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endursent · 7 months ago

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My Partner Turned Into A Cat And I Don't Know How To Fix It (2)

【 content; established relationship , fluff , humour , slight shenanigans , gn!reader 】

【 characters; alhaitham , arataki itto , baizhu , cyno , dainsleif , diluc , kaedehara kazuha , kaeya , kamisato ayato , kaveh , neuvillette , tartaglia , thoma , venti , wanderer , wriothesley , xiao , zhongli 】

【 premise; " Your partner has been struck with a curse of some sort which has turned him into a cat, you have no idea how to fix it nor how long it might take. Yet you also cannot help but be rather amused by the situation despite the uncertainty…" 】

【 note; made the genshin version... no reason for this to be like 19 pages 😭 】

【 word count; 8.723 | read on ao3 | hsr ver | hsr reader ver | gi reader ver 】

Alhaitham ;

Kaveh gaped at you when you brought a cat into the house, one that… looked eerily similar to a certain blockhead. “I can explain,” you say as you set the cat down on the floor, he doesn’t enter the house further than you do, instead sitting down by your feet and observing the interaction with… interest? Amusement…?

Kaveh didn’t need much to be convinced, and immediately he thanked the Archons for giving him a few days of respite. Even just a few days of Alhaitham being unable to comment on what he does or nag him is a blessing.

For you, it’s a bit of a hassle… because he keeps disappearing! Not in an alarming way, because you find him again in the most secluded, quiet spots you would never even think of. Under your laundry, in an empty box that Kaveh hadn’t put away after getting a delivery, and even under the desk in the study—Kaveh accidentally kicked him and got a feisty scratch on his ankle. He learned his lesson.

He follows you around and—though he let you pick him up the first time—doesn’t let you carry him around, preferring to walk on his own… and wander off to explore nooks and crannies he has never been able to see, but he always shows up again before you reach your destination.

He has also claimed your pillow as his own and refuses to let you use it, loafing on top of it exactly when you thought you could get there before him. Which… in hindsight is fine, you’re not opposed to using his pillow, it smells like him after all.

You decided to test how much of a cat he really is, whether it’s appearance alone or instinctual as well and bought a cat toy with a whisker on the end as well as a small bell below it. You expected him to perk up and try to whack or catch it as soon as you wriggled it beside him… but his grey furred ears just lowered in annoyance and he hopped off the kitchen counter, it seems like having even more sensitive ears in this state makes his dislike for uncomfortable noises more intense.

He forgave you when you spent ten minutes scratching the itchy spot behind his ears after tracking him down. A small, rumbling purr left his chest as you moved your hand to scratch under his chin—he was, however, more curious about this instinctual reaction and demanded you continue after you drew your hand back. Despite it being very much an unspoken rule between the two of you that neither of you should be disturbed ‘needlessly’ when reading or working at home, when you borrowed a few books from the Akademiya to try and figure out how to turn your partner back to normal, Alhaitham decided it would be very reasonable for him to lay down over your book… which you are very much trying to read.

But when you ask him what he needs, he just blinks at you three times, very slowly. You’ll likely never be able to crack that brain of his, even in a form that is somehow far more expressive.

Arataki Itto ;

It’s difficult enough to keep track of him—and keep him out of trouble—on a normal day… now? You took your eyes off him for a second, and he’s gone. Shinobu split up with you to cover more ground while the rest of the gang scoured the streets of Inazuma City, at least as much as they could.

You peek between baskets, crates and stalls, walk through tight alleys and even squint into a few windows… nothing!

You had been very close to giving up and returning back to the meeting point by the bridge… until you heard a very distressed, very loud meowing. Following the sound, you come to a tree stretching over the gardens of a teahouse. What looks to be the owner of it stands below the tree with a basket, trying to ask Itto—stuck up on a wobbling branch—to jump into it.

Exasperation is one way to describe what you feel as you approach the old lady, you put your hands on your hips and Itto notices you immediately. His meowing turns from frantic and panicked… to a sheepish pleading. Every movement he makes causes the branch to sway and wobble, and it looks like it could easily bend and break—and you don’t want to cause any trouble for the teahouse owner. “Itto, come on, hop down.”

He meows and shakes his head, white fur swishing dramatically.

A sigh leaves you as you step closer and hold your arms open. “I’ll catch you, trust me,” you encourage him… and he finally relents, with wobbling paws, he leaps from the branch—fur shining in the sun as he practically flies in the air towards your open arms… and lands on your head. He panics and tries to adjust and not fall off, and you try to pry him away from your face as his belly nearly suffocates you—it’s a scene from a comedic play.

