy looking guy had made the mistake of sitting in your seat—someone who probably skipped most lectures and only happened to find himself near Gildan Hall purely by chance.
It was the seat squat in the middle of the small auditorium.
He remembered the hand propped on your hip as you sashayed up to him—you always sashayed places. Wonwoo found it funny, like there were paparazzi stuffed behind potted plants and vending machines waiting to spring out with their blinding flares, just to capture you picking up a half-empty bag of flavourless popcorn.
“Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no.”
“Hm?”
“Excuse me? Yes, hello. You—can you get up please?”
“Up...? Why?”
 “Who are you?”
  “I’m sorry… what’s this about?”
 “Are you a first-year or something? Never bothered going to class until now? All the moshing and beer pong and ending up in some random basement of a friend of a friend of a friend is done so you’re deciding to actually get your money’s worth? Well, let me tell you this—I’ve been showing up to class punctually, and this is my seat. I always sit here. It’s my unofficially-assigned-assigned seat, which seems to be a known fact to everyone in this room except for you. Everyone has one. Everyone knows you’re not supposed to sit in other people’s seats. I don't care who you are. You could be my own mother. You could be my best friend, even. President of the universe. That doesn't make it okay, 'cause it’s a respect thing. It's one of those assumed societal rules and you just fucking kicked dirt all over it.”
Whoever he was, he never came back to another lecture.
Since then, Wonwoo had dually made it his mission to never cross paths with you, look at you, or even so much as huff one single carbon-dioxide filled breath in your general direction, just in case that was some degree of unbeknownst personal law he might violate.
Seokmin had royally screwed it up for him.
What could you possibly want to write a book about, anyway?
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—MARCH 26TH.
Wonwoo didn’t know how he was expected to find you in this gigantic mall. As he brushed through the streamlines of people, bumping their shoulders and mumbling the driest, most insincere apologies, he couldn’t stop looking at his phone. Seokmin had given him your number with the instruction that he could find you, here, on a busy Saturday afternoon. So far, Wonwoo had sent you four texts, none prompting a response or the grey-dotted bubble, even. Fuck, why did he agree to this? He couldn’t stop thinking it.
Why did he agree to help you, whom he was beginning to not even like, or want to be aquatinted with, write a book, when he’d been struggling to fill the same page of his own story for months?
Squeezing the phone tighter in his fingers, Wonwoo’s broad shoulder then smacked into someone else while he was busy steeping in his misfortune. It earned him a wildly disgusted look.
“Maybe watch where you’re going," the stranger grumbled, some man with an engrained scowl and big, bewildered eyes.
But Wonwoo ignored him.
He didn’t fucking care, and he was sick of wandering through this mall. It made him feel overstimulated, like his clothes were sticking to his skin differently, like the back of his head was swelling, and like all the smells in his nose were somehow making him warmer.
The stranger just stared at Wonwoo as he walked away.
Ding!
A text, but not from you—Seokmin, instead. Apparently, you were in some clothing store on the second floor. Wonwoo stepped onto the escalator, pressing himself into the barrier to make room for the especially speedy people who couldn’t simply stand and wait. He felt a random touch on the back of his head. Scrunching up the glasses on his nose and turning around, Wonwoo stared at the downward escalator, locking eyes with a pretty dark-haired girl he’d never seen before. She wiggled her fingers at him with a flirtatious smile, the scent of her perfume still lingering. Fresh roses, he thought.
He blinked at her once, twice, then turned back around.
Never in a million years.
It was funny, though.
Once Wonwoo stopped outside the clothing store you were supposedly inside, he felt the myriad of distractions and scents and noises dampen behind him. The irritability he couldn’t shake was slowly transforming into nerves. He’d never met you before, unless half-glances controlled by fear from across the small, basement auditorium that hosted creative writing counted.
Focusing on one breath, and then another, followed by a deep, self-soothing inhale, Wonwoo attempted to convince himself that he was in control, not the emotions quivering at his fingertips.
He cracked his neck and walked in.
After a minute or two of confused isle-pacing, Wonwoo rounded a corner, his eyes immediately fixating on a girl who was picking through a neatly assorted dress rack, her head tilted elegantly and her lipstick glimmering under the sterileness of the lights—you.
He gulped. Just suck it up.
She can’t be that bad. You can’t be that bad.
“Uh, sorry to bother you. I’m Wonwoo. I know we have a mutual friend in Seokmin. Lee Seokmin. He’s in one of your seminar classes or something, and, uh…. anyway. I believe I’m supposed to help you with a book you’re interested in writing… that’s what I was told, at the very least. And… I know we’ve never met but… um… I guess…” he trailed off upon noting your lack of acknowledgement.
Suddenly, he was taking a step back, letting you progress further along the clothing rack, your fingers hopping between each hanger and your eyes scanning their corresponding fabrics.
Wonwoo jerked on the inside with panic. He hated the situation already, though he somehow found the resounding courage, or perhaps, humility, to address you again, even if he’d rather die.
“So, I’m not sure if you—”
“Can you move, please? Over here or something? I want this dress.”
He kept his mouth shut in order to avoid spilling out any obtuse nonsense, instead watching with a nervous, analyzing gaze as you removed the hanger and shook out the purple, wine-coloured fabric, its sparkles rippling when you stroked your hand along it.
“Woah. This is too pretty.”
Wonwoo cleared his throat, unsure if you were speaking to him directly. You already had a bundle of dresses tossed over your arm. Why would you meet up with him when you were clearly busy?
“Hey, what did you say your name was?”
“Me?” He found himself echoing.
“No, the mannequin wearing that hideous plaid mini skirt. Of course I’m talking to you. Should I get you a q-tip or something?”
“No... I don't need a q-tip. It’s Wonwoo.”
“Wonwoo?” You exercised the name slowly on your tongue.
“Yeah.”
“Okay, well, just so you’re aware, it’s 11:35. You were supposed to meet me outside the boutique at 11:30. I can see you’re not very punctual, so that’s noted…” for a moment, you stood back, and the searing line of your gaze judgmentally raked him from top to bottom. “Anyway… you’ll have to assist me with some things now, thanks to your big delay. I got all bored waiting for you, so I decided to do a little self-indulgent shopping."
It could have been wiser to continue biting his tongue, but even Wonwoo, who had practically vowed to avoid you for all eternity  due to his fear, felt compelled to challenge your unorthodox logic.
“Big delay? I don’t mean to be rude, but I did take the bus to get here, and their timing is never right. I feel like five minutes is a reasonable time to wait. Not that I’m saying you’re impatient.”
“Well, here’s the thing…” your back turned to him as you took a few slow steps down the clothing rack, probing between the different, pricy materials for anything exuberant you might have missed. “That is what you said, isn’t it? That I’m impatient? I mean—jeez—why bother dancing around it when you can just say it?”
He watched you face him again, except he was keeping perfectly silent, clutching his hand into an anxious, balled fist.
“Well, I suspect you lack urgency, making you apathetic, so therefore you have no sense of initiative. I’m sure you’re already aware, anyway. I can be slow, too, with certain things. Like, when I’m icing a cake. Or painting my nails. But I don’t walk slow, ever. That’s for unmotivated, pointless people who will probably go nowhere in life.”
“… Pardon?”
“Hold this, please.”
Suddenly, you draped the wine-coloured dress over Wonwoo’s shoulder. And he left it there for a second, still gobsmacked, chest shuddering from the pressure of his pumping heart, and wondered how you were even a real person. Once you began walking elsewhere in the store, Wonwoo questioned a very understandable escape toward the exit, though, for some reason, he snapped from his stupor and quickly paced after you, now folding the dress more straightly over his arm. He realized he was too afraid to surrender.
“I’m supposed to help you write a book,” he stated, feeling his lungs dig deep for air, “Seokmin said you needed help.”
“Okay, I’m tired of holding these two. Here—” you again blanketed the dresses into his arms, “—please keep this olive one in good shape, no crinkles. I have yet to find this colour anywhere else.”
Swinging back around, you began heading toward the change rooms, your uncomfortably tall looking heels clicking with each step. Wonwoo stuttered, and he couldn’t stop doing it—just, absolutely baffled by you and your consuming sense of worth. He didn’t know what to say, he could only follow, producing bits and pieces of sentences that you were either ignoring or genuinely hadn’t heard in comparison to the monologues in your own head.
“At what point will we discuss why I’m here?”
Finally, he spat out something coherent.
You paused, and for a fleeting moment, flicked your very intense eyes up and down in an examination of Wonwoo, who felt like he was being intrusively picked apart under a microscope.
 He swallowed tautly, “I’m just wondering… that’s all.”
You pressed your wallet against the top of his shoulder, guiding him to sit down on the white leather stool placed just outside the fitting rooms. He sat, too, fighting the urge to wipe his clammy palms on his jeans—even worse, the dresses you’d dumped on him.
“Let’s talk after I try these on, ‘kay?”
There was something different about your voice. It fell lower, sweeter, and he shivered with the thought that you had quite possibly just hypnotized him. He looked up at you, nodding his head.
“Good. Everyone calls me Her, by the way.”
“I know.”
He held his breath as you reached out to take a dress, the wine-coloured one, which was more like a dark, nightly amethyst now that Wonwoo was observing the fabric up close. So, what the hell was he supposed to do? Just sit there, twiddling his thumbs and shaking his knee while you busied yourself with fitting into all those wildly sumptuous dresses? There was a plethora of other things he’d rather be doing—too many to name, in fact. But he wasn’t going to bother slithering away now, chiefly because you petrified him too much and he wasn’t in the mood to be further guilt-tripped by Seokmin.  
Throwing his head back, he blew out a tired huff and looked at the ceiling. Why the fuck was he doing this? He just couldn’t stop thinking it. What on earth could he possibly gain from being terrorized by your weird authority.
“Hey, I’ve been there, for sure.”
Wonwoo noticed an older man waltzing past him, probably in his early thirties or so, who’d spoken in a sympathetic tone. He seemed very polished and clean-cut, made apparent by his sleek suit, and as a university student who was routinely on the verge of going broke after most rents, Wonwoo knew money when he saw it.
“Pardon?”
The man stopped and smiled.
“Waiting for your girlfriend, aren’t you?”
“Oh, no. I’m just—”
He was interrupted by the squeak of the change room door.
“Be honest. How does this look?”
You had stepped out to examine your silhouette in the large, full-body mirrors against the wall, taking advantage of the heavier lighting to scrutinize every divot and ruffle that textured the amethyst dress. Wonwoo wasn’t sure what to say in the moment, and the man he was explaining himself to had wandered off into another aisle to answer a phone call. He watched your fingers pick and pull at the material so it could be readjusted in certain places, your bottom lip pursed as you angled your hips and tensed a leg to make a pose.
There were at least three other dresses strewn in his lap, and you were most definitely going to make him sit there and judge each one. Now, he could be honest. The dress was glittery yet sophisticated, something like a gloaming, purple-stained sky and its first emergent stars encapsulated into fabric, though he wasn’t completely sold on it. But he also wanted to leave the mall as quick as time would allow, so rather than being verbose, he shaved it down.
“It’s pretty, not great. I don’t really know.”
“Hmm…” you mumbled, keeping your eyes fixated on the mirror, “not great? What’s not great about it? The frilly parts?”
“Yeah, the frilly parts.”
God, he wanted to go home so bad. Warm tea would be nice right now. There were crinkle-cut fries in his freezer.
“Ugh, but I love the colour. I’m getting conflicted. Maybe I’ll toss it aside and think about it again later. Yeah, I’ll do that... okay, let me get the white one next. It’s a little short but I can make it work.”
 Wonwoo carefully pulled out the white outfit from the bottom of the pile and handed it off to you. The skirt was notably cropped.
Again, you strode back into the change room and softly clicked the door shut behind you. Wonwoo pulled out his phone almost immediately, navigating to his texts with Seokmin. His thumbs blasted against the screen, tapping out literary warfare that expanded into a decent sized paragraph Seokmin would most likely respond to with an apologetic smiley face. It might take a day or two for Wonwoo to cool off, but he always forgave him. Mr. Sunshine.
When he heard the door rattle, Wonwoo quickly hid his phone back in his pants pocket; however, he severely regretted that decision because holy fuck—that vinyl white skirt was indeed short and tight and the winding, crossed straps of the top were just maintaining your cleavage. He needed something to help avert his eyes because Wonwoo felt them itch with the urge to stare at your body despite how uncomfortable he was. The floor tiles—count the floor tiles, or count the lights—something, anything to distract his brain.
“Okay, this is like—if I bend over, I’m flashing someone.”
He prayed you wouldn’t ask him his thoughts.
“But like—okay, I can make this work, right? This has potential. If I stand really straight, and proper, and, just… pull this down a bit here—okay, fuck, that was too much. Don’t look for a second… don’t look…. don’t look… m’kay, fixed it.”
Wonwoo wanted to cradle his head in his hands. And, right when he swore that the situation couldn’t sink much lower, the wealthy, black-suit man returned from his phone call. He paused the second he saw you in the mirror, watching intensely as you fiddled with the vinyl and attempted to adjust the x-shaped top a little higher over your cleavage. Except he wasn’t exactly modest about his gaze. It was drinking you in like some sort of insatiable alcohol.
“This is tough,” you huffed, pressing your hands against your chest, “the top is super sexy. I love how open the back is. But it’s such little fabric considering the price. It sucks that I look so hot in it.”
Horrendously, Wonwoo noticed a jewel bracelet slip off your wrist onto the tiled floor. Even more horrendously, he watched in the tensest position possible as you began to bend over and grab it.
No. No, no, no, no way.
The last two dresses spilled in a silk and cotton heap off his lap, nearly tripping him during his rush toward you. He managed to cover your backside in the most heart-hammering nick of time, his hands accidentally brushing in static sparks against yours to help you pull the tight fabric back down your hips. Knowing the man was still watching in the mirror, Wonwoo clasped onto your arm and dragged you back toward the fitting room, his cheeks turned to rubies.
“Fuck, you need to be more careful,” he rasped, “the skirt is too short for you to bending over like that, alright?”
“I’m not leaving a gifted two-hundred-dollar bracelet on the fucking ground. Should I have just kicked it into the change room?”
“Gosh…” Wonwoo rubbed along his neck with tire and lowered his voice. “Bending over in a skirt that short, especially when there’s a fucking weirdo watching you, is not the best procedure.”
“So, it’s my fault he’s a creep?”
“Okay—that wasn’t what I—um—”
“Do you even like this outfit?” You deadpanned.
Wonwoo chuckled in disbelief, “I’m not answering that.”
“This is useless." Your eyes agitatedly rolled. “I’m changing.”
“Great, whatever. Do that.”
He gently pushed you further into the change room and closed the door with a smooth, loud shutter. His heart was still racing.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t let my girlfriend wear that either.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Wonwoo didn’t care that his tone was snappish and clearly tired as he collapsed back onto the stool, making a point to ignore the perverted bastard until he left.
“Wonwoo!” You called his name after a few minutes of silence from the fitting room, “please bring me the green one!”
He wanted to utterly vanish, have the building collapse and crush him in a pile of dust plumes and rubble. Sliding the dress through the small gap in the changeroom door, Wonwoo found himself pausing.
“Why don’t I just hand all these to you?”
“Because, I’m using the hangers in here for my clothes.”
“Why can’t you just pu—”
“Thank you!”
Impatiently, you nabbed the dress and shut the door.
However, that dress was the last one you tried on, and Wonwoo couldn’t have been any more relieved. Talking to you seemed like it might give him heartburn or a hemorrhage.
He thought the shiny colour of olive green suited you best.
The dress was silken and long, slightly form-fitting, with a slit cut far up the right thigh and thin spaghetti straps at the shoulders.
You picked the first three dresses to take home, and left the last shimmery one on the rack.
“We’re leaving now?” Wonwoo asked, cracking his fingers.
“Yes, after I pay. Don’t seem so eager.”
“With all due respect, this place isn't really my scene.”
“Your attitude isn't really my scene.” You swiftly corrected him.
He stood next to you at the counter, observing as you zipped open your small black wallet to pull out a credit card. If you were shopping at a store like this, you must be making bank. But Wonwoo was somewhat nosey, and when you set the card on the countertop, he glanced at its embossed name. It definitely wasn’t your name.
Kim Mingyu.
It was your boyfriend’s.
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[ Wonwoo | 1:15 pm ]: Goddammit Seokmin answer me
[ Wonwoo | 1:15 pm]: I’ve sent you at least ten texts
[ Wonwoo | 1:16 pm ]: Truly how do you do anything with this girl? I feel like she’s somewhat psychotic and you just fucking had to flash your sad mopey eyes at me in that café so I would break and help her write her book. I’m sitting here with dresses in my lap, pretty much acting as her unpaid personal assistant. Why the fuck is she asking me about dresses, anyway? Did you help her orchestrate this bullshit? I’m actually pissed at you. I want an entire paid lunch.
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He wasn’t all that surprised you made him carry the matte silver shopping bag (with these twine handles that he absolutely hated because of how they suffocated around his fingers), and by a certain point, Wonwoo just didn’t give a damn any more. What little social battery he’d maintained since leaving his apartment had officially depleted, for he could feel it weighing in the plaza air around him like an imperceptible mist. Unfortunately, you weren’t lying about being a fast walker. He’d never seen someone stalk with such vigor.
It was nearly an endurance test to keep at your swaying hip, and the few times he fell behind, you would pause and beckon for him.
But Wonwoo discovered that even you needed to stop, to eat and drink like a normal human rather than the disguised cyborg he fleetingly speculated you were. Your touch was so abrupt—a hand had curled around his bicep and suddenly Wonwoo found himself being jerked into a café on the bottom floor of the mall. Of course, you had to pick the most expensive place to buy food in the entire fucking vicinity, and since Wonwoo was penny pinching at the moment, he opted to stand back and let you order.
But then he saw you flick open your wallet, waving Mingyu’s sleek yet flashy credit card between your fingers with blatant enticement.
“I can pay for you.”
He shook his head, muttering a careless, “no thanks.”
“Don't BS me. What do you want to eat?”
Wonwoo couldn’t stop staring at the credit card.
“What’s the limit on that thing?”
“Enough.”
“You haven’t burned through it already?”
“These openly snide comments you’re making aren’t appreciated, you know. Now, please give me an answer before I break off the temples to your glasses so I can use them to stir my drink.”
“… What?” Wonwoo mumbled, completely lost.
“Pick something!”
“Okay, fuck. I’ll just get a coffee, then.”
He took a step forward to examine the menu boards that the employees were wildly scuttling around underneath, browsing down their chalk-written cold brews until he picked one at random.
That was all Wonwoo asked for.
You bought a lemonade and some sandwich he didn’t catch the name of, toasted on panini bread. It felt amazing to sit down. Wonwoo let the silver bag slide completely off his arm and hit the floor, to which he could sense your gaze stinging over him in disapproval. He should have gotten a sandwich himself, but Wonwoo still wasn’t sure how he felt about using the money on your boyfriend’s credit card.
Wonwoo relaxed in his chair, angling a glance down at his phone that he kept below the table, checking for any Seokmin texts.
None. He was supposed to be Wonwoo’s stupid life preserver in this situation with you, and so far, he’d been left for dead. Taking a lengthy sip from his drink was the only way he could stomach it.
“You should put your phone on the table. Screen down.”
“For what reason?” Wonwoo responded in a dull tone, quickly checking his social media with impatient swipes of his thumb.
“So we can have a conversation.”
At that, he almost gagged, slapping down the coffee cup he’d just picked up.
“Now?” Wonwoo laughed, his deep voice reverberating louder than he intended around the café, “you want to talk now?”
“Uh, yes,” you answered, picking up one half of your sandwich and readying it before your mouth, “why is that shocking?”
“Because—you—ah, whatever.”
“You seem crabby. Is that your normal shtick or are you just hangry? Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”
He was in a worse mood than usual, but that could be blamed entirely on the mall and how exhausted it made him feel—everything about its environment sucked out his soul. It was most likely the reason he was even daring to act so impatient. You took another bite as you waited for him to answer, and the delicious crackling sound of the toasted bread managed to fissure something inside him.
“Your eyes tell all. Here’s the other half.” You offered.
Finally, he’d experienced his first flares of contentment that day, though he wasn’t expecting it to be from a panini sandwich with what he could taste to be lettuce, mayonnaise, tomato, and different types of melted cheese.
“Thanks.”
“Well, I’ll at least give us time to finish eating.”
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[ Seokmin | 2:30pm ]: I can do one paid lunch :)
[ Seokmin | 2:30 pm ]: Her’s not psychotic she’s just uhh
[ Seokmin | 2:31 pm ]: She probs did it to mess with you 
[ Wonwoo | 2:37 pm ]: She thinks being 5 mins late warrants putting me through one of the worst experiences in my life.
[ Seokmin | 2:37 pm ]: Awwww
[ Seokmin | 2:37 pm ]: Who doesn’t like a little shopping??
[ Wonwoo | 2:39 pm ]: It wasn’t shopping it was torture. You owe me so much more than a fucking lunch.
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—MARCH 29TH.
Unfortunately, Wonwoo never got the opportunity to discuss your book that Saturday. In the middle of eating, your phone buzzed with a brief call that had interrupted your peculiarly passionate rant on the different cup sizes at the movie theatre (Wonwoo had listened without saying anything, mostly because he dreaded the circumstances that may come from peeping a word when you were so fixated on explaining that ‘the medium is too much but the small is too little and they’re both obnoxiously priced’).
He then watched cluelessly as you launched up from the table, collecting every little belonging between your fingers, babbling about some wax appointment that had escaped you.
It was just that simple—you were gone.
In the beginning moments of your absence, Wonwoo had sat there without much inclination of what to do next.
He’d worried it was another test, and that he was supposed to dutifully follow you to said wax appointment and continue bending to your every endeavour with no retaliation throughout the day. He had also found the silence across from him unsettling, in a way.
Nonetheless, if you weren’t there, then Wonwoo figured he didn’t need to be there either. So he left, taking the fifty-six back to his apartment, and you hadn’t contacted him since.
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Wonwoo actually knew his landlord quite well.
Her building was comprised of four apartments, which sat above her pottery shop on the ground floor. She wasn’t a very bothersome landlord and it was fairly easy to connect with her whenever something broke or caused problems.
When he first moved in three years ago, Wonwoo had ardently adored living there, constantly studying the shelves of shiny glazed vases in addition to the beautiful water colour paintings that were created by his landlord or her students. It had been an inspiration supernova in terms of his personal literature, and he was able to start writing his book. Though, at the time, Wonwoo hadn’t been living alone in his apartment, and it was an inescapable fact that the only reason he began writing his book was with the hope of eventually presenting it to his old girlfriend-slash-roommate.
Now, it was just him.
And as Wonwoo pushed up from his grave of rumpled bedsheets, feeling lethargic and empty, he tried concerningly hard to pinch those thoughts from his mind. It was nearly lunch. He knew damn well he shouldn’t have allowed himself to rot that long in bed, but the other half of himself, the self-sabotaging kind, just couldn’t be bothered to fucking care. Wonwoo reached for his glasses that lay half-opened on the nightstand, raking them onto his face while brushing the hair from his eyes. The first thing he properly saw was his tall, skinny, orange bottle of venlafaxine. No. He was ignoring it.
Wonwoo had been ignoring it for the past few months.
Whenever he got particularly sick of staring at the bottle, he’d shove it in his drawer, making sure to bury it deep under old, amply-scribbled notepads and inkless pens that he’d worn to the bone. At last getting up from the bed, Wonwoo experienced his entire body sway and he caught the room spinning at the distant edges of his peripheral. But he walked through it without a care in the world, utterly too used to the feeling of imminent nausea even without his medication. He decided on a shower, then dressing himself, one Poptart, a swig of water from the kitchen tap, and almost walked out the apartment door with the minty toothbrush still in his mouth.
After walking three blocks down from his apartment, Wonwoo stepped across the dead, spiky grass and into the lacklustre parking lot behind the bowling alley that always smelled like stale pizza.
He knew the vanilla Camry well enough to identify it—stalled smack and centre amongst the emptiness—the licence plate being chiselled into his head like his old locker combination from high school (16-12-24, because Wonwoo for some reason liked fixating on prehistoric details that were glaringly useless in his present).
Early two-thousands R&B was blasting from inside the outdated-looking car, though it was thankfully turned down once Wonwoo threw the door open and shimmied inside.
The odor permeated Wonwoo’s lungs in a heartbeat.
“I thought you were getting this dry-cleaned,” he sighed to his friend, Vernon, who was busy rifling through a backpack.
“Uh, didn’t happen. Didn’t wanna pay all that. M’gonna find someone else to do it that’s not taxin’ my ass. Air fresheners are all dried n’shit so you’re gonna have to deal. My bad, Glasses.”
Glasses. That nickname had always made Wonwoo huff a little half-chuckle, and almost instinctively, he pushed the glasses a bit higher back up his nose. He was introduced to Vernon at a New Year’s Eve party he was forced to attend back in December, though it had been difficult to speak with him because he was blitzed out of his fucking mind—not to mention the choking pain of ignoring the girl who had been sliding her hands along the divots of his shoulders and chest from behind, kissing at his neck.
But Vernon was branded in tattoos, and had all kinds of metal in his face, and was blessed with concupiscent, honey-burnish eyes magnetized every woman in the vicinity straight to him.
Somehow, Vernon had become Wonwoo’s plug in the mix.
“Now, what are you gettin’, Glasses? The usual quarter ounce, right?” Vernon’s tongue poked between his blistered lips as he dug a heavily-inked hand further into the backpack seated in his lap.
“Yeah, quarter ounce.”
“Oh, fuck yeah. Found it. This one.” Vernon exchanged the plastic-bagged ounces of weed with Wonwoo’s cash. “Gimme, gimme. I know it’s all here, but let me check… “ he flaked out the tinted bills with a satisfied head nod. “Prettier than a princess. You’re golden.”
“Did you just say princess?”
“Yeah. That’s what I said… what?”
“I’ve never heard that.”
“It’s not princess?”
“It’s picture, isn’t it? Prettier than a picture.”
“Really? Oh. That’s not how I remember—why the fuck are we even talkin’ about this? Doesn’t fuckin’ matter. Now, that’s gonna last you if you’re cute,” he said, throwing his notorious bag into the seat behind him, then tapping at his busted radio with a thick strip of tape across it, the next song rasping through the speakers, “don’t go crazy on it with your meds and shit. Do you still got enough papers?”
Wonwoo scoffed dryly at Vernon’s assumption while he hid the plastic bag within an inside pouch on his navy-blue jacket. A second later and his phone buzzed with a text message.
“Fuck the meds, honestly,” Wonwoo grunted, shifting his hips up in the seat to remove the phone from his back pocket.
Vernon itched his dark eyebrow. “Alright. Just askin’.”
Wonwoo opted to say nothing as he checked the text message without much expectation, and he was thankful that Vernon was the type to drop a subject easily. Instead his friend transitioned into a different conversation, something about another tattoo that he’d been debating, but in the kindest way possible, Wonwoo wasn’t listening to a goddamn word. You had texted him. Finally. For the first time. After three days of radio silence. And Wonwoo didn’t know why he’d suddenly exploded into such a fidgety, heart-pounding mess. You wanted to meet up again in order to discuss the book’s details.
“Who the fuck is that? Jesus Christ?”
“No,” Wonwoo laughed, clasping his right hand into an anxious fist, “um, I dunno. Just—Seokmin’s got me doing this thing with a friend of his. She’s trying to write a book and he kinda threw me into helping her. We’re supposed to meet up and talk about it.”
“Oh,” Vernon answered, leaning his elbow against the window and sweeping a hand through his black tresses, “do I know the chick?”
“Maybe?”
“She got any social media? An Instagram?”
“Yeah.”
“Ou, let me see.”
Wonwoo wasn’t following you. Then again, he was hardly following anyone. His Instagram had remained completely empty since his girlfriend left him, which had prompted Wonwoo to archive every single picture and delete all the ones that contained her, even the ones that captured mere traces of her in beaded bracelets and hair ties and white socks left on the carpet.
Wonwoo used Seokmin’s account to find you. Honestly, he hadn’t ever looked at your Instagram before. Without gleaning a single photo, Wonwoo thrust his phone at Vernon.
“Oh, yeah, I do know this chick,” Vernon chuckled, thumbing through your profile with a growing smirk, “Her, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Mm, yeah. Know her. Tried to fuck her. Didn’t work at all.”
Snapping his head to look at Vernon, Wonwoo gaped, “what?”
“Yeah, I mean—” Vernon adjusted himself in his seat, pulling up his knee to rest a tattoo-coated arm across it, “—ran into the chick at a party that some rich dude at your university threw. Sweet-talked her for a bit until I realized she had a stupid boyfriend. She told me a million different ways to kill myself. Yeah, she’s somethin’, for sure.”
“You’re lying.”
“Ha—a little. She didn’t tell me to kill myself,  just scolded me for about ten minutes. God, she was wired as fuck though. Her boyfriend—fuckin’, Mingyu, or whatever—he gets her coke. I’ve seen her take a line like it’s pixie dust, man. This was like, over a year ago, though. Dunno if she’s still that loopy. I don’t care. She’s pretty hot.”
Vernon then flashed him a picture from your account, a full body picture of you sprawled across sparkling white sand in a bikini, meanwhile Wonwoo could only stare at it with the blankest possible expression as his brain splattered with computing Vernon’s story.
“Is she still with him?” Vernon asked.
Wonwoo cleared his throat and sat with his spine rigid against the leather, nearly forgetting where he was and what he was doing.
“With who?”
“Lady Liberty. Mingyu.”
“Oh… yeah. They’re dating, still.”
“No fuckin’ way,” his friend lamented while he continuously plunged further into your pictures, thumb pressed to his chin, eyes glimmering, “you coulda flipped this book thing on its head and actually got some fuckin’ head, especially with that deep ass voice you got there. I know it’s gotta feel good. I mean, look at her lips—”
“You’re being gross as fuck,” Wonwoo groaned, swiping his phone back and stuffing it away, “get a girlfriend yourself, man.”
“I’m tryin’ to clean up my act a bit before I do that.”
“That’s definitely a work in progress, I’m assuming.”
“Asshole,” Vernon’s voice was gritty as he coughed into a fist, slipping his knee back under the steering wheel and proceeding to crank his stereo until the music was practically suffocating Wonwoo, “now get the fuck out. You’re not my only deal today. Sorry, Glasses.”
“Later.”
Wonwoo pushed open the door and stepped outside into the cold afternoon breeze. He sucked in a long, relieving breath. At times the fresh air disgusted him, especially when he cozied into one of his mental ruts and everything in the world seemed so grey it was soul-crushing, but Vernon’s car smelled like straight fucking cannabis.
Fresh air was heavenly.
“Don’t forget to text your girl!” Vernon laughed just before Wonwoo slammed the door shut to swallow up the melodic lyrics.
He wanted to make a snap comment before the boy drove off to his next endeavour, but he didn’t care enough to think of one.
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[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]: hey wonwoo, it’s her. I think we should finally settle a date to talk about this book thing. let me attach a pic of my schedule and you can pick any open slots
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]: 145_348.JPG
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]:  seokmin isn’t going to be our communicator anymore, so u can stop complaining to him about it
[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm ]: Okay, thanks.
[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm]: I’ll take a look soon.
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:45 pm ]: I’m excited to see you again
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:50 pm ]: no likewise?!
[ Wonwoo | 1:50 pm ]: Likewise.
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:50 pm ]: ugh. thx
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—APRIL 1ST.
It was around six in the evening and Wonwoo was seated in the SRX building, the sky rolling with lambent, hazy-toned pastures of peach in the windows behind him. He had arrived about an hour ago, taking the staircase up to the third floor. It was much quieter there, making it easier for Wonwoo to endlessly stare with glazed, void eyes at his laptop screen and the cursed document he couldn’t finish. After tapping his fingernails in a bored, repetitious pattern against the shiny white table, he felt the urge to delete each and every paragraph as if he hadn’t poured months of earnest love into them.
You would be meeting him soon.
He could still remember looking at your schedule, pinching into the screen and examining all the different colour-coded blocks: dinner parties, SSA meetings, gym sessions, errands—how the fuck you managed to juggle those things and more left him marvelled yet terrified. You were pretty on point regarding your arrival time, to which Wonwoo could immediately identify you before even seeing your face due to the heel clicking and the sounds of tapping jewelry on your bag.
Emerging onto the floor with a very intense scowl and a notably crushing grip on your drink, you were to say the least, angry. Wonwoo gnawed slightly on his tongue as you sat down.
Your purse clunked like a cinderblock onto the table.
He watched you inhale a slow, shaky breath, raising your hand with the expansion of your chest in order to calm down.
 “I’m going to kill myself.”
Wonwoo leaned back in the chair, subtly trying to establish more distance between you. He flicked a glance at his laptop.
“Damn. Why is that?”
“Because of stupid, incompetent people.”
“Yeah?”
“I just—I don’t get it!” You laughed, though it wasn’t a particularly jovial sound and more than anything it seemed like you were going to start smashing glass. “I don’t get how people are unable to understand that we don’t do walk-ins unless one of the stylists are free—” you dug a hand into your purse, pulling out a straw, “—which in the salon’s case, is almost never! I tell them we can’t in my very sweet, established customer service voice: ‘I’m sorry, but the only way to receive a chair is to book online.'”
Wonwoo tilted his head, grinning a little.
“Blah, blah. I tell them the entire story in the kindest way I can, even though I want to grab them by their fucking neck and drag them over the counter to show them our website.” You slipped out your laptop next, accidentally dragging out a lanyard along with it that you agitatedly shoved back into the purse. “And then, they get all uptight and pissy when we can’t wriggle them in! Sorry, our makeup artists are busy! Working with people who made scheduled fucking appointments! The world doesn’t fucking revolve around you!”
You scraped the drink toward you, slamming the straw straight through the plastic film lid with such force that several people ended up turning their heads. After taking a long sip, you gulped and glared until they probably realized it was you and pretended not to care.
For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t know what to say, so he’d folded his arms instead. Considering that Wonwoo worked the late shift stocking shelves at the pharmacy department, your predicament sounded like an entirely new world to him.
“Ugh, I’m sorry to bring all this negativity with me,” you apologized, still exasperated, “I don’t need this fucking tea—I need straight vodka. I’m seriously frazzled.”
“Seriously frazzled?” Wonwoo repeated, finding your choice of words funny as he resumed leaning forward, arms still crossed.
“Very, seriously frazzled.”
“I’m sorry about your day.”
Again, you sighed deeply while removing your long, warm jacket to drape over the chair’s spine—it was a rather elegant reveal of the strapless pearl dress underneath, tinted by the evening light, peach-pink as it rained from the ceiling length windows and framed your body like you were some sort of resurrected angel. Tension at last started escaping your shoulders. Wonwoo quickly realized that he'd been staring, and his fingers curled into a nervous fist.
“You’re actually such a good listener.”
Wonwoo cleared his throat. “Um, thank you.”
“I like that you don’t interrupt me.”
Settling his elbows on the table and ruffling the back of his messy black locks, Wonwoo felt himself panic a little on the inside.
“Well,” he heaved in, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I know," you chirped, posturing yourself confidently, “anyway, the book. We need to talk about it.”
“Table’s yours.”
Wonwoo’s knuckles pressed softly into his cheek while he waited for you to prepare your laptop. His own document was glowing at him, and he swore the emptiness of the page made the screen brighter (in the absolute worst, most mocking way).
“Okay, I’ve got my ideas and such pulled up.”
He expected you to continue and introduce the concept, but you had suddenly stopped, and Wonwoo thought you appeared almost smitten and somewhat timorous. It was strange, because from what he’d known and gauged so far, you were nothing akin to that.
“Well, promise that you won’t think it’s ridiculous.”
“I don’t even know what it is.”
“That’s why I want you to promise!”
Wonwoo pushed up his glasses and sighed, “I will need to be honest at some points you know, depending on what kind of help you want from me. Not that I’m going to be a straight-up dick.”
You scoured at him from over your laptop.
“Whatever.”
“I’ll promise if it makes you feel better.”
“Just—shut up." You wiggled your hand at him dismissively and proceeded to tug the laptop closer. “I don’t even care anymore.”
Once you spent a moment affirming the document to yourself, you looked up at him and smiled. “I’m going to write a book for Mingyu. Our fifth anniversary is coming up in the winter—it’s actually on Christmas Eve—the day he officially asked me to be his girlfriend. I just want to write him a little memoire thingy that tells our story. I want it to walk through the events of our lives, and how I remember them. First encounter, first date, first kiss, stuff like that. I’ve already collected some good memories to include. I have… somewhat of an outline? But my problem is the writing. I can spew nonsense from my mouth at a million miles an hour, but when I try to actually write? It’s crickets.”
You sat back, a hand poised thoughtfully at your cheek while one leg folded over the other. Wonwoo knew you were granting him the space to speak and at least offer a slice of his thoughts, yet, in that moment, he found himself to be drowning. He didn’t believe in fate or destiny or anything of the delusional like; however, hearing you explain the exact premise of a story that he had been successfully writing until a certain breakup—it had shaken him, and Wonwoo felt like the universe was smearing salt fresh into his unsewn wounds.
“So…” your head cocked to the side. “Can I at least an ‘okay’ or a head nod or some sign of life? Or are you just too disgusted?”
What could he say? What was he supposed to say?
Wonwoo was genuinely clueless on how to help you write a story that he’d been utterly failing at writing himself. And, sure, maybe Wonwoo should just give up completely. His ex-girlfriend had ripped out his heart without a single indication that it would happen, and then exited his life in the blink of an eye, disappearing so fucking abruptly that Wonwoo could have said she was a shadow that he imagined in pure lunacy. But he hadn’t dropped the story because there was this very stubborn, unwilling part of his being that could not move on from her—her, who had been his love, and breath, and bones.
He’d decided to finish the story as a manner of easing into closure. If that closure never came, then so be it.
“Are you seriously fucking ignoring me right now?”
His silence had promptly disturbed your peace, and now you were glaring at him with the beginning licks of fire and hell in your eyes.
“I don’t think I can help you.”
“What?” You pronounced sharply. “Are you kidding?”
“No, I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said while closing his laptop and sliding it back into his shoulder-sling bag, “I just—I’m not the right person to help you. I’m not, and you’ll have to take my word for it.”
“Seokmin told me you could write fucking anything. He made it out like you were some literature God with a golden quill. And—great, you’re just packing up fucking everything. Are you serious? Am I even allowed more of an explanation or are you gonna leave it at that? Wonwoo, you couldn’t have told me this at a worse time.”
“I didn’t plan for it to be like that.” He could hardly push the syllables up his diaphragm. “It can’t be me. I’m sorry.”
You didn’t lift a finger to stop him from leaving, though the wavelength of your incinerating stare was felt like a hot, melting scratch down his neck. This was terrible, he was terrible—Wonwoo already knew that about himself. He wanted to go home. He wanted to shut himself away in his room and sink straight through the sheets until he was swallowed. His anxiety was webbing around him. It was pulling him down into the soil and earth like he belonged there.
He truly hated this part of himself.
More than anything, he truly hated when other people saw it.
Especially people like you.
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—APRIL 8TH.
Wonwoo didn’t think you would ever speak to him again, in person or over text message. In retrospect, he was fine with it. You were rather overwhelming and especially tiring for someone like Wonwoo who would be perfectly fine never seeing another human in his lifetime. Not to mention he was freed from helping you with your book, which he learned was a technical love letter to your boyfriend in addition to a romance he wanted a nonexistent part in. Going down that path once was already excruciating enough, and given his anxiety attack that saw him locked in a cold washroom stall last week, it was best you just forget about him. He assumed you already had, anyway.
After he stocked the last red bottle of sinus medicine onto the shelf, Wonwoo used his boxcutter to break down the cardboard package and fold it flat with the others he’d opened. It was time for his break, and then he would only have one more hour until the pharmacy section closed for the night. Once it hit ten o’clock, the store was automatically still and hardly anyone came in—minus the few student couples whom Wonwoo had to point in the direction of pregnancy tests or plan b. But it was a Tuesday night. He was at the bare minimum appeased he didn’t have to console a sobbing, snotty-nosed eighteen-year-old girl imploring for a First Response.
When he collapsed down at his favourite seat in the breakroom, Wonwoo pulled out his phone. He had sent Seokmin a text yesterday evening about going studying at the SRX building for their upcoming math midterm, though Seokmin had yet to respond and Wonwoo couldn’t evade wondering if you were pulling some strings behind the curtain.
He opened his bottle of juice and spent the remainder of his fifteen listening to music and jittering his knee.
Wonwoo took his earbuds with him back onto the floor, sneaking the wires under his shirt to pull out his collar. There were only a few boxes left on his cart that required stocking, and whatever didn’t fit would have to be scanned into storage. That shouldn't take long. Wonwoo could almost taste the crisp atmosphere of the night air and feel the gentle chilliness soon to ghost against his face.
However, halfway into shelving the cough drops there had been a polite tap on his shoulder, and Wonwoo wanted to wither up and lose his head right there on the tiles like a sundried rose.
He didn’t know who to expect when he turned around, pulling out a single earbud while the other continued to blast his music.  
“Oh, shit—I didn’t know you worked here.”
Fuck. He wanted to kill himself.
“Yeah, started a couple months ago, actually.”
Mingyu.
It’s not that Wonwoo didn’t like speaking with him, because they had definitely exchanged cordial conversations in the past, particularly when they both took that Probability Poker elective last semester and Wonwoo learned that Mingyu was a pretty decent bluffer. Unfortunately, Mingyu’s belief that he was a great bluffer was actually the one indication that he was indeed bluffing. It showed in his overly confident eyes before a twitch of the lips or a subtly shifted foot, meanwhile Wonwoo was able to sit there the entire time like he was an Easter Island statue incarnate.
Put simply, Wonwoo had always preferred to avoid Mingyu because he was your boyfriend, and per routine, he attempted to slip around most people that were associated with you.
“Cool.” Mingyu smiled and the flashes of his pointed teeth caught the light. “Stuff’s got switched around in here again.”
“New mods came out last week,” Wonwoo answered, placing the last cough drop box onto the shelf and facing it straight.
“Well, don’t know what the fuck that means,” his tone was brassy as he laughed, “I just came to ask where the plan b is now.”
 “Two aisles down, check the endcap.”
“Appreciate it, thanks—oh, condoms?”
“Next aisle.”
“Got it.”
“Just come get me when you’re done,” Wonwoo said, grabbing his boxcutter and running the blade along the taped seam of the cardboard to satisfyingly slice it open, “I’m the only one in pharmacy right now, so I have to ring you up.”
As soon as Mingyu disappeared around the corner, Wonwoo tossed the flattened cardboard onto his cart with the loudest, most life-draining sigh that could be harboured. He wasn’t the kind of person to cultivate those racing, panicky thoughts that consumed his brain like a merciless hurricane, rather it was typically one single thought that was an eternal black space to swallow him. But Wonwoo had to admit that seeing Mingyu had triggered something of the latter, and now he was feeling sick with the fact you possibly told Mingyu about his episode at the SRX building last week. To Wonwoo it had been the shackles of his anxiety, though it probably came across as a very ill-mannered, abrupt rejection from your perspective.
Mingyu didn’t take long picking out his items. It was clearly a run of the mill routine for him at this point—a mere grab and go.
At the register, Wonwoo mentally questioned why Mingyu had grabbed such a plethora of condoms. He didn’t mean to be vulgar in his thinking, but how often were you getting fucking railed?
Either that, or Mingyu preferred being well stocked.
Vernon would be bruising his knuckles on his steering wheel right now, considering how devotedly he attempted to seduce you.
As payment, Mingyu pulled out that godforsaken credit card that you had borrowed during the dress shopping. Wonwoo felt nauseous just looking at the damn thing. He swiped all of the items into a small plastic bag which he then handed to Mingyu with a notable impatience, wanting to whisk the boy out as quick as possible.
“G’night, man. Thanks for the help.”
“Night,” he answered in a deep, tired sigh, watching Mingyu’s head of thick and bouncy black hair disappear toward the aglow exit.
Well, clearly you weren’t wasting anytime thinking about him despite the dramatics pertaining to the situation last week, not even in the most marginal fraction. Mingyu must rail it out of you every night—not that Wonwoo would be surprised to learn such a thing considering the tall boy’s physique and your openly lascivious nature.
Well, good luck to you both, he supposed.
At least it was closing time.
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Wonwoo had always suspected there was something ever so slightly off kilter about his body, especially in the way it reacted to certain situations and emotions. He knew it probably wasn’t the most mundane, ordinary act—locking himself in his aunt’s washroom the day of his sixteenth birthday, sliding down onto the cold, hard tiles, feeling his heart jolt, punch, and thump again his chest like a battering ram. There had been a pattern of rubber ducks on her eggshell blue shower curtain, and Wonwoo remembered counting them row by row, over and over, until his breath managed to steady.
Twenty-four ducks. He could still recall the number.
A doctor’s visit about three weeks later had granted him the diagnosis and a scribbled venlafaxine prescription. Wonwoo was already collecting his sweater off the tissue sheet bed, ready to leave.
In the beginning, he was strict about his medication. He organized them into pill cartridges and set alarms and always ate them with cooked, warm meals. Understandably, his habits dwindled every now and again, however, Wonwoo was quite pious to the routine for a good couple years. But then he met his most recent girlfriend in university. She was shy and reserved. All about the books.
Cute as buttons.
He fell in love.
And it was all such a rush of rose petals and sweet symphonies that Wonwoo became distracted from his healthy habits.
Of course, everything crashed and burned once she abandoned him. He capitulated in an instant, and the sight of the orange bottle made him paler than winter moonlight. It’s not like he wanted to suffer, or despise the way his body put him through a neural hell beyond his own control. The fact of the matter was that Wonwoo just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take those stupid pills.
It was a mountain. Every. Single. Time.
And for the third time that week, Wonwoo found himself awake at an ungodly hour, rifling through the black lunchbox he kept in his closet with his glasses about to slip off the fine point of his nose.
He pulled out the baggie filled with the quarter-ounce, his silver grinder, and his rolling papers. Moving to his desk, Wonwoo clicked on the small overhead lamp to illuminate his space, in which he tapped some of the weed into his grinder and began twisting the lid until he was satisfied. He liked preparing joints to smoke on the roof. It wasn’t particularly hard to access, anyway. Right outside his bedroom window was a balcony with a short ladder attached to the brick, and once Wonwoo had discovered it, he made a habit of climbing up to spark his joints so that their pungent aroma could be carried away by the fresh winds usually stirred up at gloaming.
Honestly, it was the only thing he enjoyed.
Just before he slipped out the window, Wonwoo grabbed a pair of black jeans he’d worn earlier in the week, discovering the lighter he’d accidentally left in the back pocket.
The ladder shuddered slightly when Wonwoo gripped it, though if he were being candour, he didn’t care whatsoever if all the bolts suddenly loosened and he were to splatter against the sidewalk like an uncooked pancake. In fact, the fall probably wasn’t enough to kill him. Maybe a few broken bones and scrapes, some blood staining the street akin to little patterns of rain, bruises that signatured violets into his skin, but Wonwoo would still be painfully, vividly alive, enough to see the stars if the glasses didn’t snap off his face.
It was a colder night, so Wonwoo made sure to tuck on his beanie and huddle into his thicker-sized coat. He sat with one leg dangling over the building’s edge, feeling the wind whiplash against his back and crawl in these chilly, indecipherable whispers from his shoulders to his neck, almost tickling him, like it had missed him.
An orange flicker popped to life from the butane of his lighter, which he used to lightly singe the joint perched at his lips. Wonwoo then tilted his head back, blowing the cloud and its loose, airy curls straight into the sky’s deepest purples.
He loved being alone.
Even when his ex-girlfriend had moved in with him all those months ago, there was an unyielding part of him that hadn’t been ready to forfeit all his space and privacy.
But, over time, his love surmounted the sacrifice.
He would wake up to her sleeping face, and with thoughtful nudges, clear the hairs off her cheeks. He would spend an hour working on his homework or writing his story while waiting for her to stir so messily in the sheets that it became graceful. He would tease her with his cold hands as she boiled up tea in the kitchen, pinching at her hips with the utmost softness and giggling huskily into her neck when she would twist in the arms that bracketed her body against his chest. He would trap her between the counter, sunshine striking the room aglow in these nearly blinding seas of light, mouthing at her throat and tugging at her shorts and hitching his fingers so deep into her heat because all Wonwoo wanted to do was make her feel good.
Opening his eyes again, Wonwoo saw the stars rather than her face. The high was disseminating past his lungs and mingling with the pain that festered in his heart, concocting something that hurt so wonderfully, in all the right places, in all the right spots.
He was a fucking mess.
It wasn’t sustainable. But he didn’t care enough to fix himself.
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 —APRIL 15TH.
Why did Wonwoo keep coming back to that café? The number of times he’d sat down with conviction that today would be fruitful—today, the eloquence would flow from his fingertips like perfectly pitched music notes and the symphony would read as beautiful and mellifluous as it sounded in his mind. Today, he was going to write.
Except, he accomplished nothing of the sort.
Repeatedly tapping his index finger against the space bar, he waited for the right adjective or phrase to leap out—to grasp him in a headlock even—whatever it took, Wonwoo was willing to sit there all afternoon until one fucking word conjured in the infinite blankness that was his imagination. He reached for his drink, only to take a sip of dry air that smelled like his earlier cocoa. Wonwoo realized the cup was empty. Had he wasted this much time already?
It pricked similarly to a bee sting. His passions felt impossible. A sigh upheaved from his chest and fingers curled into his hair, musing up the already disarrayed strands and slowly warping himself to look more and more like a mad scientist. Wonwoo removed his glasses and slumped back in the chair, rubbing at the reddish prints left on his nose. Writing had soaked itself in agony and he was going to remain in the storm of it until the bitter, ungratifying end.
‘Till death do us part.
 And then, something struck.
Though it wasn’t what Wonwoo had hoped for.
Literally—it was your hand hitting the glass of the café window, which had jerked Wonwoo out from his self-pitying.
He scrambled to fix his glasses back on, your face clarifying in an instant. You smiled at him with your glossed lips, and he didn’t like the nuance of your countenance one bit. Watching you enter the café was jarring and uncomfortable and his fist immediately clenched, his index nail picking at the ruined cuticle of his thumb. Two weeks ago—that was the last time you had spoken. At the SRX building.
“Hey!” You sounded friendly. “Can I sit here?”
“Well, uh—”
“Great, thank you.”
You pulled out the chair across from him, then set your bag delicately on the windowsill. Wonwoo watched with nervous, fluttering eyes as you smoothed out your cropped skirt before sitting down, ensuring it was tucked under yourself appropriately.
“How are you?”
Gulp.
“Fine.”
“Good. That’s really good. I’m glad.” Your nails drummed once against the table. “I actually didn’t plan on coming here, but I saw you as I was crossing the street, and I thought, ‘I should stop by and check in on him’ because, y’know, we haven’t been talking.”
Wonwoo furrowed his brow. “Do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Slap your hand against windows to get people’s attention.”
You swept something off the table with your palm, and this sunshine-like laugh turned your entire face to sweetness, but it wasn’t entirely earnest, and Wonwoo bit into his lip because you fucking terrified him. He caught your sparkling eye and wanted to melt.
“Did I scare you? I’m so sorry.”
“No, you’re good.”
“What are you working on?”
“A paper.”
Obviously, he was going to lie. Whether or not you could pick up on his lie was beyond Wonwoo’s control at that point. He didn’t know what you wanted, or why you were interrupting the flow of your very organized scheduling system to seemingly toy with him.
You didn’t respond to his paper comment. There was a thick silence between you despite the distant clattering of dishes, bubbling coffee machines, and conversations that coalesced into one big buzz.