Shinobu is glad for her mask, because when you return with Itto under your arm you have scratches on your face and forehead, and Itto is whining and meowing sorrowfully.

He spends the entire evening licking your ‘wounds’, dragging his coarse cat tongue over every spot so often that the licking starts to become more painful than the scratches themselves. But you let him, it makes him feel much better than you—and you don’t particularly need comfort, but if he doesn’t get it, he will whine all night.

So you let him knead your thighs and stomach even as his claws prick through your clothes and you make sure to pet him and stroke his fur when he snuggles against you… and then you wake up in the middle of the night, suffocating with his furred belly against your face when the lies on top of you.

Baizhu ;

You’re very happy that Baizhu is catching a break—something you often try to convince him to do—despite the strange way of being forced into it… however, it’s very difficult to focus on running the pharmacy in his place by yourself while also trying to make sure he doesn’t roll off the shelf he’s napping on… especially because Changsheng wriggles in her sleep and keeps nudging him closer to the edge.

You decide it’s easier if you have them sleeping on separate surfaces and reach up to pick up your pliant partner-turned-cat. He effectively falls into your arms and blinks lazily, slightly confused by the sudden transport. “Just moving you so you don’t hit your head,” you dodge around Qiqi as she runs past you with an armful of jars and set Baizhu down on the counter, his tail sways lazily and he immediately flops on his side as a beam of sunlight sneaks through the window and directly onto his fur.

Every time a customer comes by—with approval—they give Baizhu a small pet or scratch before leaving, as if paying tribute to the good doctor. He doesn’t seem to mind.

Unfortunately, you’re not fit to take Baizhu’s place for consultations, and thus they all get delayed—which was a hell of a lot of work to contact everyone and change scheduling—until Baizhu is back to normal. The usual hours of consultation in the morning are therefore replaced with longer opening hours of the pharmacy and by pulling some strings, an increased stock of rarer products at a discounted price.

Changsheng does not let poor Baizhu catch a break, she wiggles her tail and swipes it in front of his paws, and unable to control the feline instincts harbouring his body—Baizhu chases after her tail like a kitten playing with a toy. He whacks at it and tries to capture it, but the white snake is far quicker than even you expected her to be as a sudden game of cat and mouse (snake) takes over your living room.

The feline form, however, doesn’t come with free stamina—and Baizhu is not in good shape. He flops down on the carpet, exhausted from the play even as only seven minutes have passed. You feel a bit bad and scoop him up for some cuddling, which seems to be just the remedy he needed.

Baizhu is very careful around the clinic, he doesn’t knock anything over—even though he REALLY wants to sometimes, and is mindful of not getting fur or saliva on anything that could potentially be consumed by anyone with allergies. Changsheng has taken to wrapping herself around your shoulders instead, and though you’re used to her, it’s a little annoying to get a comment on every little thing you do.

But at the end of the day, Baizhu curls up next to you and you wake with him lying over your chest, belly to the skies and paws in the air, comfortable and content. Though you will always prefer him in his normal state, he is very cute like this.

Cyno ;

You look around the large front hall of the House of Daena, panting slightly as you try to catch your breath… that damn Cyno! Making you chase him across the entire city!

You spot some pawprints and squint as you look around… he’s not bringing all that dirt into the house—you were just going to rinse him a bit, but he’s run off! You finally spot dark and creamy coloured fur… perched up high on a massive decorative piece of the wall. He looks down at you with a swaying tail, completely at ease knowing that you won’t be able to catch him all the way up there.

You almost consider inquiring about one of those massive ladders the library has to reach the high shelves, it might be long enough…

But very well, he wins this round.

Once he turned into a cat, you were very excited about petting him, rubbing his ears and stroking his tail—but he’s not having any of it. Sometimes, you wonder if someone stuck a firework in his ass and lit it up, because the bouts of zoomies he gets is so frequent you wondered if there was something wrong—but you couldn’t catch him to take to a vet either!

After the first few days, Cyno seems to calm down… a little. He still prefers to survey the area (your living room) from above (your bookshelf) and watch you go about your day. It’s quite cute how his perked ears twitch every time you make a noise, as if he’s completely focused on what you’re doing.

You soon find out after stepping a bit too close to the bookshelf that he might have just been waiting to strike, because he leaps onto your head as soon as you’re in range.