Wonwoo bit the bullet.
“Something you want from me, yeah?”
“Not… exactly… I mean, after you left me at the SRX building, I wanted to get very angry about the whole situation. My day was terrible, and you responding to my idea with that sickly look on your face didn’t help. But I thought about it. You said no. I can’t ask anything more of you, y’know? I have to respect what you said.”
“Oh.” Wonwoo unclenched his fist, stretched out his long legs a bit more. “Yeah, sure. I get it. Thanks for understanding.”
“I just didn’t think my idea was that bad.”
“Well… no. It’s not bad. It’s not bad at all.”
A twitch to your lip suggested you didn’t believe him. Wanting to clear the air a bit, Wonwoo stopped slouching. He sat straighter and lowered the lid of his laptop, inviting the space between you.
His mouth opened, and then closed.
Fuck, just breathe you idiot—he cursed at himself.
You did that little head tilt thing, half-smiling at him, looking radiant underneath the café sunlight and so oddly patient with his tied-tongue that Wonwoo was miraculously able to find his words.
“There is nothing wrong with your idea. I made it seem like there was. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to help you write a romance story, for personal reasons that would be useless explaining. But you seem very confident in everything you do. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“Hm, well, thank you for believing in me. Romance can be a touchy subject—I didn’t think of that, and I get it… I guess I felt more insecure about your reaction because writing is the one thing I can’t ace. I do need help with my story, even if I don’t want it. Well, it’s just the truth, isn’t it? There are some things I can’t do!”
You chuckled at yourself, and Wonwoo thought it to be actually endearing. All your hard edges softened in that moment.
“So, I haven’t made any progress in my story, which sucks because I’m operating by deadline—” reaching into your bag, you unveiled a small, compact mirror, using it to remove something invisible from your eyelash, “—do you have any writer friends that would help me?”
Wonwoo scratched his nose.
“Uh, with the book?”
“Yes.”
“None.”
“What?” The mirror snapped shut as you gagged at him. “How do you have no writer friends? Isn’t that your major? Literature? Do you even have friends that aren’t Seokmin?”
“I’m a math major for fucks sake.”
“You’re fucking joking, Wonwoo. Please, tell me it’s a joke.”
He leaned back, folding his arms and propping an ankle onto his knee. You were still gaping at him, and he wanted to smirk.
“What’s wrong with math?”
“Nothing. Math is… math,” you gritted, shoving the mirror back into your expensive-looking, gold-buckled bag, “but why math? Why straight math? I thought you wanted to be a writer.”
“Man, Seokmin really didn’t tell you fucking anything, did he?” Wonwoo chuckled. Or, maybe you had only heard the things you wanted to hear, which was what Wonwoo assumed.
“Like I have space in my brain to remember the multiverse of information that constantly comes out of his mouth.”
“So what is there space for then?”
“You're toeing a dangerous line.”
“Well, I like math and writing.”
"And what kind of papers would you be required to work on as a math major? Did you stumble across some quintessential theorem that nobody else really cares about except for you and all the other pocket-protector wearers out there? Or is this a Good Will Hunting scenario? Even better—are you waiting for someone to walk by behind you and see all that really complicated mumbo-jumbo on your screen and think to themselves, 'woah, this guy is really smart. He's working on a paper with numbers, and I only work on papers with words. Where did I go wrong in my life?' so you can develop some sort of alternative complex that writing just isn't giving you?"
Wonwoo cocked his head at you, perplexed.
“What the absolute fuck are you talking about?” He felt a laugh in his chest, but he pushed it down. Wonwoo had never met anyone like you before. “You made up everything you just said.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“I go on tangents. It’s just something I do.”
“Damn. I can tell.” Wonwoo rubbed at the corner of his eye and slipped the ankle off his knee, further spreading his legs. “You like hearing the sound of your own voice, yeah?”
He always hated when people bothered him at the café, especially when he was trying to write. Today, it was different.
“Well, that’s true.” You beamed at him so matter-of-factly, like it was obvious. “The most beautiful sound in the world, isn’t it?”
“Mm.”
“Thought so. Ugh, I just can’t believe you have no writer friends to hook me up with.” He watched you slouch forward, slapping your arms across the table. “I’ll have to go wait outside Gildan Hall and start ambushing all the smart-looking literature majors.”
Wonwoo found himself examining your perfect nail polish.
“Good luck with that.”
“Can you at least try to sound more sympathetic?”
“You don’t seem like a person who appreciates sympathy.”
“Pft. According to who? I like being comforted when the time is right, and you’re not being very comforting.” You groaned into the table.
“You like being comforted?” He scoffed.
Your head popped up, and you were pouting. “At certain times, yes. Most times, no. It’s a complicated system. No one’s really cared enough to learn it except for Mingyu, and that was by force, and I think even he hates it. But I’m not asking for the moon. Just a reasonably sized chunk of it. I have to be worth something, right?”
“What’s life without someone catering to your every whim at the drop of a hat, huh?” He couldn’t help but mutter with sarcasm.
“Yes, exactly! See—you read my mind.”
Wonwoo bit his tongue.
“Ugh, now where’s my stupid phone?”
It was in your purse. Immediately, your eyes lit up.
“Jesus Christ. I’m gonna be late to my electrolysis!”
Like a burst of lightning, you shot up from your seat and quickly fixed the cream-white purse back over your shoulder. It reminded him of that time at the mall. One second you were engrained into a tangent, and the next you were scrambling about, attempting to recover the lost time in your meticulous schedule.
“If you think of anyone, please text me!”
Wonwoo nodded his head.
Now, there was a vacant seat before him, left slightly tugged from the table due to your hectic departure. For a moment, he just sighed, feeling the breath emerge from somewhere so deep in his chest that it ached. That was the thing about you—in a confusing turmoil, you managed to fill him up when he felt empty, but then empty him once he felt full.
He didn’t know what kind of person you were.
But there was an odd thrill to it that Wonwoo couldn’t articulate.
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—APRIL 18TH.
Sat with Seokmin at the boy’s dining room table, Wonwoo popped a purple grape into his mouth while flipping a pencil between his fingers. The two had been staring plainly at their last problem from the math homework, but the question was horribly long, and his handwriting had morphed from legible penmanship to the most slurred hieroglyphics. Wonwoo wanted to dump a ramen packet into some boiling water and call it a night. He’d devoured a whole stem of grapes. His head was pounding and his stomach growled for a meal.
“Oh! You see—this is what gets me every time!” Seokmin exclaimed, leaned over his scattered papers, shoulders hunched with strain, “I mess up one multiplication in a matrix, and it screws me all up! Now I have to go over—uh! My fucking pencil just snapped.”
“Good,” Wonwoo mumbled, pressing a hand along the groove of his stiff neck, cracking it, “take it as a sign to give up.”
“We’re so close.”
Scooting the chair back to stretch his legs, Wonwoo then snatched his phone off the table. It was nearly ten at night.
“I’m hungry, and I don’t care anymore.”
Seokmin sighed, “are you going to eat now?”
“Yeah. Any ramen left?”
“It’s in the box sitting on top of the fridge. Soup broth is in the cupboard beside the microwave. I think there’s some eggs, too.”
Wonwoo easily grabbed the noodle packet off the fridge. He asked his friend if he wanted a bowl as well, and Seokmin agreed, abandoning their math homework after his defeating pencil-snapping incident. While they waited for the water to start bubbling over the stovetop, Seokmin had joined Wonwoo in the kitchen, though he leaned against the counter, holding his phone six inches or so from his face. Wonwoo had never seen anyone text that fast.
Gosh—he didn’t even need to ask who it was.
Noticing a few smudges on his glasses, Wonwoo lowered them down to the hem of shirt, beginning to massage the marks away.
“Our math final is the twenty-eighth, right?” Seokmin asked.
“Should be, yeah.”
“Thanks. If it’s on the twenty-eighth then I can definitely go.”
Wonwoo slid the glasses back onto his nose.
“Go to what?
Taptaptaptap—Seokmin’s fingers were practically electric.
“Uh, this thing that Her is having… at her parents’ house… like… a big dinner party… I’m helping her plan it… just need to make sure… I’m free those days… there! Okay, all settled.”
At last, Seokmin had clicked off his phone and slid the device back into the pocket on his sweatpants. Wonwoo folded his arms, staring at his friend with a deeply furrowed yet confused brow.
He sucked in a helpless breath.
“I don’t get you, Seokmin.”
“What—why?”
A few hot droplets of water had leapt from the pot, slightly scalding Wonwoo’s arm. He promptly ripped open the ramen packet and submerged the noodle brick, poking at it with chopsticks.
Wonwoo cleared his throat, “are you obsessed with her?”
Seokmin laughed, sounding astounded.
“No, I’m not obsessed. I’m just helping. We’re friends.”
“Right.”
“You don’t believe me?”
Setting the chopsticks beside the stove, Wonwoo turned around again, habitually crossing his arms low along the chest.
“I guess I don’t understand what you get out of that relationship.” He admitted. “Why can’t she do shit herself?”
“Ha!—That’s an interesting question.”
“You don’t want to talk about it?”
“No, it’s not that.” Seokmin lifted himself onto the kitchen counter, his head thumping back against the wooden cupboard. “I just wasn’t expecting you to ask that. And—I meant it’s interesting to see your interpretation of it. Like, my friendship with Her.”
Wonwoo nodded. He wasn’t going to coax anything out of his friend that he wasn’t already willing to say. In fact, Wonwoo had only begun talking to Seokmin back in the early, rainy days of September, since they ended up in the same discrete mathematics course and happened to choose seats right next to each other. Their bond had formed fairly quick, but they never really conversed about topics more intimate than school work and their own interests.
“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said, “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, don’t apologize. I mean, I totally get why you’re curious.”
Seokmin glanced down at his knees, scratched his chin.
“Uh—well, what did you say, anyway? Why can’t her do shit herself? I mean, her life is super busy. Her mom’s a writer and editor for that popular fashion and beauty magazine you always see at all those glamour stores—Stunning Monthly—something like that. Her’s dad is this business tycoon guy. He works with my dad, actually. I’ve known Her since high school. Our families are close, so naturally we’ve spent a lot of time together. Her family picked up all their stuff and moved into Hillcrest on account of her dad needing to relocate for work.”
Wonwoo remained silent at the revelation, even though he was urged by curiosity to badger Seokmin with questions.
“But, uh—without all my non-essential rambling—the relationship with her parents is tumultuous. Who doesn't have a shaky relationship with their parents, though? A few lucky souls, probably. But they've set things up for her quite well, in my opinion. Her mom got her a job at the Milestone—that fancy beauty place down Bank Street? She has a makeup chair from time to time and works reception. She’s definitely gonna graduate Cum Laude with some big fancy scholarship. Not to mention the little power couple thing she’s got going on with Mingyu. She just tends to be…” Seokmin winced, massaging his shoulder, “she’s just a bit unpredictable. It would be way too easy for things to start falling all over the place. She’s a busy girl so I figure it’s nice to help her out. Keep things organized.”
Wonwoo bobbed his head, thinking.
“I guess I’m curious about the book thing. I mean, if everything is so perfectly laid out for her, and she’s so busy all the time…. why write a book? That takes months, extreme dedication, planning out the ass… it’s loving everything you’ve written and then hating it so atrociously… I don’t know,” he sighed, shrugging with confusion, “if I were her, writing a book would be the last thing on my mind.”
Folding his arms, Seokmin leaned back against the cupboards and agreed. “I know. But sometimes she just lurches onto random things out of nowhere. One year she practically turned her entire living room into a freakin’ art studio and I slipped on an open tube of paint on the floor—nearly popped out my tail bone. To be fair, her passion projects never last long. She never has the time, as you said… I know you’re not helping her anymore. She’ll probably drop it without help.”
“Really? Just like that?”
“Yeah,” Seokmin answered, smiling, “just like that.”
For some reason, Wonwoo gritted his teeth. He would hate for you to discard the feat so readily, just because he couldn’t pitch in as initially planned. Yes, writing was not always a fruitful cherry blossom tree and sometimes chalking down one sentence was equivalent to a month of effort and squeezing out all the creative fibres in one’s brain, but there was so much worth and occulted beauty to it at the same time. It was the art of expression.
Wonwoo thought it was quite cruel to deprive oneself of the ability to express and articulate things as they coursed through the fragile skin and the warm veins, and chiefly, the heart.
“Anyway, maybe I didn’t really answer your question,” Seokmin laughed, “but, y’know, don’t worry too much about turning down the book. You’re right. She’s got more important things to focus on, as I was telling her over and over, and—oh! Fuck, the ramen’s bubbling!”
Wonwoo quickly twisted around as the water began spilling over the edge and sizzling like fried meat. He lifted the pot off the piping hot, orange element, to which Seokmin joined him, twisting the stove dial to a much lower heat. Blowing at the white froth, Wonwoo waited a precautionary minute before returning the pot.
Once dinner was ready, they gathered back at the dining table, entwining the noodles with their chopsticks and hardly allowing a second for the ramen to cool before they were shovelling in burning mouthful after mouthful. The bite in Wonwoo’s stomach was gradually appeased. He soon felt warm, and full, and less tempered.
“Seokmin.”
“Hm?” His friend glanced up from his phone.
“So…” Wonwoo leaned back in the chair, his fist clenched. “I guess what—from what I understand—if I don’t help Her, or if she doesn’t find someone who can, then the book just won’t happen ”
At his observation, Seokmin nodded, seeming unbothered.
“Uh, yeah. Pretty much.”
“That’s sad.”
“Hey, you two just aren’t destined for each other,” he replied, slurping his noodles, “you were right back at the café.”
Picking up the white and blue patterned bowl, Wonwoo prepared to drink the broth, feeling the delicious heat fan back against his face. Once he finished eating and helping Seokmin with the dishes, he planned to catch a late-night bus back to his apartment above the quaint pottery shop. He didn’t know if he would sleep or not.
Maybe, however, that would give him time to rethink some choices, even if he shouldn’t trust the musings his brain happened to curate past nine at night. Especially any musings concerning you.
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[ Wonwoo | 11:45 pm ]: Sorry to message you this late.
[ Wonwoo | 11:45 pm ]: I’ll keep it brief: I’ve given your book idea some thought, and if the offer still stands, I’d like to help you write it. Though, I understand if you want someone else’s help.
[ Wonwoo | 11:50 pm ]: Goodnight.
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[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: AHHHHHHHHHHH
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: good morninggg
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: no that’s so perfect
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:37 am ]: okay. OMG. there’s just so much we have to sort out. I’m trying not to overwhelm myself lol
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:37 am ]: thank u for giving it more thought. I’m excited to plan everything and see u again ofc :)
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[ Wonwoo | 12:55 pm ]: Likewise.
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—APRIL 24TH.
Since last November, Wonwoo hadn’t invited many guests to his apartment—not even his older brother, who had never stepped foot into the building after Wonwoo originally signed the lease. Seokmin visited once or twice, but everything was curt, and while there had been one time that Vernon slept overnight on the couch, it was hardly notable.
Knowing that you were going to be at his apartment in a few hours was a very daunting thought. Consequently, Wonwoo had done something he hadn’t properly completed in months: clean.
It wasn’t like he just threw out the garbage and wiped down the kitchen counter either. He legitimately cleaned, picking over his apartment with a fine-tooth comb, not allowing one coffee cup or coaster to seem even vaguely incongruous. He fluffed out the couch pillows and vacuumed the floors. He went through his entire room, tidying up piles of clothes on the floor and aligning every book on his shelf. For the first time in months, Wonwoo threw open his heavy curtains, pure sunlight engulfing the space in such a bright glare that his eyes stung and he hardly recognized his own bedroom. Most importantly, he remembered to hide the pill bottle in his nightstand.
After all the anxiety-driven cleaning was done, Wonwoo collapsed onto the couch and stared plainly at the ceiling, the reality of what he just accomplished beginning to sink into his pores.
What the fuck?
He doubted you would care even microscopically if his apartment wasn’t perfectly swept and polished and artistic like a photo from an interior design catalogue. But at the same time, it would have been impossible for him to leave it alone. The burst of productivity undoubtedly left Wonwoo rather hot and sweaty, so he opted to take a shower before you arrived. Standing beneath the cool water and taking slow, languid breaths helped ease his nerves.
And, for the first time in what he imaged to be—months, Wonwoo dried himself off with this feeling that everything was okay.
Not good. Definitely not great. But okay.
While he buttoned up a pair of blue jeans, Wonwoo heard his phone ding from his desk. Reaching over, he tapped the screen.
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:05 pm ]: hi, I’m almost there
His chest fucking lurched.
Roughly jerking open his drawer, Wonwoo pulled out the first shirt he saw, tugging the white long-sleeve over his head before he wiggled his feet into a fresh pair of socks. Once Wonwoo found his glasses, he sat on the edge of his bed with his phone.
[ Wonwoo | 12:08 pm ]: Okay.
[ Wonwoo | 12:08 pm ]: Would you like me to come down?
God—he felt like his stomach was going to collapse.
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:08 pm ]: no that’s okay :)
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:09 pm ]: it’s really pretty down here
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:12 pm]: sorry I was looking at some of the pottery / painting stuff. it’s the staircase down the hall, right?
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:12 pm ]: unit 102?
[ Wonwoo | 12:12 pm ]: Yes.
He reminded himself to breathe. Calm and slow and lifting the pressure that dug so bluntly into his lungs. The webs began to burn away. It had been a narrow escape, but it was successful.
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:13 pm ]: heyy, I’m outside
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Wonwoo walked to the front door. His fingers brushed the knob in a flash of doubt, though his mind had already committed and now the door was pulled open and you were there, just as you said.
“Well, hello.”
He nodded at you, and then gestured for you to enter.
“Where should I take off my shoes?”
“There’s good,” Wonwoo answered, pointing to a textured mat in the corner that you proceeded to leave your simplistic heels on.
How absurd was this? Never in his life would Wonwoo imagine you at his apartment of all places—the one girl whom he adamantly tried to avoid because you were his gleaming opposite, and everything that you were, certain and in control, scared him. You were gazing around with your hands politely clasped together, ignited in the fulgurant sunlight, a small smile on your mouth.
“Wow, you’re very clean.”
Wonwoo stepped after you, maintaining a shy distance.
“It doesn’t normally look this neat,” he admitted, watching you readjust the strap of your tote bag, “I did clean for you.”
You turned to face him, and your laughter filled the space with a refreshing, long lost tone that made everything brighter. His fist clenched up anxiously and he knew his cheeks were pinkening.
“Um, cleaned or power-washed?”
He merely stared at you. Why couldn’t he fucking speak?
“Jeez, don’t look so afraid. I’m joking. And I obviously appreciate the effort.” You spun back around, continuing to walk past the coffee table and toward the kitchen. “It’s a lovely place, and it’s definitely got your personal touch. Oh—this is a cute mug.”
He breathed out, unfurling his hand and stretching his fingers until the air in his knuckles popped. You began wandering in the natural direction of the bedroom, and so Wonwoo followed, his eyes drifting up the jeans that hugged your legs and your sashaying hips, to back of your delicious-smelling hair. What was that scent, anyway?
Manuka honey?
But it was just a trivial glance, really.
Nothing meaningful.
“Is this your room?” You asked, stopping at the doorframe.
“It is.”
Biting your lip, you peaked inside and started to grin.
“Do you care if I go in?”
 “No.”
He tried not to crumble right there on the floor. Wonwoo’s room was his sanctuary, a fortress, something that barred out everyone but himself and granted him the freedom to do whatever he pleased (whether it was self-detrimental or not). The thought of others in his room was a gash in that perfect sanctuary, in which he could see the walls bleed out all their comfort and familiarity. His ex was the last person to be in his room, typically sprawled across the bed with a good novel in her hand.
It was a sour, sour reminder.
“Oh, and there’s the bookshelf,” you pointed out, “how fitting.” That penetrating gaze of yours roamed his desk and his bed and all his knickknacks in between. “Hey, why’s there a balcony outside?” You then asked, settling your hands onto the window frame and leaning out, the wind fluttering minimally through the layered curtains.
“Just a remodelling error,” Wonwoo explained, “it was supposed to be removed, I think. Never happened.”
Allured by curiosity, you leaned further out, examining the ladder that led up to the building’s roof. He looked at you again, specifically the arch in your back and the way your arms were planted so firm at the windowsill. He looked at the sunlight rippling on your cheek and your lips that appeared to sparkle, like you had kissed glitter.
“You definitely go up there, right?”
“Yeah.”
Half-shutting the window as to keep the breeze flowing, you chuckled. “I figured… so, I guess we should stop dawdling and get to the meat and potatoes. Is here a good spot? Or do you want to go back to the living room?”
“We’re in my room anyways,” Wonwoo commented, pulling out his desk chair and promptly sitting down, “so, why not.”
“Cool. Let me get my laptop.”
You slipped the tote bag off your arm and sat on the edge of his freshly made bed, being careful not to rumple the sheets.
“Okay!” Your hands echoed a series of soft claps. “I’m all ready now. I’ll try my best not to ramble—oh, and please, please don’t interrupt me until I’m done. I’m going to be very pissed if I lose my train of thought and I’d like this meeting to remain pleasant.”
Wonwoo nodded. “I know.”
You flashed him a brief smile.
“So, as you know, Mingyu and I’s fifth year anniversary is coming up in December. My gift to him is this so far nonexistent book. We’ve been through a lot as a couple, and as individuals, and I want the book to fully capture this journey we’ve been on and how much I… appreciate him. Also, I’m going to introduce a second, special element—” a hand plunged into your tote bag and suddenly a video camera was revealed, “—I want to record some of our brain sessions, and, like, our voyage of figuring this shit out. I like mementos. I hope that’s okay.”
“… Do I answer?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Then, yeah. I’m okay with it.”
“Secondlyyy—” you lilted while scrolling a little ways down the notepad on your laptop, the video camera stuffed back into your flower-and-honeybee-patterned tote, “—there are a few places we’ll need to visit—not the actual places that Mingyu and I went to since we grew up nowhere near here—but places that more so have a strong resemblance to the ones in my memory. I feel like it will help me with visual aspects of the writing. I’m a very visual person. Y’know, setting up the scene and technical things like that. I like touching and feeling and seeing and breathing everything in. I want all my senses on fire, basically. Like… the way your lips feel after eating insanely hot noodles.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
Wonwoo didn’t really care. He just agreed.
“Lastly, I want to make a schedule for us. So, I’m kindly asking you to set up a schedule of your own—work shifts, doctor’s appointments, tests—the like, so I can incorporate them into my own hectic life and make us one colourful, super writing schedule.”
And then, with a big, winded sigh, you shut your laptop.
“That’s it. Done. Thoughts?”
Honestly, the entire premise didn’t sound all that terrible. He had braced himself for the worst, but you were unsurprisingly organized and had pinpointed all your desires quite clearly. Of course, he knew it was going to be sheer hell—flames up to his knees and desert sun beating on his skin like a hot skillet frying butter. You were structured and dedicated and Wonwoo was none of those things.
No doubt, Wonwoo would have to learn to deal with you.
You would either be his trigger or his pulse.
But, even worse, you would have to learn to deal with him.
“I’m just following your lead on this,” Wonwoo announced, lacklustre of much interest, resting his hands against his stomach while he rotated back and forth in the swivel chair, “whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. How soon do you want the schedule thing?”
“Like, as soon as possible.”
“Okay.”
“Do you really have no questions?”
Wonwoo scratched the side of his head.
“Uh, have you got anything written down yet?”
“Yes,” you propped open your laptop again, “an intro.”
“Oh, really?”
“Don’t question me. It was already difficult enough to write it, and I agonized over it for hours.” You pouted, slumping slightly.
He shifted up straighter in the desk chair.
“I’m sorry. I was just wondering. It’s good you started.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
Wonwoo tilted his head at you. “Do I get to read it?”
Your feet crossed and twirled together. He didn’t think you had any nervous ticks, but that was something easy to pick up on.
“Um, not yet. Not until we officially start.”
“Okay.” He answered with a gentle voice, noticing your swaying feet still again and a bit of rigidity dissipate from your body.
Well, he didn’t really know what to do at this point. Wonwoo suspected you were constrained by more tasks for today and your time with him was limited. It’s not that you were sitting in an awkward, stifling silence, but he would rather occupy himself with something rather than nothing, because nothing left his heart to race.
“Are you hungry?” He asked.
Glancing up from the laptop, you shook your head. “I ate before I came here.”
“Are you going to be leaving soon?”
At that, your face crinkled with laughter. “Sick of me already?”
Wonwoo crossed his arms. “No. Just asking.”
“Well, I have a wax appointment soon. I’ll be leaving in ten minutes or so.” Finally, you looked up, and your eyes clicked with his in a way that made the fine hairs along his neck prickle coolly. “Does that answer your question?” A subtle grin pulled at your soft lips.
“It does, yes.”
“You don’t like having people in your room, do you?”
He huffed at the observation and delved a hand through his black hair, feeling the dampness slide against his fingers. “Not particularly.”
“You should have just said that.” Rising off his bed, you closed the laptop and shoved it back into the tote bag.
Wonwoo’s entire chest jerked. It felt like a ten-story drop.
“Are you leaving?”
“Mm, I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding.”
Why did his throat close up just then? Why did his vocal cords abruptly feel so coarse and tight? Why was his heart hammering? He didn’t mean to project the wrong impression. He didn’t hate you in his room. It just felt misplaced, and new. Like picking up a puzzle piece from the box and attempting to jam it into a different puzzle.
“It’s fine. Seriously. I should be early, anyway.”
Wonwoo stood up, realizing he needed to breathe. “Um… would you like me to walk you down?”
You stopped on your way out, faced him with a pretty smile.
“That’s okay.”
But then you did something rather strange; your hand sank into his firm upper arm and suddenly you were leaning into him, so carelessly close that he could feel the fanning, light warmth of your breath against his neck. Wonwoo’s head started to spin, and he thought a cloud had enveloped the room because his vision fuzzed.
“Sorry,” you took a step back, removing your hand, “you just smell really good. Like an ocean or something. It reminds me of this beach in Puta Cana. But your hair’s all damp and fluffy so that’s probably why. That was weird. I’m sorry.” Again, you laughed.
Why the fuck did you do that? He was almost angry. But not at you. At himself. For reacting in such a giddy, stupid way. Your touch and breath had burned him and there was this sharp, cutting flare inside Wonwoo that didn’t want to let you leave.
“All good…” he mumbled, sounding groggy and slow.
“I’ll see myself out then. Bye!”
And with a final chirp, you left, the front door closing in the distance while he could only stand there, shuddering and strangely hot and beyond confused. Wonwoo moved to swing the heavy curtains shut, the entire room succumbing into its usual shadiness. He sat on the edge of his very neat bed, removed his glasses, and buckled over while rubbing his veiny, pale hands through his hair.
The feeling was so lost and suppressed to his memory.
Wonwoo didn’t even know what it was.
He was relieved you were gone, but he also wished that you were still there, leaning out his open window with the wind and sunshine in your face. It was a sight so sweet and equally intimate.
Who are you?
What are you doing in his meaningless life?
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—APRIL 28TH.
Wonwoo had finished his math final with half an hour to generously spare, and now, he was sitting, bored, sketching his pencil against the last page of the thick packet. The professor wouldn’t care.
Hopefully.
On one hand, Wonwoo knew he  should really just stand up and hand the damn thing in, but on the other hand, he hated—no, abhorred being the first person to return a test, especially an exam at that. Wonwoo was pretty smart. He knew that about himself and he never bothered to maintain the guise he wasn’t. Still, Wonwoo wasn’t pretentious. If he had to wait until the final fucking minute to hand the packet in, solely to avoid being the first student up, then so be it.
Besides, there wasn’t anything too pressing that required his immediate attention—minus the pertinent schedule he was supposed to make and have sent to you approximately three days ago. You had called him last night, to which the phone crackled with a loud, static bark of his name as you admonished him for his lateness.
“I told you three days ago I wanted the schedule! Three days! I can’t believe this. What’s so hard about making a schedule? Beep boop, you press some buttons on your laptop and it’s done. It would take ten minutes tops! Ugh, I’m so done with you, Wonwoo. In fact, don’t call me back—don’t even text me until you have the schedule!”
And then the line had collapsed, leaving Wonwoo to stare rather expressionlessly at his phone screen, the boy huffing out a breath of tendrilled smoke while he relaxed on the apartment roof. That had been his first experience sat on the receiving end of your seasoned quips, and it left him with this very profound emptiness, like his insides had been scooped out and the shell of his body was nothing but a wooden nesting doll. It had been such a long time since he genuinely cared about disappointing someone. Wonwoo had grown far too complacent with the feeling of disappointing himself.
That would never motivate him to do anything.
But you were different. In the sense that Wonwoo mostly remained proactive out of fear you might bite his head off.
From somewhere near the back of the room, Wonwoo heard chair legs scraping, and he eagerly flexed his fingers while observing a girl with the slickest ponytail he’d ever seen march past him to the professor’s desk. She set her packet down. He thanked her. She left.
Jesus Christ. Finally.
“All finished, Wonwoo?” His professor mumbled in a tone that hardly escaped his own lips, glancing up at the boy expectantly.
Pushing up his glasses, Wonwoo nodded.
“I suppose it’s harder for you to sit there and wait than it is to write the actual exam, isn’t it?” The professor noted with an almost undetectable smirk as he slid the test packet inside a tan-coloured folder, to which Wonwoo turned January cold.
“I don’t know.” Wonwoo shrugged, pretending to feel unbothered when in reality his skin was slithering like a snake pit at the thought of being even marginally perceived. “Maybe.”
“You have a good summer, alright?”
“Thanks. You too.”
Wonwoo swept a quick glance over the classroom right before he left, noticing that Seokmin was sat beside the wall, one hand tangled tight into his black, ruffled tresses as his pencil scribbled all over the paper like he was writing pure nonsense. He probably was.
And Wonwoo meant that in a nice-this isn’t really your sweet spot, but you’ll manage nonetheless-way. After leaving the classroom, Wonwoo thought he might go home and plunge head first into his oasis of bedsheets and flat, foam pillows that he loved so much, and permit himself to decay until it was physically impossible to lie down any longer. But he decided against it at the last minute, turning up at the café instead with his shoulder-strung book bag and the timely urge for a scone. He then sat down at his favourite table.
Pulled out his laptop.
Opened the document he was at incessant war with.
The last scene he’d written was breakfast.
“Uh, okay. Orange juice… or orange juice?”
“Did you say orange juice?”
“I did.”
“So… chocolate milk?”
“Ha! Funny... is there any sort of correlation between being a complete nerd and making such well-woven jokes?”
“Not sure. But I’ll get back to you when I find out… thanks. Your tea is sitting on the island, by the way.”
“Thank you, Won. Oh—you even put it in my Woodstock mug!”
“Yes, why are you so surprised that I remember?”
“Because it’s always hidden at the back of our cupboard, behind ten other mugs that we certainly don’t need and all our plates. I mean, I guess it’s my fault. Half of them are from my mom.”
“It’s sweet.”
“It takes up too much space. But I can’t tell her no.”
“That, you’ve got to work on.”
“The Christmas thing isn’t happening anymore, if that helps. I think the thought of having to cram all my family into our living room for a night was what motivated me the most. My mom said she’ll send us poinsettias instead. I think that’s way easier.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes. Believe it or not, I can assert myself. Sometimes.”
“No, no. I do believe you. I’m proud. Okay—bottoms up.”
“How’s the combination of venlafaxine and orange juice?”
“I don’t know. Juicy?”
“Better juicy than anxious?”
“You could say that.”
Right, back when Wonwoo actually had the willpower to make himself breakfast rather than slapping a mixed berry Poptart into the toaster or worse, nothing at all. Back when he could wake up before noon without feeling nauseous enough to curl into a ball and drape the sheets over his aching head. Back when he actually took his medicine. Her face beaming at him from across their table had always been like a glass of sunlight and citrus. She had been his own vitamin.
Wonwoo knew he wasn’t going to write. He was just going to stare and mope and ensnare himself in the pinwheel of memories that blew over him whenever he had the gall to reread his past literature.
The Woodstock mug. She’d taken that with her.  
He decided it was strange and sometimes irritating how love, broken or not, could suture itself into even the most mundane things. Orange juice was just that—juice—the carton he used to pick up and impetuously drop into his grocery cart every so often. Now, it wasn’t juice at all, but slow mornings, steaming tea kettles, and reading together on the couch with legs all tangled up until lunch time.
Now, Wonwoo couldn’t drink it at all.
Breaking the lemon raspberry scone in half, Wonwoo dropped a flaky piece into his mouth before it got too cold, and then proceeded to close the document. There was no way in hell he would write, and while he loved drowning in his own misery in order to snuff any glimpse of productivity more than the average individual, he thought it might be worthwhile to finally start that schedule.
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[ Wonwoo | 8:20 pm ]: schedule.pdf
[ Her | 8:56 pm ]: thanks
[ Her | 8:56 pm ]: don’t piss me off again
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—APRIL 30TH.
For an April morning, it was surprisingly bright. The sun was out in full and glistering warmth by the time Wonwoo stepped onto the sidewalk and began pacing down to the park, practically needing to squint the entire way. He almost hated it. Early mornings were not his friend, nor were the blades of light cutting across his glasses. But today was his first writing session with you and Wonwoo knew it was more than crucial that he was the furthest thing from tardy—it would be akin to willingly setting his hands inside a burning fire if not.
You agreed to meet at the park since it was roughly equal distance between Wonwoo’s apartment and some breakfast place you wanted to stop at. He thought it was uncharacteristically thoughtful of you to shoot him a text asking if he wanted anything, though Wonwoo declined nonetheless. It was damn near impossible for him to eat a bite of food until lunch time, hence his expression softening in confusion when he at last climbed into the passenger seat of your sleek silver car and was greeted by you passing him a cold tea.
“Am I… holding this for you?” He wondered, sitting still.
You shook your head. “No. It’s yours.”
“I didn’t ask for anything.”
“Yes, I realize that. I can read, thank you.”
Wonwoo wasn’t going to argue. He simply shut his mouth, clicked on his seatbelt, and set the tea into the cup holder. He then began looking around at your car’s interior. Everything was exceptionally clean and smelled sugary, like iced gingerbread.
The thing was, Wonwoo still wasn’t very sure how to talk to you, and most often there was the stiffest frog in his throat whenever he sat around you in silence for too long. Your thumbs were tapping against your phone at light speed. It reminded him of how Seokmin was texting you back at the boy’s apartment when they were studying for finals. Wonwoo couldn’t help but wonder if Seokmin was naturally more inclined to respond to you out of friendship or fear. Maybe even a pinch of both if that was possible. Another quiet minute passed by.
“Okay, fuck, sorry,” you suddenly spluttered at random, quickly slotting your phone into the GPS holder, “just some shit with my mom. Um, okay. Yeah. We can get going.”
“All good," Wonwoo answered.
“You know where we’re off to?”
“Vaguely. The track by Caldwell High School.”
He watched you flit him a smile. “That’s the place. I’ll explain more once we get there. And, by the way, I am expecting you to drink that tea. It’s not anything crazy. It’s oolong. Only a bit of caffeine.”
“I drink coffee, you know.”
“Yes, and it probably makes you jittery and insufferable.”
Wonwoo preferred not to comment.
The car ride wasn’t too long. Actually, Wonwoo did love a good car ride. He remembered the long trips he used to take with his family to the water park when he was a child, the sensation of the breeze blowing into his face and how different shades of green would scatter in through the windows as the sun hit the tree leaves like emeralds. There was something so limerent and sadly distant about the memory that Wonwoo felt his chest hurt. Even if he were to take that same road, and smell the same breeze, and see his skin glow with the same hues of the forest, he doubted it would feel the same.
His mouth had gone awfully dry. Wonwoo then reached for the cold tea sitting in the cup holder and took a sip, suddenly very appreciative that you had thought to get him something, anyway.
And while he couldn’t be too certain, Wonwoo wanted to think that maybe this would be a good memory, too.
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After the half-hour long car ride, Wonwoo made sure to stretch when he stepped out into the empty parking lot. It was cloudier now, a bit more of a breeze to help counteract the warmth that remained in the air. You came around to join him, twisting out a cramp in your leg while adjusting the purse over your shoulder.
The walk to the track field wasn’t long, no more than a few minutes, and Wonwoo obediently trailed at your side until he witnessed the bleachers slowly coming into view. It resurfaced memories from his own high school days in PE, which Wonwoo had actually been quite successful at despite his distaste for sports and their atmosphere in general. He remembered liking kickball the best.
You sighed in a wistful tone while staring across the marked asphalt and fresh April grass. “All high school tracks look the same, don’t they?” Then, you carefully set your purse onto the bleachers.
Wonwoo rolled his shoulders, taking a more observant look around. It wasn’t strikingly different from the track at his high school.
“Sure. I guess.”
“I mean, there are some differences. We had ditches by our track. Come to think of it, I honestly believe they put them there for kids to hurl in from heat stroke or over-exertion… that’s what I did, anyway. It was right before I had to do triple jump. I hated it because you had to really build up speed. I didn’t want to run. So, even if I hadn’t thrown up from heat stroke, I probably would’ve made myself throw up some other way. Straight to the nurse. She gave me a popsicle.”
He glanced at you sideways. “Seriously?”
“Mmhm.”
“You’d rather throw up than hop, like, three times?”
“I said it was the running part I didn’t like.”
Wonwoo couldn’t imagine purposefully making himself upchuck in order to get out of something. If his anxiety was terrible enough, then he wouldn’t even have to worry about it, really.
That was its own mechanism of disaster.
“Running is eighty-percent of Activity Days," Wonwoo said.
You clicked your tongue at him. “Exactly. And I’d do anything to never run. I tried to sit in one time with the seventh graders. They were in their art block and they were doing painting under the trees; birdhouses or something. But their teacher kicked me out. And she didn’t even let me take the fucking birdhouse that I was painting.”
“The nerve,” Wonwoo answered, scratching his temple.
He proceeded to take a seat on the metal bench, rubbing his hands together. He still didn’t know how Mingyu fit into everything.
“So… what’s your plan, here?”
You sat next to him, folding one leg over your thigh and proceeding to reveal a journal that you had stuffed inside your expensive bag. The tips of your fingers skimmed through a few fluttering pages, until you stopped on one in particular that was ink-abused with cursive scribbles. Wonwoo assumed you did most of your planning on a laptop, hence his surprise to learn that you actually used a journal. He had a journal himself, though it hadn’t been touched in months. It mostly contained small poetic excerpts.
Next, you pulled out a pen.
“This is how I first ran into Mingyu. At my school’s track field. He was new and good at all the activities. I swear, his name spread like wildfire. Anyways, I haven’t figured out all the bits and bobs. I want to really soak in the feeling of—oh!” Suddenly, you grasped the journal back onto your lap, the pen hitting the paper in a cursive ribbon that Wonwoo could hardly read. “I just thought of a great line. His eyes, I wanted to soak in them, like an oasis.”
You stabbed the paper again to make a period.
“Not bad,” Wonwoo commented.
“Okay, here it is!” A black case was pulled from your purse, and once you unzipped it, Wonwoo realized it was the video camera that you had initially shown him at his apartment. “Okay, I want you to film some stuff. The field, obviously. I need it from different perspectives. It will help me with setting the scene later on.”
“Why do I have to film it?”
“Because, Seokmin told me you’re quite handy with film equipment stuff, and I don’t want to drop it. So just do it, please?”
Accepting the video camera from your hand, Wonwoo sighed in agreement. Flipping open the side-screen of the camera, Wonwoo began clicking some buttons and adjusting the focus. Luckily, he was familiar with the particular camcorder thanks to a film education course he’d taken outside of school.
While you busied yourself at the bleachers with starting up your laptop, Wonwoo began collecting footage, slowly panning the camera across the vast length of the gravel track and the grassy soccer fields situated beyond. He kept a concentrated eye on the side-screen to ensure the lighting wouldn’t change too drastically. A wind had picked up from over the forest, and he could see how the clouds were consequently being pushed along like herded sheep in the sky.
Once he brushed back the floppy, black hair that kept tickling his face, Wonwoo lowered the camera and turned to you.
“So, where else should I film?”
You were typing something, and didn’t bother looking up.
“Go across the field. Film from the other side.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“I have to go all the way over there?”
“Yes. Walk, crawl. Skip, hop. I don’t care. Just do it, please.”
“Jesus Christ,” he huffed out, feeling tired and yearning to go home, “I hate how seriously you’re taking this, y’know that?”
Your fingers continued blitzing against the keyboard.
“Nobody likes a complainer.”
Ironic, he thought, but obviously kept to himself.
There wasn’t a point in expecting any sympathy from you—that, he already knew—which engendered Wonwoo’s long, trudging walk from one side of the track to the other, the wind irritably blowing his grown-out locks over his glasses every time he attempted sweeping them back. Hoisting the camera back up, Wonwoo adjusted the side-screen and began his same ritual of steadily panning the camera along the landscape.
You appeared in the view, still sat on the bleachers, though nothing about your face or figure was too discernible. It felt like you were a background character in a painting, just a little glob of acrylic.
“All done?”
Finally, you had glanced up at him with a smile.
Wonwoo nodded. “Unless you need anything else filmed?”
“No, that should be enough. The track is most important.”
“Right.”
He tried giving back the camera.
“Actually, do you mind keeping it?”
“Um, okay. But how will you look at the footage?
“Dropbox. We’ll share one. Upload the clips there.”
Wonwoo plopped himself back down on the bench, fitting the camcorder into its black case. He pulled the zipper along the seam.
“How much longer do we need to be here?”
“Not that much. Just let me finish this paragraph.”
There was a dull pain throbbing at the front of his skull, edging down to his temples—across his nose bridge where his glasses pressed in more tightly than usual. He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled a deep breath, trying to escape the feeling, the nausea, the chills that were beginning to seep up his neck as the wind blew turbulently against him. It would be embarrassing if this happened here, right in front of you. The hard lump had suddenly lurched forward in Wonwoo’s throat but he leaned his head down last minute and swallowed it despite the roughness. No, everything was okay.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
Wonwoo opened his eyes, staring down at the trembling hands buried in his lap. Subtly, he pulled the sleeves of his cardigan over them. He assumed his face was reflecting a sheer, sickly opacity.
“Nothing.”
“Uh, sure. Now look me in the eyes and say that.”
Again, Wonwoo swallowed, but he managed nonetheless.
“Nothing’s wrong. I get headaches sometimes. That’s all.”
“… Oh. Well, I’m basically done here. I was gonna ask if you wanted to walk a lap around the track with me, but maybe we should just go home. I mean, how bad is it? Your headache?”
Yes, yes. Home. Wonwoo wanted to go home. He had only been away from his apartment for a solid two hours, and yet all his mind and body’s energy had completely drained. He felt dried out, withered, fragile as tempered glass. Going home sounded cosmic. 
“It’s getting better. I wouldn’t mind walking with you.”
“Oh! Cool. If it gets really bad, just tell me.” You then spent a minute collecting your belongings back into the cream purse.
Wonwoo immediately looked the other way, dragging a frustrated hand through his hair, mouthing a string of guttural curse words directed at his discombobulated head. Because what the hell was he doing? All his relief and peace had just suckled itself down an invisible drain. Why on earth did he agree? Why?
“I think this will help me, too," you said, having left the shiny bleachers behind, instead kicking the pebbles at your feet, “if we walk the entire track, then it’s like we did the four-hundred meter.”
“You’re supposed to run the four-hundred meter.”
“Well, I know that.”
“I’m surprised you hate running. I mean, you walk so fucking quickly sometimes.”
He heard you snort, clearly amused by his observation.
“It’s because I’ve mastered the art of sashaying. To have a perfect sashay, you can’t walk too slow, but you also can’t walk too fast. It’s like a strut. You need to have confidence while you do it. It lets people know that you’re serious and professional. I’m not dragging my feet, but I’m also not in a rush. It’s the perfect pace.”
Wonwoo sniffled and scrunched the glasses up his nose, continuing alongside you at a pace that was rather aimless.
“I didn’t realize there was a science behind sashaying.”
“Now you know,” you declared.
Wonwoo’s  upper lip quirked slightly, and a small grin appeared on his face, which was starting to dapple with colour.
“I don’t sashay, do I?”
At that, you laughed, “no, you amble.”
“Yeah, I’m an ambler… which basically means I’m an unmotivated, pointless person who will probably go nowhere in life.”
For a moment, you stopped walking, and you merely furrowed your brow at him while your forehead creased with thought. Wonwoo stopped as well. He raked back his fluttering, windswept hair and smirked, flashing his teeth. The behaviour was uncharacteristically snide and a bit of a dig at your bluntness, but he couldn’t help it.
“Don’t remember, huh?”
“No… but it sounds familiar.”
“You told me that, the day I met you—that people who walk slowly are unmotivated and pointless. Their life is a waste, basically.”
He noticed your eyes shift up toward the right, as though you were pulling the memory forward from the intricate files of your brain. And then you started to smile, and it made Wonwoo smile, too.
“Oh, I do believe I said that.” You started walking again, and he followed. “Ha! Wow, you’re right. I said that. I’m so funny. I mean, I was right. You only walk slow when you have nowhere to be.”
“I did have somewhere to be. I was going to meet you.”
“Well, then you just didn’t care.” He felt your elbow press shallowly into his rib. “See what I mean? Unmotivated and pointless. And, honestly, I would have taken your apathy as more of an insult if it wasn’t for the fact that you seem to treat most things like that.”
“So, I’m just supposed to accept that you’re calling me a loser? How do people normally react when you say things like that?”
“Things like what? They’re just my observations about the world. You are a person in this world. I was making an observation about you. Albeit, it came across strongly. But I don’t know. No one ever cared about being gentle or sugar-coating with me. Gives you tough skin, y’know? Metaphorically, of course! I always moisturize.”
 Wonwoo scoffed, smiling at your nonchalance. “The way you word things is honestly fascinating.”
“Psh. How do you even remember that?”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem that hard to remember. It was a pretty memorable, somewhat awful experience, to be fair.”
“Awful?” You retaliated in unprecedented disbelief, pushing into his arm until he allowed his tall frame to stumble. “Try again.”
“Interesting?” Wonwoo substituted, his heart thumping. 
Your eyes were narrowed at him, glimmering with a sharpness that made his fingers clench into anxious fists.
“… That’s a little better.”
He exhaled a soft breath of relief.
As you began nearing the full circle, Wonwoo realized his head had eased from its horrible aching and the chills dampening down his neck were gone. Everything didn’t feel as awful compared to before. He was still tired, and his energy was sputtering in tiny, dying sparks, but at least his desire to crawl under the earth and degrade to his bare bones had subsided into something less morose.
“I heard you were having a get together next week,” Wonwoo decided to ask, rounding the last bend in the track.
“Oh, the dinner party?”
“Yeah. Seokmin’s helping you plan it, right?”
“He is. Which I appreciate. My mom is usually the one in charge of everything, and she loathes it. But, I mean, when we try to help her, she just ends up fretting even more—says we’re basically getting in the way and ruining it. I don’t know. She’s such a snappy perfectionist. Seokmin can have fun dealing with that.”
Wonwoo almost made a thoughtless comment in response to your story—he’s probably had eons of practice with you—though the pieces connected just in time and his mouth sealed shut.
“Your dad can’t help either?” He questioned instead.
“Ha! No way. My dad helping is a recipe for fucking disaster if I’ve ever seen it. He’s painfully bad at decorating, can hardly be trusted to cook or invite anyone from the guest list. The most my mom allows him to do is set the table.” You then scoffed, shooting a pebble forward with the tip of your shoe. “I swear, he knows exactly how to push my mom’s buttons. The faster he does it, the quicker she kicks him out and he’s absolved of all chores. What a cheat, huh?”
“Hm, yeah… is Mingyu going?”
“Of course.” You smiled. “He always goes.”
At that point, you had circled back to the bleachers. Adjusting the bag strewn over your shoulder, you heaved out a longing sigh.
“Well, that’s four-hundred meters in the books.”
“Is it everything you hoped and dreamed it would be?”
You cackled, “not even close. I think I was right to avoid it.”
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—MAY 3RD.
Wonwoo slid his pharmacy badge through the time-machine until he heard the beep. After an eight-hour shift, he was hungry and tired, but Wonwoo also knew the second that he got home, his urge to eat and desire to sleep would be gone. Instead, he would spend his midnight staring up at the ceiling, thinking. About anything and everything, and nothing at all. When the first cracks of dawn light would spill in from under his curtain, then he would close his eyes.
It was all very typical.
He stood outside the store, phone in hand, waiting for Vernon to pick him up because Wonwoo hadn’t felt like walking home despite the softness of the nighttime wind and the alabaster moon’s shining ambiance. The mirage was pretty and he enjoyed it, but his feet were too sore to inch him another step. Luckily, Vernon didn’t take long.
Luckily, he was the only one of Wonwoo’s few friends with a sleep schedule just as horridly fucked up as his. It was eleven at night, but on a weekday? The dead, empty street testified for him.
“Heyy, Glasses,” Vernon sang in his throaty voice as Wonwoo climbed into the passenger seat, “you look like a prostitute standin’ there, waitin’ for me to come get your ass. But a sophisticated one.”
The interior didn’t smell heavily of weed, he noted. Thank fucking god, Vernon had finally paid someone to dry clean it. Either that, or he took the initiative into his own hands.
“I highly doubt you have ever seen a prostitute in your entire life. And the fact you think they’d be standing outside a pharmacy at one of the quietest parts on this block attests to that.”
“God, I hate when you get all technical n’ shit. Such a stiff.”
“I’m tired.”
“Yeah, well. You’re always tired. N’ for the record, I have seen a prostitute, outside Room 319. It was a week before Christmas; she had this huge coat on, walkin’ up to people in her pink heels and this crazy eyeshadow that made her eyes pop. I bet she’s a nice girl.”
“Mhm. I bet she was.”
“Oh, you’re a cunt, yeah? You don’t believe me.”
“Does it matter?”
“I’ll take you one day. Room 319’s got a table with your name on it. They’ve got this one shot, the Stabilizer— it’ll put you down like a fuckin’ sick dog but it gets you the best drunk of your life. Maybe we’ll even run into Pink Heels lady. She’s our Halley’s Comet.”
“Halley’s Comet only comes once every seventy-five years. “
“You know what the fuck I meant.”
“Not interested.”
Vernon blinked at him for a moment in the dull light, and then he sighed, forfeiting. He placed the tip of the key in the ignition, but he quickly removed it as though he remembered something.
“Wait, I’ve gotta ask—how’s it going with Her?”
Biting down on the inside of his cheek, Wonwoo reached for the seatbelt and pulled it slowly across his chest, debating how intelligent of an idea it would be to entertain Vernon’s curiosity. But he could also understand the allure. You were like this enigmatic myth that people craved to know about, even if it frightened them.
Wonwoo’s head collapsed back against the seat.
“It’s going well.”
Vernon spat out a boisterous laugh, a hand slapping down on his knee. “Jesus Christ. You’re so dry, man. That’s it?”
“I mean, it’s true. We’ve started the book. Or, she has.”
“Okay, and?” Vernon attempted to engage him further.
“And, what?”
“What’s she like, obviously? Is she actually a fuckin’ psychopath? Is she normal? Can she walk on her hands? I dunno!”
Wonwoo rubbed underneath his glasses. He didn’t really want to talk about you when you weren’t there. It felt like a Bloody Mary situation, where you’d magically conjure in the backseat to sinch your cold hands around his neck and wrangle him limp and lifeless. But then there were Vernon’s shimmeringly prying eyes that just wouldn’t stop burning Wonwoo no matter how hard he bit his tongue.
“I have nothing to say. She’s cool.”