The only reason you know he’s fully conscious in that furred head is because while you were cleaning up after dinner, you spotted him sitting next to a cup of tea that was half-filled. You tense as you watch his paw raise to knock it off. “Cyno! Don’t,” you try to sound scolding.

He looks up at you, he lowers his paw… then raises it again, making you glare at him. He lowers it again, turns away… you turn back to wiping the dishes and look over your shoulders after a few seconds—his paw is raised again!

This back and forth continued until he finally knocked it over.

And then he has the audacity during the next day’s dinner to sound like he has never been fed in his life while you’re trying to eat in peace. Meowing at you so loudly one would think he was terribly injured, eyes wide and mouth open. You hope your neighbours don’t think you’re trying to starve him, or treat him horribly.

Dainsleif ;

He’s not happy about it, he has things to do—places to be and investigations to make. Thankfully you’re familiar with where you were going next… but Dainsleif is very limited in what he can do. You decide to give him the task of scouting and sneaking around, something he’s used to doing anyway… but he finds that it’s much more effective to do so as a cat. His footsteps are completely silent and his senses are much sharper.

Though, he had an instinctual need to swat at a glowing orb that you found in a strange vault half-buried in a cave in Fontaine before he could stop himself—which closed the two of you inside the vault. Thankfully he is now small enough that he could slip out between the bars and unlock it from the other side.

It is quite cute how his ears flattened as you walked out, as if he was sorry. Though he seemed okay after you scratched behind his ears and assured him it was okay, he was here to help you out after all! His tail swayed in satisfaction to your assurance.

You start to set down camp for the night, having just one pair of hands makes it a bit more of a lengthy process, and Dainsleif can only sit and watch as you put it together. He’s usually quite distant, even in a relationship—but as you straighten from squatting to fit something down, you feel something press against your leg and see him rubbing his furry cheek against you, then walking around your legs, tail trailing behind.

He’s usually quite wary and alert, even during the night when you try and convince him to sleep—and it’s no different now. He sits poised and ready… for what? He’s a cat. But you appreciate the effort.

Surprisingly, he’s very active at grooming himself, the two of you usually have to bathe often anyway as you frequent dusty caves and muddy backwaters, but every time you make a stop, he sits down and starts licking his fur—at first you wondered if he was frustrated by something or had hurt himself, but as you picked him up to examine for any injuries or strange patches, he just blinked at you, tongue still half-hanging out.

Dainsleif is rather laid-back when it comes to your relationship, there are times where you want to stay in a larger city for a few days or weeks in between travels, to have a soft bed and four walls around you—which Dainsleif doesn’t mind, there are places he wants to look into where he’d prefer you are safe elsewhere. He knows where you will be and will stop by to ask if you’re ready to continue days or even sometimes a few weeks later, to which you—recharged and rejuvenated—jump at the chance to follow him out of the city.

But now, as a cat, he doesn’t leave your side for a minute—not even when you need to use nature’s bathroom. You went into a small village in Sumeru when passing through and a vendor was particularly pressing about selling you some type of perfume that you had shown brief interest in—Dainsleif had enough of you being pestered and whacked his paw at the man’s leg, hissing. He would usually be more subtle about guiding you away, but he doesn’t have the presence he usually does as he is now, so he must utilise the aggressiveness given to him in feline form. You take the chance to scoop him up and hurry away before the vendor can get upset, petting between his ears and thanking him for the help—he rubs his cheek against yours. He’s surprisingly more affectionate like this as well.

Diluc ;

Your nose itches… you try to hold back—achoo!!

Diluc jumps, claws scuttling against the ground and he leaps from his resting spot and hops down to the floor. You sniffle and shake your head. “Sorry, it’s not your fault,” you stand from his chair and round the table to squat down next to him, reaching a hand out. “Did I startle you?”

He makes a ‘hmph’ sound, fur red as freshly bloomed roses. Diluc bumps his snout into your palm and huffs into it, you turn your hand and pet along his back. “Aaah… you’re so cute~ so soft,” you near coo as you scratch behind his ears—

Diluc shakes himself and ducks under your hand to walk past you—how dare you baby-talk him?! He’s not an actual cat! The scritches felt too nice, and his ears flicked when you cooed at him—it’s embarrassing…

He sits down by the door, tail swaying lazily as a small meow leaves him. Let me out.

You pout, how can you not convey how cute he is? You want to rub his cheeks. But fine, you walk over and open the door for him to slip out of.