“Oh my fuckin’ God.” Vernon slacked back into his seat, clutching at his steering wheel. “You just don’t wanna talk about it… oh! Shit. I just remembered. She’s having a dinner party tonight, isn’t she? In Hill Crest. Or as I like to call it, Rich People Neighbourhood.”
“Yeah, that’s where her parents live… how do you know that?”
“Shit!” Vernon immediately shuffled up in his seat and delivered a hard smack into Wonwoo’s shoulder. “We should drive down and check it out! Right fuckin’ now!” He was lit up with excitement, even though Wonwoo considered it a terrible idea.
“No. Absolutely not. And answer my question.”
“Was sittin’ behind Seokmin at Solar Pop, he talks really loud, happened to overhear some things—doesn’t matter. I think we should go! C’mon, allow some spontaneity into your life! Why not?”
“What the fuck do you mean, why? It’s a family party. With some close friends, which—in case you haven’t noticed—neither of us are. You can’t fucking crash a family dinner party. Who does that? Not to mention the fact that it's eleven at night. They're probably washing up. Sending people home. By the time we get there, it's lights out."
“Aren’t you her friend?”
“No. I’m just someone who’s doing her a favour.”
“Favours are from friends.”
“We’re. Not. Friends.”
“Okay—fuck, Glasses. Fine. We won’t crash the stupid dinner party. But don’t you wanna go for a drive or something? I’m tellin’ you, the houses are insane. Last time I went down there, it was for a big fuckin’ party some dude at your university threw. I think I ran this by you already, when I talked about tryin’ to chat up Her. I stopped by with my old friend—y’know, Dots, the guy that died from the overdose and everything. That party was crazy. It was in a mansion.”
“Vernon,” Wonwoo had just finished massaging the throbs at his warm temples, “we are not going to Hill Crest.”
His friend swung his head in disapproval, making a tsking sound with his teeth. “Such a fuckin’ stiff.” He started the car. “It’s the fact I know you have jack shit to do tonight, or tomorrow.”
“I’m not gonna do some stalker drive-by on her house.”
“You don’t wanna do Room 319. You don’t wanna judge a bunch of richies sittin’ up in their ivory towers. I mean, it’s not like we’re eggin’ them or spray painting fuckin’ curse words on their eight-door garages. What do you wanna do?”
Wonwoo rolled down the window and leaned his face toward the moonlight, to which he could feel the wind brush up against his skin in feathery strokes, as though it were caressing him. He knew that Vernon meant in a general sense rather than in the heat of the moment. But in a general sense, Wonwoo would rather not be anywhere at all. He would rather do nothing, or even exist.
“Can you just take me home? Please?”
Vernon exhaled a defeated gust of breath and began to angle his tires away from the curb, the pharmacy lights pulled behind them.
“Yeah, ‘course. Mr. Boring.”
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—01:49
Wonwoo hadn’t been able to fall asleep since Vernon dropped him off a couple hours ago. He’d anticipated that. Usually, Wonwoo wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t toss or turn, or pace circles around his bedroom, or count down from one-hundred, because even if he did, none of it would work. His mind would still be wide awake.
Hence Wonwoo’s decision to grab his phone. Staring at a lurid screen definitely wasn’t going to help, though he wasn’t trying to sleep, anyway. That conversation with Vernon was repeating in his head like a chattering bird, pushing him, pushing him, pushing him to find your Instagram and dig into your pictures because now Wonwoo was thinking of your dinner party and how vehemently you seemed to hate it. He saw that you had posted something quite recently, around the same time Wonwoo had left the pharmacy.
For a moment, his thumb hovered over the post.
He didn’t want to press it because he didn’t care.
Or, maybe he did.
There were multiple pictures in the set, and Wonwoo flicked through all of them. Some were of food, close-ups of your jewelry—you even included a picture with Seokmin. But then Wonwoo had settled on the last photo and something in his stomach convulsed.
He recognized the dress like a flash of light—the sapphire one with the glimmering detail that you had modelled for him at the expensive boutique in the mall. Of course, that arm hanging cheekily low around your hip belonged to your boyfriend, Mingyu. He had a champagne glass pressed to his lips, fitted in his black suit with his hair neatly combed and styled into place. The smugness in his face was stifling. Wonwoo rolled onto his stomach, his eyes refusing to drift from the picture for even an instant. He just kept staring.
Staring and thinking. Staring and thinking.
One minute spent staring at your smile.
The next minute at the low placement of Mingyu’s hand.
Another minute staring at your sparkling dress.
The next minute at Mingyu’s brutally cocky expression.
He would switch back and forth.
But Wonwoo didn’t really care. He was just bored.
And alone with his thoughts.
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—END OF PART PART ONE.
NOTE! while i truly cherish & adore all comments, pls refrain from remarks such as "pls post part x" "i need part x" "when are you posting part x" while i do understand the sentiment, i find these comments very dismissive & kinda disrespectful! i don't prefer to post series fics and so i don't receive these often, but pls note that if you comment this i will delete the comment!
the fic itself is completely done, so all i have to do is get the parts ready for posting. however, bc this is the first part, i don't have a set posting schedule just yet. i think it will depend on roughly how long those who read the fic take to finish it! but i will be sure to make a post about it or include the schedule in part two once i figure it out!
again, thank u so much your ur patience :3
much luv!! 💕
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moonstruckme · 4 months ago
Note
Hi! A lil Sirius request or u could do it with one of the other boys (Remus James) but what about if his gf May be has an old injury that always flares up? (I hurt my knee years ago and even tho it's ok now every once a while if I over use it then it still hurts) and just fluff about her being upset her body won't cooperate and him just icing it and doting on her
Thank you for requesting!
Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 623 words
“Try to get up one more time,” your boyfriend threatens, “and I swear to god I will sit on you.” 
“I just want the remote.” 
“And I’m getting it for you.” Sirius stretches towards the coffee table, keeping the ice pack held to your knee with his other hand. He grabs the remote that had been too far for you to get on your own, passing it to you with an exasperated look. “Relax, sweetness, you won’t miss your show.” 
“Thanks,” you huff, turning the TV on. Really, you just want the distraction. Your knee is still radiating a warm ache, your skin still prickling from the humiliation of having to admit it when Sirius had noticed your limp. 
“Don’t mention it,” he replies, voice quieter than usual. His touch is gentle as he adjusts the ice pack, careful not to press down too hard. You feel shitty for being snippy with him, and resolve not to speak until you can be trusted to do it nicely, in the way he deserves. 
It doesn’t work. Sirius is watching you, gaze shrewd and contemplative, fingers tapping a distracted rhythm on your ice pack. You keep your eyes obstinately on the TV, but it’s only a matter of time before he speaks up. 
“Penny for your thoughts, pretty girl?” 
You sigh, closing your eyes ashamedly. “I’m sorry.” 
Sirius tsks. “For acting pissy when you’re pissed? Don’t worry about it.” 
“I don’t have to be mean to you just because I’m pissed,” you say, tilting your head back on the couch cushions. “I just feel like I should be able to run a couple of blocks without crippling myself. It’s got nothing to do with you.” 
Sirius’ mouth pulls sympathetically. He brings his free hand to your hurting leg, rubbing up and down the back of your calf. “We did a lot of walking before, too,” he points out. “It was a big day.” 
“That’s just it.” Your mouth tastes bitter. “I’m not eighty years old, walking around shouldn’t be a big day for me.” 
“I know, baby,” he says softly. “I’m sorry, it’s shit. But when it’s cool out like this, and you’re putting a lot of pressure on your knee, you’ve just—you need to treat yourself a bit more gently.” You make a sour face, and Sirius squeezes your calf, lips slanting upward. “I know, you’re very rugged. You’re the picture of youthfulness and good health. But try looking after yourself the way I look after you, yeah? For my peace of mind.” 
He speaks with blasé lightness, but his words melt you like butter in the sun. You sigh heavily, feigning reluctance. “But you’re so good at it,” you complain. 
“It’s hard work, yeah.” Sirius’ canines peek out as he grins. “Don’t worry, I’ll train you up. You’d really be helping me out, taking a load off. And it’d free me up to do more things like this.” 
He keeps his eyes on yours as he leans down, dark lashes fluttering prettily close to his brow. Your cheeks heat. Sirius moves the ice pack momentarily, pressing a featherlight kiss to the skin just below your knee. 
“There,” he says decisively, putting the ice pack back in place. “It’ll be better by tomorrow now, guaranteed.” 
You bite down on your lip to keep a smile at bay. “I didn’t realize how much you’d be able to accomplish if we shared the responsibilities.” 
“Yes, well, I know I make it look easy, but it is a lot,” Sirius tells you with faux solemnity. “Is there anywhere else I should see to?” He makes a show of looking you over. “Tsk, that lip looks to be hurting, too. C’mere, gorgeous, let me take care of that.”
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moneymartin · 5 months ago
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・❥・- just for you.
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summary: kate takes her anger out on you after a hard loss. (more gentle tho cause she doesn’t have the heart to hurt you 😞😞😞) + lil bit of aftercare at the end ;3
warnings: 18+ ASFUCK! SMUT MDNI! strap on use… lol
RPF!
a/n: ik i been lacking recently but i’ve grown some more motivation to do something since i’m kinda stuck at home. also almost broke my arm yesterday hahah 🥸 also not much dialogue tbh i’ve never been good at that cuz i dont talk to ppl 😭 AND i didn’t know how to end sozzzzzz!!!!
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it was the toughest lost of kate’s college career, especially considering the fact that it was her last year at UOI. the only thing she wanted was to have the championship title, just once. but the team couldn’t do it.
you saw her put all her blood sweat and tears onto that court. the way she tried to make as many shots, as many blocks as she could, and as many fouls as she could draw. the way you watched her cry while she walked into the tunnel absolutely broke you.
when she got home the air between you two grew extremely thick. you couldn’t tell if she was angry or even over it at all. she wasn’t crying, just real quiet. and being the good girlfriend you were, you didn’t bother to push any of her buttons, no matter how much you wanted to just keep her company.
kate would either be sitting on the couch, on her phone, continuously walking around the apartment, sitting in random spots on the floor, in the kitchen. she’d be anywhere and everywhere. all she wanted to do was get her mind off of it, for a little bit.
“are you okay?” you speak amidst the quiet environment that had been lingering for god knows how many hours. you didn’t try to speak either because it felt like she’d just ignore you or give you a nasty look cause she wasn’t feeling so good about it. “i’m fine.” kate murmurs and looks up at you from the clasped hands on her face. the tone she gives you makes it known that she isn’t.
“yeah, right.” a scoff leaves from your lips and the mood changes almost immediately. your eyes dart towards kate and the look that she’s giving you makes it feel like a million daggers are being dug into your back. her face stiffens up and so does your body when you realize that she’s 100% angry.
you know that it isn’t your fault, but now it really feels like it was. “do you think that’s funny or something?” when you hear that, it’s obvious that you’ve fucked up. you can’t muster up anything in response cause you know that it’ll make it worse. not for her, but for you.
but there’s just something about kate that drives you insane when she’s fired up.
“no.” you swallow.
“exactly! don’t fuckin’ go around and laugh about it, if it isn’t funny! are we clear?”
she grunts and lets out a heavy breath when you stand there all quiet and unresponsive. she hates that. its the one thing that makes kate tick the most, other than losing a game that important to her. “answer me.”
you don’t respond. and the look of anger on kate’s face grows much more apparent. “c’mon!” she groans and quickly slides off of the bed. her fingers grip at the collar of your shirt, her rapid breaths brushing harshly against your face.
she tugs your body up against hers and a small whine escapes from in between your lips. kate is giving those eyes that make you shiver all over the place. “y- yes, we’re clear…” you choke out and look away. you can’t stand seeing her angry but its also the fact that it turns you on too.
your voice makes it seem like you aren’t very sincere about saying that though, and that makes her tick even more. kate’s teeth grit together and a sharp breath makes its way through them, her fingers inching closer towards the waistband of your jeans.
“yeah? you sure?” kate teases and starts to unbutton them. her voice deepens and the cold air that meets your now exposed skin makes the shivers feel more like a billion daggers going through your body. her hands cup your waist, a newfound lust taking over the look in kate’s eyes. “doesn’t seem so sincere…” she husks out.
“i mean it! god, you can’t believe me even when i mean it the most.” you sigh and stare at the jeans puddling around your feet. when you bend over to pick them back up and put them on again, kate’s fingers wrap around your sleeve and she pulls you up, drawing a quiet ‘tsk’ sound from your mouth. “just… let me fuck your brains out until i get you to really mean it.”
she tugs you up against her again, her front subtly grinding against yours. and now you can actually feel it. her stupid fucking strap. your eyes dart towards hers momentarily before they inch away. the embarrassment you feel is incredibly strong. you’re wet, and now you can’t even look her in the eyes.
before you even get a chance to speak, kate’s hand falls on the dip of your back and you’re face first into the foot of the mattress. the side of your head presses against it again to get a breather, the sound of kate unzipping her jeans rapidly, and the tip of the strap making contact with your body.
one of her hands grabs both of yours and pins them backwards, the other hand trailing up and down your body and towards the waistband of your panties. in one swift movement, they’re off and on the floor. you have no clue where, but they’re somewhere in that room. as much as you’re trying to resist, you can’t
“c’mon, baby. don’t fight it, please.” kate pleads and leans over your body to bury her face into your neck. her teeth dig into the side of it and you let out a wince, struggling to move your hands while she keeps them in a lock. kate’s breath tickles at your skin while she pulls away, the hand she has on your waist moving away to line herself up with your entrance.
she doesn’t even give you a warning before she slides in. the only thing that makes it known that you’re getting absolutely filled up is the groan kate lets out when she goes in all the way. you let out a huge whimper and eventually start to feel it. “fuck!… oh my god.” you babble and feel kate leaning toward your face again, her breathing hitting your skin, leaving behind dark marks on the base of your neck.
the more you moan and whine into the sheets, the more it fuels her to keep going. she thrusts into you as hard as she can, her hand letting go of the two she’s been holding, and yanks at your hair to pull your head up. “you fuckin’ feel that, baby? that’s all for you.” kate grunts, smashing her lips against yours and pulling your hair again. “just for you..” a hurried ‘mhm’ escapes your lips, your voice left limited.
your whimpers mix into the kiss as you constantly punch at the bed the harder she drives into you. her teeth tug at your bottom lip and your head moves away the more you feel yourself start to sweat uncontrollably. hair sticks to the side of your head and to your forehead, kate gently brushing them out of your face to keep that prolonged eye contact.
“you’re so beautiful, i swear.”
“hmphh—! you’re going too-“
you get cut off the second you feel the turns in your stomach and the blood rush to your face. that familiar feeling burns brightly in your belly and the knot that had been there forever finally becomes undone. you end up finishing, the overwhelming sensation dying down almost instantly.
kate rolls off of you and notices the water buildup in your eyes, her thumbs running across the bottom of them to wipe them away. she lets out a small sigh and scoots a little bit closer to you, eyeing down the hickeys she left on your skin. “i’m sorry, baby.” she whispers softly and cups your face with her palms.
her lips connect onto your neck and she peppers gentle kisses all over each hickey. the contrast from her rough nature to eventually turning into that natural soft, sweet woman you fell in love with the second she sees you like this. “let me fix you a warm bath, okay? for the troubles.” she whispers in between smooches, her hand snaking up your shirt, and her nails dragging softly against your back.
“duh. you know just how i like it.”
“why would i not.” she lets out a scoff and pulls away quickly, a small smile crossing her face when you agree. “was that a scoff?” you mutter and raise your eyebrows. hers do too, and her lips narrow into a straight line. “what about it?”
well, that was the small thing that got you here in the first place.
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yandere-yearnings · 3 months ago
Note
I’m kind of craving some angst, but what would Vio say that would actually be really hurtful and wrong but he wouldn’t realize or care about?
I want to give him the silent treatment for being a little shit
nonnie after my own heart😌💕 i absolutely love writing angst so this got long haha😩💔 though he tries his hardest to be nice to his darling, vio doesn't really have much of a filter so i feel as though there is a lot of oppurtunity for him to hurt their feelings if he isnt careful🤧 i kinda ended up writing more of an aftermath but i imagine he'd say smth along the lines of 'who could ever love someone like you?' at a time where he knows you'd be overwhelmed by the comment and it would ruin your mood. in all honesty tho, vio can shut the fuck up bc ofc you're lovable🥰
The scent of the ocean had never been so unwelcoming to you. Salt tinged on cold air, lapping waves coloured murky green under thin moonlight. The seafoam kissed your fingers, and everything reminded you of him.
Vio was an egotistical bastard, you knew that better than anyone else, you dealt with him every day — had been for all these months. You were sure you had him figured out, everything he was beyond his piercing eyes and snide remarks. It was why you were so frustrated right now, because really, you knew this was who he was, and it shouldn’t have hurt you as much as it did.
Still, who was he to say no one could love you?
You weren’t that bad. It had taken you so long to have the confidence to believe that, something you used to tell yourself emptily time and time again, until you finally managed to accept it. Yet, in just a few words and within seconds, Vio had ruined all your hard work. 
Throwing stones at your glass house, everything was falling apart whilst you sat in the middle watching.
This sombre night that stretched out before you blurred, and you were back to wiping at your face. Cursing again at the incessant sting of tears, wondering why the feeling hadn’t numbed by now. Fingers shaking, knees huddled to your chest, feeling so stupid, all alone. No matter how hard you tried to block it out, it was like those eyes were still on you. Narrowed greens, judging.
Perhaps it was just petty jealousy — Vio himself had said he hated it when you were happy without him, but that didn’t make it any better. Since you’d known him, it was like he had become your whole world and you didn’t have any choice in the matter. He was in your head against your will; the make or break of your career, the give and take of your time, the push and pull of your emotions. You couldn’t escape him. It was driving you insane.
If you didn’t talk to him, if you didn’t even look at him, would it make a difference? Vio was magnetic, he could get the attention you refused to give from anyone else if he really wanted to. You, on the other hand, had no one but him. Skin cold from the unforgiving winds, it was blatant, but you didn't want to acknowledge it.
You’d been sitting on the shore since evening. No one had come to look for you once.
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satoruxx · 1 year ago
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HAUNTING ME TONIGHT.
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✧ PAIRING: gojo satoru x reader | 0.6k words
✧ SUMMARY: this is a coping mechanism for today's jjk leaks so...SPOILERS AHEAD, blood, mentions of death, ANGST, gojo centric, vague af, hints at canon manga events, he goes back and forth between his past and present self, overall confusion bc he doesn't understand what really happened to him, it's bittersweet ig, idk man my emotions are all over the place rn
✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: looks like it's a trend for me to write a gojo drabble every time the leaks fuck me up lmao. somehow after weeks of writer's block i managed to spit this out. here's part 1 from back in june when the neck slice happened. this and part 1 don't connect all that much but it's sorta hinted and i wrote this as a continuation. this can be read alone tho. whatever i'm so fucked up rn i'm gonna go back to crying...
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satoru thinks there's blood in his mouth. he can taste it, metallic and coppery as it fills his pharynx and seeps into his throat.
he tastes it even when his body is free from scars and sunlight warms his skin.
it’s comforting, he thinks, the feeling of carefree youth he hasn’t been able to experience in almost ten years. the grin that's stretching across his face makes him forget the blood.
he’s choosing to focus on them instead. focusing on the faces he hasn’t seen in so long. he’s not really sure what he’s telling them, but satoru has always been good at rambling about things like death.
for a second he feels like a teacher, preaching about dying alone, but then he remembers that he’s probably still a student. young and stupid and carefree.
but for some reason, the expression on suguru’s face makes him feel oddly nostalgic.
satoru likes this. he thinks he’d like to snapshot nanami’s expression. it's strange, but it feels like he hasn’t seen him in a long time.
but that’s ridiculous because he’s still a student. he’d seen nanami in class the morning prior.
something about that is wrong. he can’t quite put his finger on it.
he’s in the middle of annoying principal yaga when he catches sight of you.
you're making a face, one that he’s never seen before. it’s half angry and half wounded, like you’ve never been so hurt in your life. the expression unsettles him, and somehow he knows it’ll haunt his nightmares from now until the end of time.
your features crumble, and satoru notices you’re going in and out of focus, so he tries to blink you back into clarity. it doesn’t work.
briefly he wonders if you’re even real.
you glare at him, eyes shining with tears and every bit of hurt in the world.
“you promised.” you hiss, shoulders drawn high and taut as your body trembles with something he doesn’t quite understand.
promised what, he wants to ask, but he finds that he can’t open his mouth to speak to you.
the taste of blood comes back again, pooling in the back of his throat. metallic and coppery.
you bite down on your lip, hard, before turning away from him.
satoru doesn’t know how to reach out to you because his body is rooted in place. it feels like his brain isn’t connected to the rest of him, neurons firing but muscles not working in coordination.
he inwardly curses.
when he looks back, haibara is grinning at him in a way that reminds him so much of someone else. he briefly thinks haibara would suit pink hair. when he catches nanami’s tired eyes, something in his impassive expression tells satoru that he agrees.
there’s a fleeting silence, and the sound of a clock ticking quietly scratches at his brain. he looks at suguru, who’s smiling at him knowingly, skin clean of any stitches, and satoru decides he should commit the sight to memory.
there’s a restlessness in his stomach now, and he feels his torso burn.
he turns back to look at you, the taste of blood now extremely strong on his tongue as he watches your figure slowly start to fade from existence.
for a second, he smells smoke, unpleasant but oh so familiar. he remembers the sound of medical textbooks turning and the echo of an annoyed first grader’s voice. a few barks of a dog follow.
through the taste of blood, he can smell bedsheets. he can smell overly sweet coffee in the morning. he can smell the shampoo you use.
he closes his eyes, smiling ruefully to himself.
you’re right.
he did promise you after all.
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serxinns · 8 months ago
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Yandere class 1a x mocha bunny reader: Bunnynapped
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Yandere class 1a x mocha bunny reader
It was a nice day for a picnic so you and koda decided to head off on your own picnic basket in hand and blanket whenever you needed a break from all the overwhelming attention from your classmates you always headed to this secret spot to clear your mind and to play and chat with the small animals
You placed your blanket while Kota placed the basket down taking a breath it smelled like freedom you endured the beautiful and quiet nature there was a lake nearby the pond just in case you felt like swimming everything was perfect quiet and peaceful
"I'm gonna go get something to drink and berries at the lake koda!" he nodded "B-be careful tho there are big predator birds that will mistake you as a snack," he said while taking out the food and his favorite book read you nodded and ran off into the "Safe" forest, you made it to the lake glazing how the fish gracefully swam into their destination and the frogs leaping catching the bugs you grabbed your basket and went deeper into the woods until you saw a blueberry and a shiny red raspberry bush you grabbed your basket and started picking them unaware that someone was watching you
A teen with yellow eyes with messy space buns was observing you watching every move that you made like a hawk waiting for it's prey she watched you were were picking berries off the bush and putting them in the basket while also eating some as well "that bunny look so cute! Oh she's gonna be my little pet when I catch her" the blonde carefully sneak up behind herb making sure she wouldn't make a noise when her hands was just hovering away from you She quickly snatched you up and threw you in the sag
You struggled and struggled to try to turn into your human form but it was no use you squealed in discomfort and fear while the girl tried cooing and hushing you like you were some baby "Shhh ahh it's ok! I won't hurt you at all just gonna take you to your new home" you panicked even more when she said that you tried struggling and struggling but it was no use you were trapped hearing crunching of the leaves and dirt the girl happily hummed satisfy with her catch
Kota was getting worried about your long absence you shouldn't be gone for that long he looked around hoping you would come back until a panicked bird flew quickly on Kota's finger chirping in distress and panic kota gently comforted the poor animal by stroking its feathers and body the bird was calmly panicked but calmed down "Now tell me what's the problem" he said quietly and gently the bird chirped a few times and kota was shocked
You were taken...By toga Himiko
He needed to get the others even his teachers
"im back!" toga happily skipped along inside the Bar twice happily waving to her and Dabi completely ignored her focusing on the drink Kurogiri gave him but Shiggy was furious "Toga how many times have I told you about going out, especially in the day WITHOUT A DISGUISE" he said while scratching his neck toga scoffed and paid attention to the bag and giggled "I'll be fine nobody saw me plus I got myself a goodie!" she said shaking a bag a little and out came a squeak everyone's attention turned to her now curious of what she brought
"Woah toga did you bring a living snack nice!" Twice said excitingly reaching to hold the bag but Toga blocked his hand "No it's a.." she reached into the bag and pulled out the helpless creature (aka you) "A bunny!!" she squealed petting the distressed bunny's soft fur until she heard a poof and you turned into your human version now everyone was shocked "I'm not a bunny you phyco im a human! Just with a bunny quirk" you angry said not pleased with the "Suprised adoption"
Everyone was speechless for a second still in shocked while Toga's eyes sparkled brightly "EEEEEEK IT A BUNNY HERO" she tackled you with a hug squeezing you very tight you could barely breath nuzzling her head on your ears
"Well look what we have here..." Shigaraki darkly chuckled slowly walking up to you and circling you while observing the little bunny trapped in the cage but Toga shielded you "No shiggy I want them as a pet!" "A PET?!?" you and everyone else yelled in shock "I don't wanna be some villain pet!" toga completely ignored you kept going "Please take good care I'll feed them wash they'll put them in pretty outfits I promise I won't even get as much blood promise!" she pleaded with shigaraki and Dabi looked at him and chuckled "I mean I pet wouldn't be bad plus once we break them they'll be kinda useful," Dabi said with an evil sly smile shigaraki thought for a second and decided his answer "Fine we'll keep them BUT if they pissed me off and start to cause trouble im killing the rodent" you gulped nervously while toga and twice cheered "I just wanted a nice picnic..."
"Guys! Guys!" Koda ran into the common room trying to catch his breath everyone stared at him in shock and looked to see where their bunny darling was "Kota kun! What happened where's y/n?!" Mina said her voice filled with worry "They were taken by Toga she took them to their lair!" Everyone was in a panic that their precious darling was stolen away from them they were beginning to plan to save them until Aizawa stepped in "Nobodys going nowhere im going to inform the pro heroes it's dangerous to do that anyway" the class tried protesting but Aizawa quickly shut that down immediately and all told them to go to bed upset they were they had to go to bed sad and enraged that they couldn't do anything
During your stay with the LOV wasn't even that bed honestly except for the constant cuddling and her dressing you up into frilly and girly dresses and outfits and putting so many bows and accessories on your hair but you tolerated it you made sure not to say any snarky remarks due to shigarakis warning toga would twirl you around and dance with you while twice joined in doing embarrassing dancing while toga laugh but gave you 2nd hand embarrassment dabi was annoyed like an older brother always picking on their little siblings enough to make them tell their parents teasing you about how your not getting out of here and picking on you pulling on your ears until you squeaked until toga came and comfort you while being scolded by her
Kurogiri Was kind to you whenever you had enough he would always tell Toga, twice and Dabi to back off a bit and make sure you were ok he would give you healthy and actual edible food then just fed carrots and grass all day so he was the most decent out of all of them in your opinion next was Magne was another decent one but was just like toga she was adored about your features always petting your hair she wouldn't try and force you into your bunny form like a toga but whenever she gets the chance she always pets and brushes your fur which you enjoyed it a bit
But all things had to come to an end when an explosion was heard and a large hole filled with pro-heroes police, Aizawa was here as well kurogiri quickly formed a portal for them to go inside everyone went but you struggled out of the togas strong gripped, and fall on the ground she called your name until the portal was closed good riddance, you were questioned by a bunch of police and pros and we're checked to see if you had any injuries or tracking devices they put it felt like hours until they finally let you go
When you got back from the dorms everyone crowded around you cheering for your return There were a bunch of hugs from everyone even Shoto formed a small smile but Bakugo lectured and yelled at you about being reckless and how you should be careful you were gifted with a lot of stuff and the girls invited you to a sleepover you wanted to complain but you were just glad you weren't with the LOV
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thatone-brightstar · 1 year ago
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Paint stained kisses -Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader-
a/n: Everyone say thank you to the sweet @beebslebobs for the idea on this oneshot that was originally just an insta post from my TB & TF universe!
Here's a little sweetness to alleviate the chest pains that chapter 10 may have caused on some of you. It's part of the same story, but it can totally be read separately if you'd like
BUT if you haven't read it and you wanna… here’s the link to that:
The Bear & The Fox -Carmy Berzatto x Fem! Reader-
Word count: 3.4k
Summary: Your and Carmy's day off.
WARNINGS: Smut ahead, oral sex (female receiving), p in v, dirty talk if you squint, reader is on birth control but isn't mentioned (wrap it up IRL tho), minors DNI but you'll do what you want so don't say I didn't warn you.
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“That was the worst french toast I’ve had, like, ever…” You groan, kicking your soaked sneakers to the side as soon as Carmy throws the door open.
“My eggs Benedict were pretty good.” He answers from behind. 
You roll your eyes with your back to him and scoff. “Obviously, sis wouldn’t dare serve you something awful.” You turn to your boyfriend, a mocking smile curled on your lips. “‘Anything else I can get you, chef? I can also offer you something that isn’t on the menu…’ wink, wink.” 
The exaggerated kissing noises you make towards him pull a chuckle from his chest as he combs his fingers through the wet strands of hair. You roll your eyes again and pad to his speaker, soon filling the room with the soft notes of an instrumental song. The warmth of his hands brush over the sides of your waist and rest delicately over your navel as his chest presses to your back, causing the moisture of his sweater to transfer onto yours.
“So, what I understand is you’re jealous someone was hitting on me?” Carmen whispers between soft kisses on the valley of your shoulder.
“No, I’m jealous your food was better than mine-” You answer, swatting his hands away and earning another soft laugh that fills your ears with joy as you walk into his room.
You’ve grown used to the lovely sound, more common the longer you spent by his side, as if the walls he held up were slowly chipping away with your constant presence. You softly hum to the music from his stereo while you rummage through the drawer that holds a few shirts you’ve hauled to his place in the past couple weeks. 
He had emptied it out after finding your things bunched up and wrinkled inside your backpack by the sofa. You found it completely adorable when, in search of a shirt of his to sleep in, instead you found your own clothes - neatly folded in perfect squares- occupying the first drawer in his closet. He didn’t mention it and neither did you. Knowing Carmy and his silent acts of love, mentioning it would only shy him back into his shell and the progress you had made over the months of going out was something you weren’t willing to lose.
You pull out a blue washed out ‘The Original Beef of Chicagoland’ shirt that still smells like his body wash and pull it over your chest, then a pair of shorts and some socks to pad around his cold floor while taking out your supplies from the waisted tote bag inside your backpack. You only have a month or two until the showing and even though it might seem like enough time, to you it wasn’t. Every time you tried to concentrate on an idea for your set, your mind would go blank, thoughtless and frustratingly empty. You could blame it on the prospect of a deadline, maybe painter’s block, but you knew it was more than that.
You’ve used painting as an outlet all your life. Most of your favorite works came from a place of hurt, anger and most times sadness. But now they had all been shoved into a corner and replaced by a sense of calm and overall happiness and while you’re glad most of the dark thoughts have left, now it was harder to conjure up any idea that seemed good enough to be presented in front of hundreds of people.
You rub your face in frustration and pull your hair out of your eyes into a bun, then drop criss-crossed by the window of Carmy’s room, acrylics, brushes and sketchbooks flooding the floor. The gentle lull of the chords mix with the shuffling from the kitchen and a smile forms on your face as the source of your lack of inspiration walks into the room, shirtless and cradling a bowl of diced fruit in his hand.
“Here.” Carmy mumbles softly, passing the bowl to you and leaning down to place a gentle kiss over your hair.
You take it, mumbling a quiet ‘Thanks’ through your smile and pop a piece of the tangy peach in your mouth before setting it on his nightstand.
“How’s the brainstorming coming along?” He takes a seat in front of you, back leaning against his bed and lighting a cigarette.
Without answering, you stretch your arm to him, sketchbook in hand and stare mesmerized as he flips through the pages, lit tube dangling from rosy lips. You keep taking bites off the savory fruit to avoid biting your lip instead because the view in front of you is just that fucking good. Baby blues flicker towards you without bothering to lift his head and the way your legs twitch trying to close has a smirk forming over the cig.
“What?” You say defensively.
“Nothin’.” He accentuates with a raise of his brows. “What’s wrong with these?” He asks, giving you the book back turned to a page harboring a few sketches of the sea, shore and shells.
“They’re not good enough…” You admit, tracing your finger over the print his thumb left when it smudged the charcoal. “They don’t make me feel anything- art’s supposed to make you feel something. How can I call myself an artist if it doesn’t stir anything in me!?”
“Hey-” He puts out the smoke on the ashtray over his night stand and scoots to you, making a space for you between his arms. The heat of his naked chest and compression of his arms do wonders to dull out the rising pounding inside. “You’re overthinking it. Maybe take some time off… what do you do when you’re frustrated?”
“...paint.”
Carmy gives you a small snort, genuine and lighthearted, that blows a few wild strands of hair and has you looking up to his glowing face with a tiny grin. You suck the corner of your lip in concentration, the angle in which he has you cradled can only be described as holy. Strong jaw and nose angle perfectly into your line of vision and you have to refrain yourself from kissing the soft tip of it multiple times.
“How ‘bout you make one of those abstract paintings? Let the brush guide you- or whatever-”
“I could paint you…” The words escape your lips the second they materialize in your head.
He pulls his head back slightly, brows drawn up in confusion. “What, like one of your french girls?” 
“No!” You manage to answer through a fit of giggles that you’d be ashamed to let out if you hadn’t gotten so comfortable with him already. “Paint on you, as in over you.”
You strain your neck up to catch his lips in yours, the stubble that covers his chin scratching over your tender skin. He smiles into the kiss, very well feeling your intentions of trying to distract him with what you know he likes the most: you.
“It’ll help…” Sultry breath fans his lips and clouds his thoughts with the taste of peaches, fresh and sweet. “Yeah?”
Carmy can only nod, still hooked on the taste of your lips and the stretch of your smile when you get your way. He groans when you pull away, goosebumps rising over the exposed flesh of his chest as you move to take his pillow and sheet from the bed and place it over the ground, beside his legs. He sighs, but obliges anyway, unhooking his stiff thighs and laying belly flat over the hard ground.
“Can’t we do this on the bed?” He speaks over the soft material of the silk pillow sheets you had bought solely for him.
“I don’t wanna get paint on the bed.” You shrug. “Don’t move, it’s gonna tickle a bit…”
The first stroke of the brush gives him chills as the cold paint glides over uncharted territory. He finds it strange, but not uncomfortable and once he gets used to it, it even feels calming. Your soft hums to the tune of the music, the rain pattering outside and the rhythmic strokes have him slowly lulling away into an almost relaxed state, at least what he considered relaxation. 
You smile gently down at his long and slow breaths, tracing with your brush over the small beauty marks that map his pearly skin like constellations on an explorer’s map. While one hand holds the brush, you use the pads of your fingers to press down gently over the strained muscles that don’t seem all that relaxed, pulling a groan or two every so often and enjoying all the little sounds he makes.
You spend the time just admiring him. The way his shoulder blades flex when he wraps his arms under the pillow, to the two very pretty dimples that peek just above the waistband of his sweatpants. 
“You’re not doin’ much painting…” He mumbles, voice thick and groggy from sleep, while your nails rake rhythmically along his ribs.
“I got distracted…” You bite your lip and pull your phone from under the brushes to snap a picture of your wonderful view, then you lean down and place a sultry kiss where his shoulder blades meet.
“Fox…” He warns through your kisses, the pet name sounding at home between rosy soft lips.
“Bear…” You tease back with a smile, you knowing how much he liked you calling  him that.
In a second, you sink down your teeth over the plush skin and he visibly shudders under you. You barely hear him mumble something to himself, before he’s turning to his side and using one strong arm to pull you down to him. Your vision spins and a squeal comes out, only to be shoved back into your throat with the force of his kiss. You’re caged between his arms, torso pressing you to the ground and mouth roaming wet and mercilessly over your own. 
The few seconds of air you fill your lungs with when he separates to pull the thin shirt over your head can only do so much to alleviate the burning in your core caused by his strong stare. You raise to your forearms and his lips latch immediately to your exposed collarbone, starving and pleased with every whimper he pulls from you. 
“You wanna play chef, let’s play-“ He teases and without wasting time, pushes himself off you into a seating position, thighs spread out just enough for you to sit over them after pulling you to him again.
His enthusiasm is evident in the growing bulge that begins to rub on the inside of your thighs and with the help of your toes on the floor, you rock your hips forward enough to feel his fingers twitch over your waist, digging deeper into the flesh. A soft and shaky moan caresses your lips, motivating your movements as your fingers scrape up his neck and get lost in the messy strands. 
His smile stretches over your joined lips. “Anything for you… chef.”
You can feel his Adam’s apple bob with a chuckle as you kiss down his neck, sucking and nibbling hard just under a thin tan line where you assumed his shirt would cover it up, hopefully. His hips jerk upwards with strength, ripping a gasp from your chest, then another squeal when he wraps a secure arm around your waist and hoists you up and off the floor. Your knees squeeze over his hips and your arms wrap around his shoulders in surprise only for a moment, before feeling the soft sheets and the mattress underneath.
Carmy’s lips brush down the exposed skin of your chest, his wet tongue lapping over the hardened nipple of each breast has your knees separating and making room to fit his hips perfectly. He lets go of your tender skin too soon, peppering saliva stained kisses down the middle of your abdomen. As his knees fall to the ground, dexterous fingers pull at the hem of your shorts in a torturously slow fashion, making you lift your upper body on your elbows and direct an impatient glare. Your hair has fallen off its bun somewhere between the floor and the bed, glowing like a dark halo with the few rays of sunshine filtering through the open window and it’s gripping at Carmy’s chest.
“Baby, please…” You moan eager and annoyed, trying to shimmy your hips to quicken the process.
The cold air hits the bare flesh of your cunt and ignites goosebumps that Carmy kisses away as he finishes sliding the fabric over your feet.
“Fuck, so wet already. Just for me, huh?” He mumbles to himself, breath blowing over the exposed skin and causing a jolt of need to travel deep inside.
You swallow down the thick pool of saliva that drowns your mouth at the sight of his beautiful face between your legs. “Bear, please I need you to-” The phrase is cut short by your gasp.
Long digits rub tauntingly over your slit, coating in the arousal caused only by him. He’s too eager to continue teasing you, too entranced with the way your pussy glistens with the bare idea of him that all he can do is look up at you through his brows and lap at the wetness with a firm tongue. With just the first taste of you, he’s hooked, like a starving man afraid they’ll take away his only source of life. 
Your groan throws your head back with force and makes your eyes lose focus. Strong hands grip at your hips, rooting you to the mattress while your feet fall over his shoulders. Your hands try to find anything to hold on to- hair, sheets, pillow and even your own thighs- but the constant assault of his skillful mouth makes your fingers lose their grip on anything in your reach.
“Fuck baby-you’re doing so, so good-” Your praise makes his cock twitch inside his pants and he uses one of his hands to frantically pull the waistband down, stroking himself with a similar speed to his mouth.
Whimpers cascade from your lips and pool over your chest with every slurp and lick that echoes in the small room. You force your blurry eyes to focus down, only to be met by piercing black and a thin ring of deep blue staring up at you. His hand spreads over the sweet spot where your thigh meets your hip bone, digits concave the flesh in a way that reminds you of the ancient marble sculptures. There’s a predatory air about the way his jaw tenses in concentration while eating you out, hard muscle digging deep into you and curving your back off the sheets. 
Your nails dig into his scalp with every stroke of his tongue and the scorching sensation crawling over your thighs only grows with the bump of his nose over your swollen clit. A hard yelp scratches its way out through your exhausted lungs, motivating him to speed up his movements and add a finger into your dripping cunt. His groans and moans vibrate into your overstimulated area, causing the orgasm to hit you out of nowhere.
A chorus of ‘fuck’s that vary in volume ring inside Carmy’s ears -along with the pulsing walls compressing his finger and tongue- but he refuses to budge. Instead he continues to rub your clit with the bridge of his nose until your breaths have settled long enough for moans to turn into words and not the unintelligible mumbling that makes his chest swell with pride. He pulls his own hand from around his cock afraid he’ll burst before his favorite part, distracting himself by placing gentle kisses over your spasming thighs and rubbing along the lengths of them as he crawls over you.
There’s a blissful smile over your face that only grows with the sweet pecks of his lips making their way up your skin. You open your eyes when the mattress dips under his weight beside you and you prop your head up on your elbow, mimicking his stance. Your eyes are glossy with post-orgasm bliss as your hand lifts to his face and your middle finger traces over the prominent line of the nose you love so much. His skin is smooth with your slick and you can’t help but pull your finger back and pop the tip into your mouth, never losing his stare. 
His neck loses grip of his head, messy curls falling in frustration because, how is it that the smallest thing you do can rile him up so fucking quickly? A death between your legs, he thought, would be the happiest demise.
With the thought present in mind, he circles your waist tightly and drags your body over his into a seating position. You throw your leg over his parted ones in sweet anticipation, knees hovering over the sheets while your arms fall on his shoulders and you pull him up to your mouth. The taste of peaches and tobacco mixing with your arousal have you panting and grinding your folds over the firm head of his cock.
“You want me to fuck you?” He whispers in between kisses, using all his strength to not slam into you already. He just loved to hear you say it, have your pretty lips pout around the word that had been used to taunt him for so long, needy for you to give it another meaning. "I gotta hear it, baby, c'mon-"
“Fuck yes, chef- please fuck me-” Your thighs quiver with want, mouth completely disconnected from your brain as the words tumble down. “Please, chef? Pretty, pretty please?” 
His eyes grow soft and his dick hard at the way you whine your words, hips rocking along his length leaving him delirious and pussy-drunk before he’s even inside you. Carmy plants a firm hand at the base of your spine, using it to guide you down his stiff cock until the last bit of air is pushed out your lungs.
“Fuck-” You groan, throwing your head back then letting it fall over his shoulder as he lifts you up and lets you drop over and over again.
Your hands dig at his back, clawing over undried paint you’ve forgotten is there and smearing careless streaks of blue and pink over his chest. The beautiful sound of smacking skin and his breathy moans growing louder around you go straight to your core, igniting the tingling sensation that runs up and down your thighs once again.
His eyes can’t seem to look away from your face, too bewitched by the way your lips hang parted and the fine layer of sweat covering your skin. While his hand rounds your body and runs circles over your nub, his teeth latch onto the breasts bouncing in his line of vision, pretty bruises flourish and decorate the skin with his own personal mark.
“Bear- baby- fuck-” Fragments of a sentence is all you’re able to utter, pushed out and punctuated by the snap of his hips increasing in speed.
You feel every one of his thrusts too deeply inside you from that angle, along with the constant nibbling over your tender breast and you think you might just go mad from the overstimulation. You roll your hips along with his when the tension in your navel begins to grow. One hand circles his neck and buries inside sweaty locks while the other tries to grip onto the wall for any sense of stability. Your legs tremble, the tension builds and without warning, your grip on his cock pulls the air from his lungs as he feels you spasm around him and come with a gutural gasp.
Carmy digs into the skin of your hips lifting you up for a few more thrusts before the tightness of your walls grows too much. His neck flushes red with the force of his release, the groan vibrating next to your ear makes the thin hairs on your body rise with chills.
The drained energy finally catches up to you both and Carmy lets gravity pull him down to the comfort of the soft bed, holding you tight in his arms and pulling you down with him. You’re too blissed out to warn him about the paint still fresh, now pressing over the white sheets disparaging the bed.
It’s only when he turns to carefully place you beside him- arms secure around you- that you open your eyes and notice the array of smeared paint covering both your chests and around his neck. The laughs rippling from your chest are too contagious for Carmy to stay quiet, joining on once he gets a view of himself and the lilac prints around your face that match with the size of his thumbs.
“See?” He whispers once you’ve both run out of laughter, sapphire eyes dancing around your glowing face and hand traveling up to caress your cheek. “I was right about the abstract painting…”
"Yeah..." You grin back. "And so much for not wanting to get paint on the bed..."
**********
Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha, @yum-yahgurt, @pussy-f41ry and that’s it lmao
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bookishdreamer28 · 10 months ago
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Tom Blyth is a total babe and has my heart and his character in Billy the kid has me weak on the knees
Btw I'll definitely write more Billy fics so I hope you'll enjoy reading this one ❣
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You felt your body responding to his intense stare again. You found yourself burning with desire for the man with the beautiful ocean eyes across the room, for the 5th time this month. He was an occasional costumer but you never had the chance to have a proper conversation with him because of all these drunken people blocking your way or your boss making you taking orders from other tables. He never once threw a dirty look at you, neither he made you feel uneasy and uncomfortable in any way just like brainless rats did. And you liked that. You liked him.
When you served a costumer his bear, your eyes went immediately on him. He gave a small smile and waved at you. This small interaction increased your heart's rate and you returned the smile with one of your own. You tried to preoccupy yourself by cleaning the counter but all you could think about was him. The man who already had your heart in his hands.
After contemplating for about half an hour on what to do, you picked up the courage and made your way to his table. His eyes never left you. Seeing you approaching him made him nervous. Unable to make a single move.
"Would you like me to bring you something else?" You asked giving him a sweet smile.
"Uh n-no thank you" his hand traveled up to his hair, pushing a few locks out of the way. You suddenly felt your mouth dry. You licked your lips and you caught his eyes following the movement.
"I'm Y/N" you reached your hand out for a shake. He gently grabbed your hand and said
"I'm William but most people call me Billy. The choice is yours sweetheart" he lowered your hand to his mouth and placed a soft kiss there. Your cheeks were burning and you were sure that you looked like you had fever.
You were ready to say something but a drunk guy placed his arm around your shoulder. Your body tensed and Billy's eyes darkened.
"Why don't We get this kind of treatment huh?" His breath was stinking liquor and you wanted to punch the shit out of him which you were ready to do so, but Billy caught you. His punch surely broke thos guy's jaw and it sent him straight to the floor. He then picked him up by his colar and slammed him to the wall.
"If you even dare do as much as look in her direction, I will end you, get it? Don't you DARE put your filthy hands on her again" He growled and then threw him on the floor again. The guy didn't had the guts to say anything to Billy. And all the other men in the bar knew that it would be best if the mind their own business instead of get themselves involved in this.
Billy turned to you and gently touched your shoulders.
"Let's get out of here"
"But I can't just le-"
"As long as you're with me no one is going to hurt you. There's no way I'm leaving you here but if you want to stay, I'll stay too" his words warmed your heart.
"Lead the way cowboy" you smirked and grabbed his hand. He smiled widely and walked the to exit. Once you were outside you started laughing at how wonderful it all felt with him. He couldn't help but watch you closely. Your smile, your bright eyes, your hair flowing in the breeze. You were all he's thinking about and now he finally has the chance to be with you. Just the two of you.
You looked at your intertwined fingers and your stomach filled with butterflies again . But then your eyes widened when you realized that you were still holding hands.
Billy noticed your expression and was ready to pull his hand away but you held it tight.
"I'm ok with this...that is as long as you're ok with it too" and for once agaim you felt your face burning.
"I'm more than ok sweetheart" he smiled.
"Oh thank you souch for earlier I didn't expe-"
"I will never let anyone touch you again like this. I know you think that I didn't have to interfere but it made my blood boil seeing in distress" he stopped walking and turned his body to you.
His eyes were so beautiful under the moonlight. The soft touch of his fingertips on your cheek is what shook me out of my thoughts. Your breath quickened.
"I...where is your home exactly? I don't want you to walk on your all alone now" he cleared his throat, moving his hand from your face, looking anywhere else but you.
"Oh we're almost there-...Um actually, I don't want to go home right now" you stopped him from moving.
"Ok that's great then, cause I didn't want you to go either" he said and you stared at each other.
"Great" you whispered and moved closer to him.
"Great" he moved closer too.
His hands cupped your face slowly and his thumbs were caressing your skin softly.
"Can I please, please kiss you? Cause I've been dying to do this for whole month now and I can't wait longer" your legs felt like jelly and you had no idea how you managed to stand still.
You nodded eagerly and closed your eyes the moment he started leaning in. He kissed you tenderly and pulled back to see your reaction, only for you to crash your lips against his passionately. You felt Billy's hand slide into your hair and his other kept your body close to his. The kiss held such intensity and emotion, that made you both breathless once you pulled away.
"I'm at your mercy woman" he whispered against my lips and and I smiled, grabbing his collar to kiss him more
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Thank you for reading 😚 love you all
all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, repost, translate, or claim my content as yours.
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bravo4iscool · 5 months ago
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(not proof-read!)
My father never talked a lot
He just took a walk around the block
'Til all his anger took a hold of him
And then he'd hit
simon flexed his fingers, his knee bouncing up and down. he needed to calm down, he wanted to calm down. he thought about leaving the house for a few moments to not run into your or the kids but he quickly crossed this off his list.
no, he would stay here and work through his anger instead of fleeting it. he would actually try to solve it before finding his escape at the shooting range.
he wasn’t like his old man. he would never be.
My mother never cried a lot
She took the punches, but she never fought
'Til she said, "I'm leaving, and I'll take the kids"
So she did
simon didn’t like to see you cry. no matter if he was the reason or not. he despised it. seeing tears streaming down your face made him feel like his world was falling apart; because it was. you were his world. you and your kids.
and never in a million years simon would lay his hands on you or your kids. he would rather shoot himself.
sometimes—when it seemed like he couldn’t calm himself down—he thought about what would happen if you would walk away from him. it made him realize what he would lose if he wouldn’t be able to keep himself in check.
seeing you walk away from him—with the kids—in front of his inner eye gave him a certain calmness. it made him still and think about why he was angry and if it really was necessary that he was angry.
Scattered 'cross my family line
God, I have my father's eyes
But my sister's when I cry I can run, but
I can't hide
From my family line
simon didn’t know how many mirrors have suffered the force of his fist already. sometimes it was at night when his tried self was looking back at him through the mirror, sometimes it was during the day when the anger took a hold on him and he thought his father was staring at him, mocking him.
when ever he looked at the mirror too long he saw his reflection shifting into a picture of the bastard who had the audacity to call himself his dad. and simon would grip the sink, of even afraid of breaking it with the force of his grip.
and in moments—when you weren’t able to get him in time—his fist would collide with the mirror. but when he looked at the scattered pieces on the floor, he didn’t see his father anymore. no. he saw him. he saw tommy.
afterwards he would sit in silence as you whisper soothing words while patching up his hands with careful, loving and gentle hands.
“you’re not him,” you would tell him, before you kiss his forehead and keep him close.
It's hard to put it into words
How the holidays will always hurt
I watch the fathers with their little girls
And wonder what I did to deserve this
How could you hurt a little kid?
I can't forget, I can't forgive you
'Cause now I'm scared that everyone I love will leave me
when simon held his first child in his arms he was afraid. he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to live up to the role as a father. he was afraid he would fail. not only his child but also you.
he could still remember the days he spend crying in the backyard as a kid because it seemed like everyone had a loving father but him. everyone’s life was good and fun except his.
he would watch his friends play with their parents from afar and he would pray and beg that his father would change, even tho he knew he never would.
simon never understood why he needed to take blow after blow, punch after punch, burn after burn but he did. he never understood why his father didn’t love him. he never understood how anyone could love him.
because his mother loved him and she left. tommy loved him and he left. tommy’s wife loved him and she left.
everyone who ever loved him left.
except you. you had stayed. you didn’t go anywhere. and he was keen on keeping it that way.
Oh, all that I did to try to undo it
All of my pain and all your excuses
I was a kid but I wasn't clueless
(Someone who loves you wouldn't do this)
All of my past, I tried to erase it
But now I see, would I even change it?
Might share a face and share a last name, but
(We are not the same)
simon went to therapy. he tried at least. he never lasted more than two sessions, maybe three. he felt like it didn’t help him. he felt like he was shutting himself down even more after ach session.
every therapist had tried to work through what his father did and why he did it but nobody understood that simon knew why his father did what he did. no one understood that simon was aware of what his father did.
he tried to erase it, tried to forget about it but he couldn’t. it was chasing him down, finding every single hideout he so carefully constructed for himself. he couldn’t escape who he was and what he’s been through.
but you, you didn’t care about that. you didn’t care about who he was and what had happened to him. you loved him for who he was now and what he was doing now. and you made sure to tell him that.
“you might be a riley but a name doesn’t carry what you might think it does.” that’s what you told him when he finally opened up about his fears about ending up like his father. “you carry your fathers dna, yes but you also carry your mothers and your mother was a lovely woman from what you told me.”
you would pull him into your arms while sitting on the couch, your hand gently playing with his hair. “you decide who you are and who you want to be. not your name and not your dna. you won’t be like your father if you don’t want to be like him. and i know you don’t.”
simon cried whenever you told him that. he would cry into your chest, seeking all the comfort he could. “you share the same name but you’re not the same,” you whisperd into his ear as you pulled him closer to you, your arms tightening around him.
(masterlist | join my tag list!)
tag list - @bumblebeesfromvenus @yazt09 @blackhawkfanatic
REQUESTS/ASKS OPEN!!!
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selfloverrrrrr · 7 months ago
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Can you pls do noritoshi kamo non-conning reader? Pretty please 🥺❓️🎀
Ofcourse...and sorry if I'm late 🙂...
Please keep giving me requests like these... I'll do whatever you want me to write 💗💗💗
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You want her?... that's bad!
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Warning: smut, heavy smut, noncon, unprotected sex, age gap, drugging, beating, kidnapping.....
( All characters are aged up/18+)
Masterlist
Minors Do Not Interact
Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report
I was new in jujutsu high. Just admitted there. I was in the first year. I was in grade 4. I couldn't use my own cursed energy so the higher ups told me that Gojo Satoru is going to help to learn my cursed technique.
So I learnt that there's two jujutsu high school. One in Tokyo and one in Kyoto. I'm in the Tokyo one. So there's a sister event helding between this two school. we all participated in this event but that event was ruined because of a special grade course's sudden attack.
So the baseball match day came. After the match I was going towards my friends when Mai called me. I looked at her she tell me to come to her so I did. She and momo took me to their room.
"yes? What do you want me to do?" I asked. "Momo???...Take off her clothes" Mai said . "W-what?" I spoke. "U just shut the fuck up!" Mai said. While momo was coming towards me I tried to run towards the door but mai grabbed my hair and slapped my face. "Did I told you to go???" Mai said. Before I could reply they took off my clothes. I was just in my bra and pantie.
Mai started dragging me somewhere. I was screaming to stop her. She finally stopped infront of a room. She knocked on the door. A guy opened the door. I looked at him. Noritoshi Kamo. The student of jujutsu high kyoto. He looked at me then looked at Mai. "She's the one.... The guy u hate from Tokyo school... Megumi Fushiguro... She's his crush" Mai said. Kamo look at me again... this time smirking. "Oh?... So it's her?" He said. Mai smirked and threw me towards him and he grabbed me. "No need to thank me ~" Mai said and walk away. Kamo took me inside and locked the door.
"ohkeyyyy thennnn~" he cooed while turning around and grabbed my hair and dragged me towards his bed. I groaned in pain. He threw me on his bed and locked the door. Took off his shirt and threw it on the floor then started crawling towards me on the bed."p-please don't hurt me" I said and tried to push myself backwards but he grabbed my leg and pulled me towards him. I gasped. He was still smirking"hurt?.... don't know about that....well so tell me....did that bitch fucked you yet???" he asked. "W-who?" I asked. "MEGUMI FUSHIGURO " He said. "We're just friends....there's nothing between us... believe me!" I said. "Oh...so he didn't even proposed to you yet?...that doesn't matter tho" whispered and crashed his lips on mine.
I tried to push him away but his grip was too strong. I can't even move myself. He was kissing me too roughly. I couldn't breathe. He took off my bra. My boobs bounced out. He looked at those with lust in his eyes and didn't waste any time, crashed his mouth on my breast licking, sucking and teasing the nipple and squeezing the other one with his hand. I moaned in the sensetion. I grabbed his hair and tried to stop him by pulling it but it didn't even effect on him. "P-please stopppp" I scremed but he didn't stop.
Then he took off my pantie and he looked at my pussy. He rubbed his finger on my clit and whispered "can't wait huh?... slut". Then he licked my pussy. I couldn't help but moan loudly. He smirked at my reaction and undo his pant.
His dick sprang out. It was too big and too thick. Fear grabbed me by my neck. " no no no... P-please no... s-stop" I begged but didn't even listen to me and slammed his whole dick inside me in one slide. I scremed. He didn't even give me time to adjust his size and started thursting in and out roughly. I was throughig my legs with pain and begging him to stop. And he was liking it so much. His thurst became harder and harder. "Please someone help me!!! Megumi!!!??? Yuji!!!??? Nobara!!!??? Gojo sensei!!!! Someone please come here!!!!" I cried loudly. "No fucking one is going to come here, slut " he said coldly. I clenched around him tightly and he moaned loudly " ughhhhhh....ahhh s-so...ahhhh....so f-fucking tight " he started rubbing my clit with his thumb and I bite his shoulder scratched his back to control myself. With a few more thurst I came. He was still thursting roughly. I felt his cock pulsing inside me. I tried to push him away with all of my strength." Ughh...no no no no...ahhhhhh...no please no....ahhhhhh..... n-not ahhhh.....not inside..." I moaned. He grabbed my throat and chocked me down to the bed. " Shhh.... shut the fuck up!!!! " He screamed. Within a minute he came inside me I could feel his seed inside me. He pulled out. My vision blurred out.
" now wanna see that fucker Megumi's reaction when he see you and get to know that I used his precious thing as my toy~" He whispered in my ear.
Hope you liked it 💖
Give me your requests....
I love when you give me your requests 💗
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greetings-humans · 6 months ago
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suo hayato - martial arts rant
(minor plot spoilers for up until episode 4/chapter 8)
(all the stuff here also otherwise spoil suo's fighting style which you first see at ep 5/ch11-12)
now do you see this? (from ep 5)
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and this (chapter 12)
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so I have some experience in martial arts, like im a black belt in zendo ryuu karate do (a decently niche style of karate and like I also did a bit of jiu-jitsu, tho no competitions for any of these) but anyways this feels wrong.
now I don't claim to know all there is about martial arts but um. given the power behind even the weakest of punches (and kanumo (the opponent) survived shishitouren during its extremist phase so he can't be that weak), putting your hand in front of an incoming fist is a recipe for disaster and so much pain. the same can be said for attempting to... grab (??) the fist from above with your palm and your extended fingers, like you can see in the panel.
my poor, abused, tendinitis-ridden arms feel the pain for you, suo, please stop it.
we know from the manga, that suo isn't one of the people with "monster strength" (and those people also shouldn't be doing moves like this but I'll assume that monster strength also comes with insane muscle support on their arms/forearms/hands and they're also not trained in martial arts so whatever. let them make their mistakes since it doesn't hurt them that much) because suo is never described as having "monster strength" so him doing this is just off.
but, dee, you might say, this is a fucking manga/anime about teenage gangsters were you expecting realism??
as of episode 5 / chapter 12 (?), suo has confirmed that he's dabbled in mixed martial arts. you cant have him making these sort of mistakes for the shits and giggles.
and these feel like a decently basic mistakes, too. i asked my brother his opinion on this as a blue-belt in karate and he agrees with me that suo is off here. i asked my bsf (who has like a yellow belt in taekwondo but hasn't practiced martial arts in like nearly a decade) on an opinion on people using their palm to block an incoming punch and he thought that's weird. I asked google and even fucking wikihow disagrees with the palm thing.
like. use your opponent's momentum against themselves yes. but also.
nowhere is there a mention of stopping the momentum with your palm. your fucking palm??? hello??? or stopping the momentum by grabbing the fist like that?? who grabs a fist from above😭😭 suo look at your goddamn wrist. joints are scared of you.
out of the top of my head, suo is in danger of breaking his fingers or spraining/breaking his wrist or fucking up his elbow, or some funky combination thereof. and he's also definitely getting in some sort of trouble with his tendon. but c'est la vie, ig.
and btw. he has pulled this off correctly a few times in the manga.
chapter 11
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in the bottom right corner you see him deflecting properly and safely. and then rushing ahead to get out of Kanuma's range (wouldn't want a falling Kanuma to grab him on his way down lol). no clue what his left hand is doing tho. even if he was attempting to assume a ready stance. what the hell is his elbow doing that high? and why is his palm open and looking away from him? fuck if I know, this doesn't look like karate but there are like thousands of schools of karate with different variations so who knows. it's vaguely giving king fu or jiu jitsu but take this with a grain of salt.
or this from chapter 68. also correct technique. don't come at me for spoilers btw, I've literally given you zero context.
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tho to be fair, I'm a little confused as to the angle that he's hand is at? like it seems like his torso is in front of the punch (which vaguely makes sense because the other guy can presumably aim towards center mass aka torso), but like suo should already be moving his torso away so his arm shouldn't be reaching out from that angle. whatever. I'll forgive this. it's super minor.
10/10 for just grabbing the damn wrist instead of what he was doing before.
tho once again to be fair, I'm also a little confused about what his free hand is doing but whatever. and how did the other guy lose his balance? idk suo tagged at his punching arm hard ig. and giving the "whap" sfx then he might have somehow hit the other dude's leg? certainly not with his free hand cause given his stance, he's still not low enough to hit the foot or shin of the other guy (which is what the panel insinuates). unless he ducked? like crouched down while holding the dude's wrist and used his free hand to 'whap'? or maybe suo used his front leg? idk. whatever. still better than before.
nii satoru (the mangaka) so far seems great, because windbreaker has a nice plot and a fun, diverse cast of rather realistic teenagers (given the plot). he does seem to have a weakness when it comes to official martial arts styles, though, and that transferred towards the animation, as well.
hey wbk fandom give me your thoughts. idk if there are more ppl into wbk that also dabble(d) in martial arts but I'd love to hear your thoughts, especially!
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c0llisiion · 1 year ago
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BEYOND BOUNDARIES PT.2 - k.th
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♡pairing : kim Taehyung x f!reader
♡: dom!kth , sub!reader , smut, unprotected sex (practice safe sex!) , teasing , cheating reader and kth , name calling ( slut, bitch ) slight fluff(?) at the end , not proof read - lmk if i missed any <3
W/c : 939
A/n: this took longer than I expected even though it’s pretty small. Went through a slight block nd im not rlly that proud of it huhu! Hope its up to par:))
Pt.1
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ MDNI. Please refrain from reading if the topics make you uncomfortable. ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
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Your phone rang. Eyes open wide in shock and not knowing what to do. Your Heart was beating at an inhumane rate, scared of what’s to come. Taehyung stopped before looking over at the bright screen. Your boyfriend’s name in big bold letters was displayed on the screen. He pulled out of you before picking up the phone from the ground. “Heh.. he must be worried.” He said as he brought your phone closer to your Vision. “Taehyung. Do not pick-“ “woops!” .
“Yn? You there,love?.” Using all your strength you picked yourself up. The phone right in front of you, your hands on either side. You heard your boyfriend’s voice call out again. “Hellloooo? Is everything alright?” As you were about to respond, taehyung slid inside of you once again. A smug smile was on his face. A soft whine left your lips as you feel him fill you up. A very audible whine. Your boyfriend called out once again. “Yn? Where the hell are you and what are you doing?” He sounded stern. “Huh? What? Sorry! I was just doing something and um..” you trail off thinking of a believable excuse. “I was just um…” Taehyung thrusted in. “Ah..! i was doing something and i kinda messed it up ahahahaha!” It came out like word vomit and you were sure your boyfriend wont believe it. “Oh? Okay good good … where are you tho?” He believed it. You were more than relieved. Taehyung leaned in closer to your ears before whispering “good girl..” his long fingers found your overstimulated clit and started toying with it. Your hand desperately was trying to push his hand away to avoid any grunts or sighs from leaving your mouth. But he was stronger and bigger. The struggle was useless. “Im um… hhh- in clari-nghh… Clarissa’s place.” You blurted out. You feel taehyung slowly moving in and out. His pace increasing. “Oh okay okay, when will you be back?” Taehyung once again leaned in. “Tell him you are gonna stay over at ‘clarissas’ place, alright?” His other hand wrapping around your neck pulling you closer to his mouth. You nod as he presses into your neck. “I might stay- Fuck!” Taehyung thrusted in you with force which made you curse out loud. “Yn???? Is everything okay????” Your boyfriend asks sounding very concerned. “Yes yes… I just um… dropped an equipment.. yeah! I just dropped this huge equipment on my feet! Haha…” i turn my head to face taehyung who had a stupid smirk on his face acting like nothing happened. “Oh well.. be careful okay? Does it hurt?” Taehyung was starting to grow impatient. “How long is this fucker gonna take?” He mumbled under his breath. You glare at him before responding. “No no! Im fine… hey listen i gotta go and just finish this off. ‘clarissa’ is being a huge bitch rn because im talking to you…” i glare at him again. “…I might stay over at hers because we might take time in completing so dont wait up. Sleepwell. I will see you in the morning okay?” Your boyfriend hummed in response. “You too. Dont overwork yourself. I love you.” “I love you to-“ taehyung reached over and cut the call before throwing your phone away.
“Taehyung what the fuc-“ he shut you up by plunging into you with no mercy. His hands went back to your neck pulling you back a bit. You felt the knot in your stomach form again as he drilled into your pussy. “Im gonna fill you up yeah? Gonna fill you up with all- hhh.. my cum, ya heard that slut? Yeah?” He sounded angry. Tears dripping down your face as you nod at his every word. “Speak up bitch. Tell me. Tell me you want me to fill you up so you can walk around with my cum dripping out of your pussy. Not his. But mine.” His thrusts were getting more harsher. He was jealous. “Yes…yes! Please I want to be filled with your cum only! Just you! I want it to be always inside me! Please…nghh- taehyung!” You cried out. Chanting his name in between loud pornographic moans. You hear him chuckle behind you. His grip on your neck loosens and you fall face down onto his pillow. thrusts got more sloppier and loud grunts were leaving his mouth. “Im gonna cum in you doll… gonna fill you up- fuckkkkkk… im gonna-“, you screamed out as you finally let go. Squirting down on his sheets and some hitting his abdomen and thighs. You clenched onto his dick for dear life, as the orgasm was too overwhelming. That was the last straw for taehyung as white cum painted your abused walls when he finally came. His eyes closed shut and head thrown back as he stabled his breath. Sweat was trickling down from his neck to the base of his cock. He stayed in you for a few seconds before pulling out. He admired the mess you made and took his phone to snap a picture of your cunt. You on the other hand were shaking. The aftermath of your orgasm hitting you. He pressed your body into the bed and laid next you. He pushed your sweaty hair from your face, grazing his long fingers on your tear stained cheeks. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, softly massaging your lower belly. Your eyes were closed and your breath was coming out in quivers. You chose to stay silent and just melt into his touch.
His hands went lower and hooked under your thigh. “Round two?”
A/n: im thinking of making this a series, should i? Not rlly sure but I hope you liked it^^
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sgnjimmy · 2 years ago
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𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬
vinny hong x afab!reader (sorry :c, no pronouns tho)
A/n: yes imma live, people, just busy on being depress y'know, is a full time job (i guess heh). but my man here can make anything better so, tcharam!!
Warning (s): +18, kind of smut (?) tons of pervy thoughts (i dunno how to put warnings (T-T)), male masturbation. some shitty writing cuz is been a while 😭😭 i apologize.
Word count: 910. ('m not sure)
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Vinny wasn’t going to pretend he was a saint, he had wondered what would happen if you - or him for that matter -  didn’t pull away when a make out session was getting out of hand. He couldn’t help but wonder what would be to touch every inch of your body, to kiss every inch of it. And even mark it all as his. But he always felt bad at the last second, and he didn't want to make you feel pressured to do something you didn’t want. What if you wanted to wait a bit more? Or… fuck what if you didn’t want it with him? That would hurt a ton but he would understand, and of course, respect your wish. Sex wasn't that important for him… He just couldn't help but imagine your body on top of his, with no piece of clothing blocking his vision as he admired your gorgeous body. 
There were times when you guys cuddled, Vinny would get a boner and he'd try to hide, but it was no use, you always noticed it. It was kind of hard to miss, you embraced each other 's fully when cuddling. And, well, the size of Vinny's... friend didn't help him in those situations. Anyway, you would just assure him it was okay and he'd apologize saying he couldn't control it and that "it was an accident" ...which was a lie. Of course Vinny didn't mean to pop a boner, but it was no accident. He would imagine inappropriate things about you then. Vinny would travel his hand under the back of your shirt to feel your naked skin against his palm, and would let his mind explore all the sexual fantasies he had about you. 
To be honest he feels a bit guilty about it, like some kind of pervert. Was it normal in relationships to fantasize about their partner? He doesn't know. He never had these types of thoughts about anyone before. But in the heat of the moment it didn't feel like he's doing something wrong. Like right now Vinny is in the shower. Work has been kicking his ass lately - the workload is the absolute worst and he almost never sees you during the day, he misses you. To relax he tries to think about you while stroking his cock, ignoring the fact that he might look like a creep right now. He just thinks about the moans you let out when he bite your neck just right, or when his kisses are needier than usual against your mouth. 
He thinks about the noises you would make if it was your pussy on his dick instead of his stupid hand. And, oh god, the thoughts Vinny has about your pussy, it drives him crazy to think about it. What would it look like? He wonders. Do you shave or prefer not to? What would it feel like on his fingers? Would it be really tight around him? Would you let him taste you? He fucking hopes so. Fuck, he really wants to put his mouth on you down there, he wants to devour you till you beg him to stop. Would you complain between whimpers that he's too big for you to take when he finally puts it in? Vinny knows for a fact he's above average… Or would just keep telling him for "more and more"?
"Ah, fuck" He let's out. He wants to see your face contorted in pleasure so bad. Continuing to stroke his dick he keeps on with the fantasy playing on his mind. 
You lay under him, he's on his knees between your bare legs. "Please." You beg him, "Please, i need you, more". And Vinny's more than willing to obey, he procedes to hammers his cock into your entrance and hears you let a hmph sound at the contact of his length entering deeper your hole. His hands move up from your thighs to your waist, he then moves his hips forward using your middle as leverage. 
“Vinny” You moaned weakly. Already tired? He thinks, smirking. He could feel your walls tighten at each thrust. “It’s so deep, you’re- you’re too big, ah!” He thinks this sight is the best he ever witnessed, you look so angelic despite the scenario playing out. Your hair sticks in your forehead, your eyes are closed shut and your mouth wide open.
Vinny brings himself to your level to lay kisses and a few bites onto your neck and shoulder, he can taste the sweat on your skin and it just makes it even better. He feel your breasts against his chest and goes to hold one of them with his left hand. The redhead moves up to taste your mouth next, and you reply instantly, returning his sloppy kiss, between moans and whimpers.
“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum.” He says feeling his high coming, stroking his cock harder. “Y/n, need you so much.” His movements are desperate making him reach his climax faster. When Vinny finally cums his fluids are shoot right on the shower wall, water runs down his body and his hand lays still around his softening member. It takes a few minutes for his breathing to align normally, but when it does he just let a sigh out. He’ll have to clean himself again. What a pain.  
After some time of cleaning himself all over again he's ready to close the shower faucet, Vinny hears the front door open and seconds later you announce your presence, “Baby, i’ve brought food!” He hears you say happily from the living room.
Ah, just in time. He was starting to get hungry.    
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(this took a shit time to do😩😩. i changed it so many times to fit better🥲.)
Tags: @vinnyshongf
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ma3mae · 1 year ago
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Love has no bounds!
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Summary: Obstacle after obstacle refuse to let you and your beloved knight love each other in peace. So how do the both of you handle the biggest hurdle that has ever arrived?
Genre: fluff, angst :((( bit drama too :( also a bit smexy
Warnings: heartwreck 😭 legit teared up writing this 😭 also it gets very steamy at the end HEUEH
A/N: IM SORRY, ANON!! accidentally deleted the ask bc i posted it even tho i wanted to put it in drafts :') hope you'll see this tho!! Also only a tiny bit proofread, oops
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Knight!Suehiro Tetchou
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"Please, Princess! You mustn't delay your reply any longer!"
Hurried footsteps following your every move, various attempts in shacking the neighbouring empire's messenger off simply failing.
"I have already replied plenty of times and my answer remains the same!"
Turning around the corner, you hurriedly kept making your way towards your room, wanting nothing but peace.
Where the hell are the knights when you need them?!
"And stop following me already! I have been courteous enough to ignore your disrespect towards me but maybe I'd have to cut your tounge off after all!"
A hand clasping your wrist stopping you in the middle of the hall, the booming voice of your mother behind your form, echoing through the empty hallway.
"Stop with your tantrum already! That behavior is more than unbefitting of a princess!This is more than just about you. You could endanger this whole empire thanks to your foolishness!"
Deep breath, Y/N.
Deep breath.
"Why can't they just take one of my many siblings, huh?! There's a reason why you've got so many of them. Isn't it, Mother? Why must it be me, who gets married off to some tyrant who probably kills his wives off after having fulfilled their purpose as a simple birthing machine. "
A scoff is the only answer you got before feeling frail fingers grab your jaw and forcefully turning your head, seething eyes locking onto yours.
"I have been too lenient on you after all. Letting you take in sword lessons on the knight training grounds even though that is highly unbecoming of a princess. Yet your fool of a father remained stubborn, saying that a bit of self defense wouldn't hurt you. Or how you'd sometimes randomly sneak out at night, only to return at ungodly hours and miss your morning lessons. But I let you do it because I thought that maybe it would be good to let you enjoy your freedom while you can."
Wincing as the grip on your jaw tightened, she leaned in closer, her voice turning into a mere whisper, yet it only frightened you more.
"But as it seems, I've let it get over your head. That is my responsibility and you will remain so until you have joined that Emperor's side. Till then, I suppose a bit of time at home should suffice as a lesson to get your head straight."
Disbelief surging though your very core. Shaking your head at her words only seemed to spur her further into abusing her power over you again and again.
"Will you just stop solving your problems by merely showing off your power, please?!"
"If it helps correcting your ways, then yes."
"You can't just-!"
"Knights! Put the princess back to her chambers!"
As if on cue, two knights blocked your view of your mother, them putting their hands onto each of your arms.
"Please, Princess. Let us take you to your chambers."
You could hear the pleading voice of one of the knights, their grip only tightening slightly as they noticed the sharp gaze of the queen behind their backs.
"And make sure she stays in there."
With a huff you let them take you back, mind already formulating a plan on how to avoid being married off to your inevitable death.
.
.
.
Night time had arrived.
A light breeze greeting you under the moonlight, a slight shiver running through your body as you sat down onto the railing of your balcony.
"Isn't it a bit cold for you, Princess?"
A soft voice accompanied the night's wind, making your heart leap at it's sound.
Gazing down from your spot, you couldn't help but return the smile from him.
"If it concerns you so much then why not protect me from it? It is your job after all."
He merely blinked at your words, a question rising in his head.
"Is that an order?"
Tilting your head at his question, he could see the amusement dance in your eyes as a cheeky tone accompanied your reply.
"If you want it to be then yes."
With the help of a convenient placed large tree reaching your balcony, it only took mere seconds for him to reach you.
You let him approach you, admiring how the gentle light of the moon illuminated his beauty underneath it.
Eyes like the morning sun looking into yours as he took your hand into his, lifting the back of it onto his mouth before pressing his soft lips against it.
"I greet you, my princess."
Chuckling at his habit, you welcomed the warmth it brought onto your face.
"You don't have to greet me like that when we're alone, Tetchou."
He merely hummed at your words as he intertwined your hands together.
"But I like the feeling of my lips on your hands."
"I know you do."
A comforting silence accompanied the night as he sat down next to you.
Leaning your head onto his shoulder, you were glad for the lack of armor at times like these, knowing full well you'd be the only one to see him like this aside from the other knights.
Slowly but surely, you felt a lump form in your throat as you thought about the events of earlier.
The shaky exhale and tightened grip around his hand were enough for him to confirm his concerns, remembering the gossip of his knight companions inside the barracks.
"The princess seemed pretty distraught earlier. I think you might want to visit her later, Suehiro. Not like you'd do it anyway but I think she needs a shoulder."
"Why, what happened? Did she get into a fight with the Empress again?"
His companion and good friend, Tatchihara could only shake his head in frustration.
"Ugh, yes but this time it was worse. Had to drag her off to her room by her Empress's orders. Honestly a surprise that she hasn't run away yet because I definitely woul- OW HEY?!"
"Utter these words louder and you can kiss your life as a knight goodbye. Or your life in general."
Glaring at the redhead, he hissed at the feeling of a forming bump on his head.
"Yeah but it's the truth! Imagine you'd be married off to that mass murderer of a emperor in that shitty empire of his!"
Freezing at the words of his friend, he could only watch the interaction in shock, Tachihara seemingly not noticing his reaction.
Tetchou flinched at the sudden hand on his shoulder, yet the familiar ringing of a bell telling him who it was.
"If you're already gonna badmouth him then do it properly by stating it's correct name."
"You want me to be all fancy and refer to it as" Night Wandering Empire?" Nah, shove that up your ass. We call it" Port-shit" in the barracks for a reason."
Scoffing at the know it all attitude of his colleague, he slinged his bag over his shoulder and made his way towards the door, ready to hit the bed after vigorous training.
Tetchou didn't fail to see the sympathetic glance towards him before the shut of the door ripped him out of his thoughts.
"He really needs to work on his temper but I can understand his anger. Just thinking about the country run by such a barbaric man already leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I don't know how the people can follow a man who has killed his way onto the throne." The king died of an illness"? Give me a break. "
"I have to go."
Quickly taking his bag, he made his way towards the door, not caring to even glance at his friend. His mind too focused on one thing.
"And what are you gonna do? Whisk her away like the shining knight you're supposed to be? You know that there's no escaping it. You'll get caught from both sides. Either the Empress will banish you or that lunatic Emperor Osamu might just kill you and declare war on us after all."
The only answer he got was the slam of the door, a sigh merely escaping his lips as he frowned.
"What an idiot. He'll get himself killed before he knows it. His skill has been helping him this far but against two empires? He'll be dead for sure."
"Just let him be, Jouno. You know how important the princess is to him. She saved him after all."
"Doesn't mean he's got to gamble with his life like that. He knew what was coming yet still couldn't stop wearing his heart on his sleeve. Don't even know how he was able to survive that long om his own..."
The grip on the strap of his bag tightened as he stood infront of the door. Refusing to listen it any further, he made his way.
He knew he was just worried for him. Rightfully so.
He knew of everything. The consequences, the already existing conflict betweent the two empires.
Yet how could he let it be?
How could they just ask of him to let it be?
Wasn't the world already cruel enough?
'Just thinking of that king would leave a bad taste in his mouth'?
What was he supposed to say?
Every time he thought about it, he could feel his inside twisting and turning, his mind turning mushy and his breath stuck in his throat.
It didn't help that he knew that he was the only one who refused to let this happen.
He knew that your crafty mind would come up with a plan and he didn't care how bad it might end up.
He'll do anything if it means he'll be able to spend the rest of his life with you.
He'll forever be knight to protect and love you, just like now.
So as he gently cups your face to look into your with tears glistening eyes, he asks.
"Do you want to get out of here?"
A nod from you is enough to bring a smile on his face.
You let him wrap his arms around you, his smell reminiscing of his training.
Training to be stronger like he had sworn to become.
To protect the people of this country.
Yet ultimately, to protect you from anything that might harm you.
His embrace never failed to convey that promise, he had made years ago.
And it never failed to not make the tears run down your cheeks as he'd always be there to wipe them away.
Just like now.
"I'll help you. Anything that's in your way, I'll remove it. I won't stop until all of your worries are gone and until you're happy."
Burying your face into the crook of his neck, you couldn't stop the tremble in your voice.
"What if I'm only happy when I'm with you?"
"Then I'll make sure to be with you. Even after death, I'll be there."
The dam broke inside you, the waterworks unable to stop as the first sob unwillingly escapes your body.
Yet the lips on the crown of your head and the tightening of his arms, only spurred you further into letting everything out.
"I-I don't want to marry him. I really don't! Why is it that everyone won't let us be together?! Why do I have to be the one?! So many of my sisters and yet my mother chose me?! I've done everything to not be chosen and yet! And yet!"
"I know, Y/N. I know."
You felt him gently rock you back and forth, the sobs only slowly but surely subsiding after what seemed like hours.
"You don't have to hold back. If you aren't done with crying then don't stop."
Reeling in from your breakdown, you shook your head.
"I-I can't. If we want to get out then I'll have to get it together. The sooner we get out of here, the better."
Lifting your head, a wave of embarassement came over you as the stain on his collar was clesrly visible even as the clouds covered the moon.
"Are you in need of a new shirt?" You sheepishly asked as you wipes the tears away with the sleeves of your nightgown.
"No, it's alright. A wet shirt is nothing compared to the burden you carry. Also..."
He took your hands into his as he put them on each side of his face, letting them cup it in the end.
"You shouldn't rub your eyes so hard or else they might get itchy."
He mirrored the beautiful smile that etched itself onto your face at his yet as always caring words.
"I know you'd still find me beautiful even if they were red from all my crying but I'd still like to avoid that."
"If that's your wish then so be it."
You felt his grip on your hands tighten as his gaze held a serious look in them.
"If you wish to escape then it is best be done as soon as we can. Just like you said."
"How do we know for sure it will work? My mother knows about my random escapes at night. There will be more knights stationed around the gates."
"Then we'll find another way. The bigger the place, the more escape routes there will be."
You couldn't help but chuckle at his words, reminiscing of the time before he had become your knight.
"I keep forgetting that you actually used to be a thief."
"I only stole from bad pe-"
Pecking his lips, you gazed into his eyes, feeling the heat on your hands as the warmth spread across his face by your sudden action.
"I know, I know. You only stole from bad people and gifted your stole goods to the poor ones. Just like Robin Hood."
You felt him tilt his head at your words.
"But I'm more good looking than him. Atleast that is what you said."
"These were indeed my words and now I'll let this thief take me away, just like I'm taking him away. And it will all happen-"
"Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow."
Smiling at your words, you sealed the deal as you pulled his face closer to yours, letting your lips lock and enjoy the warmth of each other.
You wrapped your arms around his neck as he hooked his arm under your legs and one to steady your back, successfully sweeping you into his embrace as he walked towards your bed.
Roughly shoving off his boots, you soon felt the soft mattress hit your back, the yelp escaping you making him deepen the kiss as he slid his tounge in.
You could feel the heat build rise between your bodies as he let out a groan at the taste of your mouth and slid his knee between your legs, pushing it against your very core, a wet patch already forming in mere seconds.
Slowly the need for air became stronger for the both of you, making him to be the first to break the kiss.
Forehead against forehead, his gaze bore into your eyes as your flushed faces and the knee rubbing against your spot didn't help to calm you both down at all.
"Shouldn't we sleep to have enough energy for tomorrow?"
A smile made its way onto your flushed face, as even intense moments such as these never stopped him from not putting your wellbeing first.
"We've got enough time and more importantly, this could be the last time we'd get to enjoy it on such a nice bed like this."
"Then only a little."
He spoke before letting his lips trail from your face down to your neck, gently sucking on your plush skin as he let one hand knead the soft flesh of your body, worshipping it's every curve and promising through his touch to mark every inch of your body.
"Only a little." was your only reply, fully knowing that was the only promise he'd always be willing to break for you.
That night marked the beginning of your freedom with danger lurking ahead but at the end of the day, you knew you'd be safe.
Just as much he'd make sure to protect you, you'd make sure to do it as well.
Because tomorrow would be the day.
Tomorrow would mark the death of the Princess and the birth of you.
Y/N.
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DAMN, this got long but if this gets some good reactions then i'd def make a part 2 of this <3
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emma-m-black · 4 months ago
Text
The Daughter - Chapter Six
Tim Gutterson x OC (FanFiction) - MATURE 18+
This chapter contains an explicit sex scene
Tim Gutterson comes to the unconventional aid of one Elenora Crowder, ward of Art Mullen and daughter of Raylan Givens.
This will be a multi chapter story and will get spicy as it goes. This is a rough draft and only slightly edited for grammar and spelling. Just needed to finally get it out because Tim Gutterson is one of my favorite characters, and there is not nearly enough fanfic for him.
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five
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CHAPTER: SIX
“I can’t! I can’t anymore!” Elenora gasped out as she crumpled onto the damp green grass.
“Thought you said you could run?" Came the voice of Tim as he moved to stand over Elenora, hands on his hips and a smile on his face.
Throwing her arms and legs out in a starfish pose on the ground, Elenora took a few deep breaths. “I can, I just forgot you are a machine designed by our great country.”
“You are going to have to share the secrets of your girlish figure. You can’t run and you eat ice cream for breakfast. Are you lifting weights while I’m sleeping?”
Elenora swung her leg out to kick Tim, but she could not even get her leg off the ground because of her tight muscles. “You know what? I don’t like you anymore. I think I’m just going to live here now.”
Lowering himself to the ground, Tim laid next to her. Resting on his left side and propping his head up with a hand. Elenora side eyed him as he just stared at her with a smile. His t-shirt was wet with sweat around his armpits and upper chest. His cheeks were slightly rosy from the exertion, and Elenora thought it was a good look on him. She stared at him as he caught her gaze. “What you thinkin’ about Nell?”
“You know now that my daddy is back, my family is gonna start popping out of the woodwork. I’m just scared about what might happen when they find out I’ve been here the last four years. There was a lot of shit thrown around when my momma died. Even some kidnapping on her side of the family in order to keep me here.” Elenora turned her eyes up towards the sky and watched as the clouds slowly moved past.
“Even if, for some reason, you father couldn’t protect you from somethin’ you got me now, and I’m pretty hard set on nothing bad happing to you.”
“I’m more worried about somethin’ happening to you,” whispered Elenora. She kept her eyes up to the sky. She knew if she looked at Tim, she would not be able to keep herself collected and calm. “They wouldn’t think twice about hurting you.”
Elenora felt Tim’s fingers run across her bare stomach and then his palm rest against her side. “It’s a good thing I carry a gun, then.” He said with a laugh, his face coming in above her own and blocking out her view of the sky. “Can we please go back and shower now?”
A smile pulled up on Elenora’s lips. “No. I told you, this is where I live now.”
“Really? I can’t persuade you to get naked and shower with me?” Asked Tim before bringing his lips down on Elenora’s. Tim’s body fully covered Elenora’s in a matter of seconds and her hands pushed up under his t-shirt.
“Excuse me, but this is a public park,” came a voice from near where they were laying.
Tim quickly rolled off and Elenora looked for the owner of the voice. Expecting to see some park goer, Elenora was surprised when she saw a police officer.
“Deputy Marshal Gutterson?”
“Thompson?”
“As much as I love these little meetings, I really need you two to be doin’ this somewhere else. You’re scaring the park goers.” Tim got to his feet and helped Elenora back to standing. “It’s nice to see you again, Ma’am.”
“Sorry officer.” Said Elenora shyly. “We will be leavin’ now.” Looking around the park, Elenora spotted an elderly woman walking what could only be described as a rat on a leash glaring in Elenora’s direction.
“We’ll be heading straight home, Thompson.” Said Tim with a wink of his eye. “Come on Nell, I’ll race you back.” Then he was off, leaving Elenora and Thompson by themselves.
“Oh god, he is going to be the death of me, isn’t he?” Asked Elenora.
Thompson let out a laugh. “Probably, but Gutterson seems to be one of the good ones, congrats on gettin’ him off the market. Now maybe my wife will stop ogling him every time she sees him.”
“I did good, didn’t I.” Said Elenora as she watch Tim start jogging on the spot a little way ahead. He turned and pumped his arms in front of him as he looked at Elenora with a smile. “Well, Thompson, it was nice seeing you again. Perhaps next time, Tim and I won’t be trying to jump each other in public.”
“That would be much appreciated, Ma’am.” Said Thompson with a smile before he turned and began to walk in the opposite direction of Tim.
Working her way into a jog, Elenora caught up with Tim and, at a slightly slower pace than before, they made their way back to her apartment.
When they arrived back at the apartment, Elenora pounced on Tim. Quickly pulling his shirt over his head and off his body. Running her hands down his chest, she brought her lips to his. Their lips pushed against one another and Elenora soon she found the Tim was slowly guiding her towards the washroom.
Then his hands were attempting to pull at her sports bra, but with the combination of its tightness and her sweat, he was proving to be a second skin. “Fuck it.” Tim spoke against Elenora’s lips as he backed her into the standing shower and pushed her onto the tile. Now that his lips had left her, they began to attack her neck and his hands moved to pull down at both her shorts and underwear. Once they were discarded to the side of the shower, Tim ran a hand up her inner thigh and towards her core. His finger rubbing at her nub slowly and Elenora responded with a throaty moan.
“Tim...”
“I love that.” Whispered Tim against her skin, before he brought his head back up to look at her. He rubbed with a little more pressure, and Elenora let out another moan. “The sounds you make when I touch you.” He moved to press the tip of his finger inside her and Elenora found her body curl backwards against the tile and her hands wrapped themselves around his biceps. “I could listen to it all day.”
He cupped her with his hand as he pushed a second finger in and used the heel of his hand to press against her now sensitive nub. A loud moan erupted from Elenora’s lips this time and Tim held her there like that while his other hand moving up to the back of her head to provide her some relief from the tile.
Elenora stood there, her chest heaving in pleasure and anticipation, but Tim just held her gaze and did not move his hands. He just stared at her and the seconds ticked by and Elenora could feel herself clenching around his fingers as her body begged for the friction. “Tim?” Elenora whispered as she held his gaze.
“I’m savoring this, want to sear this image of you into my brain.” Then he started to pump into her. Curling his fingers inside her and pressing them against her inner walls. Elenora whimpered as the pressure began to build inside her.
“Tim...I can’t...” Her knees were starting to go weak, and she was sure in the next few seconds she would be a puddle of ecstasy on the floor of the shower.
Tim’s hand dropped from the back of her head and moved down to wrap around her waist, using his strength and the wall to keep her upright. “I got you. I won’t let you fall.” Tim whispered as he pushed up against her and put his head into the crook of her neck. He pumped his fingers faster, and he slammed the heel of his hand against her, before pulling back and doing it again.
She felt like puddy, being worked by Tim’s hands until, with a slam of his hand, she saw stars. “Ahhh!” Elenora screamed out, and she could feel her body convulse as Tim continued his movements, making her ride out the waves of pleasure. She tried to pull her legs together to try to get him to stop, but he had positioned himself in such a way that he held her one leg away from the other with his.
“Do it again for me.” Tim whispered against her neck and Elenora felt him pull out from her for only a second before reentering, this time with what must have been a third finger as she felt herself strain around the size. He moved at the same fast pace as he had previously and with little time, Elenora was screaming out again as her legs truly gave out and she felt her body tightening in on itself, with Tim being the only thing to keep her standing.
Elenora felt Tim pull himself out of her slowly and just held her as her breathing calmed down slightly. Extracting her hands from him, she noticed that the impression from her fingers lingered on his skin. “My turn.” Whispered Elenora, and Tim’s head came up from where it was still resting at her neck.
His eyes, she noticed, were slightly glazed over, like he was drunk with lust. With shaky steps, Elenora pulled at Tim and had him move to where she had just been, against the wall of the shower. He did not help her when she pulled his running shorts from him. They lay on the tile, still wrapped around his feet, as Elenora lowered herself to her knees in front of him. His cock, which was now free of its confines and standing to attention, was at the perfect height, and without hesitation, she placed her lips around it.
One of Tim’s hands slid across the side of her head as she slid her lips forward and took as much of him in her mouth as she could before sliding herself back. As she reached the tip, she felt Tim’s fingers flex against the back of her head, but he did not put any type of push on her as she took him slowly in once again. Then, when she pulled her way back again, she felt Tim’s finger curl into her hair band and pull in from her hair before she slid him across her tongue and to the back of her throat. It was at the point she felt Tim curl her locks between his fingers and hold her head in place for a moment before allowing her to move.
Thankfully, she never had much of a gag reflex. So she knew what to expect on the next mouthful and held herself in place as Tim pulled at her hair and let out a groan. Then he pulled harder and she let him control the rhythm. It only took a few thrusts before she felt his grip on her hair loosen as he attempted to pull himself from her lips, but she put her hands to his hips and pulled him in as far as she could. Within a second she could feel him shutter and taste him as he came inside her mouth, and she swallowed him down.
Slowly she allowed Tim to extract himself from her and when she looked up through her lashes at him. His eyes were closed, and he had his head leaned back against the tile wall. She watched as his bare chest rose and fell with his quick breaths. “Nell.” Tim whispered, as his chin tilted down and his eyes fluttered open. “That. I didn’t. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“Tim, I ain’t gonna do nothin’ I don’t wanna.” Elenora rose to her feet, her knees sore and red from resting on the tile. She shed her bra and tossed it to the floor outside of the shower. Reaching for the tap, Elenora turned on the water, gave it a second to get warm before switching it to the rain faucet above their heads. It was then she looked back at Tim, who was still leaning against the wall and getting hit by the edge of the water, while she got drenched. There was a look in his eyes she was unsure about, and his shorts were still around his ankles. “Tim.” Elenora brought a hand up to his cheek and cupped her hand around it. “You didn’t hurt me. Do you need me to give you an encore to prove it?” She let the hand on his cheek slide down to his chest and rest on his heart.
Tim pushed off from the wall and kicked out of his shorts and put both his hands to the sides of her neck and leaned in, kissing her softly as the water rained down on them.
After their shower, once they had dressed, Elenora stood in her kitchen in a pair of black jeans and a flowy tank top as she tied a red tie around Tim’s neck. “try to keep my daddy out of trouble, please. It’s his first day, and I’m sure he’s gonna try to make an impression.”
“I would like to say how much trouble could he get into on his first day here, but he is your daddy.”
A sly smile rose on Tim’s lips and Elenora responded with a soft slap to his chest after finishing his tie. “You watch it now, or I’ll show you what real trouble is like.”
Tim slid his arms around Elenora’s waist and pulled her to him as he wrapped his fingers around each other. “I think I like your kind of trouble though, so not sure what kind of threat that is.” His lips quickly came down on hers and Elenora felt her toes curl as his lips moved against hers, and his tongue asked for entrance.
Elenora let her hands grip onto Tim’s shirt and her eyes closed in some attempt to hang on to something. The kiss was full and needy, like it would be the last one they would ever have. If he had not have been holding her to him, she was sure she may have fallen over from weak knees. Finally, Tim pulled away and rested his forehead on hers. “What was that for?” Elenora whispered before taking her bottom lip into her teeth and slowly opened her eyes.
“In case your daddy gets me shot today, or shoots me himself.”
“Don’t talk like that. I know what you do, and I know what could happen, but promise me no one is getting shot today, okay?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you.” Elenora put her lips back to Tim’s and kissed him with the same passion that he had just used, and then, before she knew it, Tim’s hands were around her ass, lifting her up and placing her on the countertop. His hands transferred from her butt to her thighs once she was sitting, and when she finally was out of breath, she pulled away. “I’m going to pick up my legal name change papers today. Once I sign I’m going to officially be a Givens.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I wanted to do it before, but figured I would wait till after school was done. It was easier to wait, but I need to get it done right away for my license.”
Tim smiled. “Elenora Givens. Has a nice ring to it? You tell your daddy yet?”
“No, I wanted it to be a surprise. I was going to swing upstairs before you guys all headed out. Maybe I’ll even bring coffee.”
“Words that melt my heart. You working today?
“Yeah, I have to go into the shop at noon, but I’ll be done at eight if you wanted to come over?” Elenora raised an eyebrow and looked at Tim.
“Twist my rubber arm.”
With the thought of Tim coming over again tonight fresh in their minds, Tim backed himself away from the counter and helped Elenora put her feet back on the floor. “I’m gonna go do my makeup and then head over.” Said Elenora as she stepped away from Tim and towards the bathroom. “I’ll see you in a little bit, Marshal.”
“Looking forward to it, Ma’am.”
Elenora heard the apartment door open and then close, signaling that Tim must have left. Looking at herself in the mirror, she gave her reflection a smile. Tim made her happy, in a way that no one ever had. She felt like the center of his world when he was around her. His kisses, his touch, every word he said would set a fire inside her, and she loved it. Giving her head a small shake, she reached up and pulled at her hair, ensuring her pony tail was set tight, and then placed a little blush to her cheeks and mascara on her lashes. A hanging rack was by the mirror and Elenora took a pair of grey transparent plastic round glasses and placed them on her nose.
After grabbing her purse, phone and a dark green leather jacket, she threw a pair of slip on boots and headed out. As she waited in the elevator, she texted Rachel and asked for everyone’s coffee order. She only lived about six blocks away from the courthouse, so she walked the distance, stopping four blocks in to grab coffee for everyone. Now with a tray full of five strategically placed coffees and a box of doughnuts, Elenora sat on a bench at the door to certificates office waiting for it to open.
“Elenora?”
Turning her head, Elenora saw Wynona standing briefcase and purse in hand, staring down at her like a deer caught in headlights. “Hi Wynona.”
“What are you doing here? How’s school? You’re still in school, right?”
“School’s finished. I teach in the fall and I’m here cause I changed my name.”
“Did you get married?” Wynona’s eye went wide.
“No, I finally got around to taking my daddy’s last name.”
Wynona reached up and played with the collar of her shirt. “I’m sure he would like that. How is your father, by the way?”
“Seems to be good. Sounds like he isn’t completely pissed about being back out here.” Elenora choose her words carefully. She knew her daddy was unhappy at the end of his relationship with Wynona, but you could tell his feelings for her were still there, even after all the years.
“Here?”
Elenora smiled. “Yeah, didn’t you hear? He works upstairs now.” Elenora saw the woman in charge of the certificates department walking towards them, so she grabbed her coffees and doughnut box stood from her chair. “This will be me now. You have a good day Wynona. Hello, Mrs. Rider.”
“Hello Elenora, you got some mighty full hands there.”
“Daddy just got transferred upstairs, so I figured I’d bring him and his new friends some coffee and breakfast. I’m sure they would hardly notice if I let you steal one.” Elenora said with a wink.
“Well, come on in dear, then you can go up with an even better surprise for your daddy.”
“I’ll, umm, see you around Elenora.” Then, like there was a fire under her heels, Wynona was gone down the hall and around the corner.
It only took about ten minutes to get everything in order, and for Elenora to be on her way to the Marshal’s floor. As the doors opened, Elenora took a steadying breath and made her way out into the hall and towards the doors just a short distance away. Putting her back to the door, she pushed one side open and entered the room. When she entered, she looked around the small office and noticed Art in his office with Rachel and her father were seated on the couch and Tim was resting against the gun safe off to the side. They must have been having their welcome meeting.
She noticed Art’s eyes meet hers and then everyone turn their heads. Taking that as her invite she stepped towards Art’s office and Raylan jumped up to open the door for her. “What are you doin’ here, sunshine?”
“Thought I would bring breakfast for you and the team. Couldn’t very well leave them all out.”
Raylan took the tray from Elenora and she watched as he examined the cups, making note of the writing on each one. When his eyes came back up, he scanned the room and Elenora did not miss the fact that his eyes settled on Tim for longer than anyone else, as the younger man reached forward to find his coffee. “How’d you know what everyone drinks?”
“I told her,” Responded Rachel, and she noticed her father’s eyes narrow slightly as if he was thinking about something.
Smiling at her father, Elenora placed the box of doughnuts down on Art’s desk and took her coffee from her father. She then reached into her purse and pulled out the large brown envelope, then held all her new documents. “I also have something else I want to show you.” Holding out the package to him, she waited while he handed off the two remaining coffees to Art before he took the envelope from her.
“What’s this?” Raylan cautiously opened the envelope and pulled out a few of the papers that were in it. Elenora watched as his eyes scanned the first thing he saw, which was a copy of her birth certificate. A document that now read Elenora Emma Givens, instead of Crowder.
“You changed your name?” Raylan had a strange look on his face as he brought his eyes from the paper to her.
Elenora smiled wider. “I changed my name.”
“This means a lot, Sunshine. Thank you.”
“Worked out to be good timing too, because I am fairly certain now that you’re back, anyone with the name Crowder is gonna end up in cuffs.” Elenora saw a hint of smirk tug at Tim’s lips and he quickly took a sip of his coffee to cover it. “Well, I best be leaving you all to it. Gonna head to the DMV, and then gotta’ work at noon. Ya’ll have a good day. Tell Leslie high for me.”
“Will do.” Replied Art with a nod of the head.
Turning herself around, Elenora walked from the room and once she was about halfway into the pen, she could hear her father from behind her. “Eyes up, Gutterson.” Tipping her chin down and biting her lip, Elenora held back a laugh as she left the Marshal’s office.
Hours later, while Elenora was sitting at the counter of the city’s local bookstore, her phone buzzed.
Tim: Well, your daddy knows how to make a first impression...
Elenora: This doesn’t have to do with you staring at my ass this morning, does it?
Tim: Your uncle Boyd threatened his life. Gave him 24 hours to leave town. Apparently asked about you, too.
Elenora: Fan-fucking-tastic.
Tim: Also, it would have been weird if I didn’t stare at your ass. Any self respecting man would.
Elenora: he’s already suspicious ...
Tim: Of course he is. You’re his little girl.
Tim: And I’m an eligible bachelor as far as he knows.
Elenora: Well you are ...
Elenora: I know we didn’t really talk about that sort of thing, and really we’ve only been seeing each other for what a week?
Tim: Nell, you are the only girl for me.
Tim: Except for right now, where I guess the only girl for me is your father. I get to do protective duty on him, that’s a new one. Probably won’t be back anytime soon. If I get to shoot someone, though, I’ll get at least three days off, then I can help you finish unpacking all those boxes.
Elenora: Be careful, and don’t let anything happen to my daddy, please.
Tim: 10-4
Elenora’s hands shook and she could feel the heat boiling up from under her skin. The words she wanted to say were right there. They felt so natural in her head to think about them, like it was something she had said a thousand times before. So really, it was now or never. If her uncle was fixing to take her daddy out, she knew Tim would do everything in his power to ensure that didn’t happen, even if it meant he got hurt.
Elenora: Tim, I think I might be in love with you.
Elenora: So please come back to me.
Tim: Nell...
The next few seconds felt like hours to Elenora, and in that time every horrible possibly of what her words could have done flashed before her eyes. Like she had told Tim before, she had a habit of going to hard to fast. Elenora told herself this was different, that unlike the chances of getting in a car accident on the way home from work, there was a good possibility both her daddy and Tim would not make it through the night. What if she did not say it and she never got another chance?
Tim: I think I might be in love with you too.
Every emotion Elenora had ever felt flooded through her. She was angry at herself for thinkin’ of the worst. She was happy that he had said it back. Ecstatic that he had said more than just ‘love you too’. Sad that she could not say it to his face, hold him, kiss him or hear him respond in kind. The most powerful feeling coursing through her, though, was fear.
Fear that this would be the only time she got to say it. There had always been this fear that her daddy would never come home at the end of the day back when she lived in Florida, but this was different. A sob broke from her lips, and she was thankful that no one was in the store to witness it.
Chapter Seven
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