Diluc likes the lounge around the fireplace in the estate, there’s not much work he can do while you try to figure out how to turn him back—preferably without alerting his brother or any of the knights… or just anyone in general. Unfortunately, he can’t hide it from the staff of the Winery as he is a spitting image of himself in cat form, and you’ve caught more than three people trying to feed him expensive cheeses.

It’s only in the recent days that you’ve convinced him to settle down and use the time to rest and nap as much as he can, but Diluc was extremely restless at first, you had to trap him inside a room and trick him into lying down with you.

One day, Jean came by looking for him, and you had to think fast to come up with an excuse while he had just leapt under the sofa to hide. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to need him urgently, so she just left a message behind and went back to her day.

You fell asleep in Diluc’s study, trying to keep up with his paperwork—Adeline offered to help you, she’s very familiar with his work, and it’s not like it’s been a long time since he wasn’t there to do it… but you wanted to help, and as the sun sank below the horizon, you laid down on the sofa in his study next to a tall bookcase—only closing your eyes was enough to pull you into deep sleep.

Diluc hops onto the sofa next to you, he carefully walks over your thighs and settles on the armrest where your head is. His fluffy tail sways and strokes your chin and nose—nearly waking you as you almost sneeze, you don’t have to work so hard for him, he knows you want to help. He wishes he could tell you, and he will, when he’s back to normal. For now, he rests alongside you, head leaning against the top of yours and tail tucked against your neck.

Kaedehara Kazuha ;

Kazuha is a very chill cat, he doesn’t get into trouble, he doesn’t cough hairballs on the floor and he doesn’t knock things over.

(Instead of coughing hairballs on the floor he swats them off-deck with his paws, Beidou caught him doing it once).

There’s not much trouble to get into on the ocean, and he’s rather good at keeping out of trouble overall on land, sticking by his side is a sureway to a boring day of exploration or lounging around—which is your perfect type of day.

You help him into your bag as the Crux ‘boards’ by Liyue Harbour (it stops a bit away and tucked by a cliffside to avoid attention) and you make sure he doesn’t accidentally fall into the ocean as a few crewmates row to land. You’re stopping for a few days, so you make sure to use the time to relax and take in landside air and wander around the expansive Harbour.

Kazuha likes to take life at a slower pace, and thus your walk to the Harbour took longer than you expected… as you thought Kazuha was doing his normal meditation on a warm, sun-kissed rock along the road…

But he was asleep, sitting up and enjoying the sun. It took you thirty minutes to realise—a sitting cat with its eyes closed and a sleeping cat in a sitting position is the exact same.

He very much likes to people-watch, but in this cat form, he seems even more engaged—he can hear sounds more clearly and he seems even more perceptive than usual. Watching a tea maker brew a cup on a teahouse table you had sat by to rest and ordered some snacks. He sniffs at the tea as it’s placed in front of you—he’s perched comfortably on your lap, you’re surprised the teahouse even allows him inside—and seems to appreciate the detail he gets from this new perspective, af if it smells different in this form.

He tries to taste it and your food, but you have to block his snout with your hand, you’re not sure if the food you were having would give him a stomach ache or not.

On a walk on the outskirts of the city, you look back and see Kazuha carrying a stick in his mouth…?

He’s not a dog, so you’re not entirely sure why he’s doing it, maybe cats do that too? The dogs that hang around the bridge leading to the southeast outside of Liyue Harbour try to approach him with the stick, thinking he was playing, but he hops into a tree to keep it to himself. You’re not entirely sure what’s happening, but he seems to be having fun.

Kazuha wanders off oftentimes, just in his normal, usual body… so you’re not sure why you’re surprised when you suddenly find him missing from your side—perhaps it’s because he’s a cat and you’re unsure if he can defend himself as well in that form, but you hurry to look for him.

You practically run in circles until you find him pressing his paw to a brown, crusty leaf… again and again, as if listening to the crunch of it in a rhythm. You sigh and scoop him up into your arms. “Don’t wander off like this,” you scold and poke his nose. Kazuha sneezes from the poke, but blinks up at you and nods his little furry head.

Kaeya ;

Unbothered, in his element. Kaeya sleeps in your windowsill and bathes in the sunlight all day while you scratch your head over how this could’ve happened. You try to leave for work and he practically screeches at the door, likely pleading you not to leave—he does that normally as well, except without the loud meowing.

Kaeya finds appreciation in the flexibility and grace that comes with this new body, he easily leaps up on shelves and dives under the sofa, he chases flakes of dust and seems to be having quite a good time—perhaps it’s because he has no responsibilities in this form, he can’t go to work like this and has no control over it. And the loss of control is strangely freeing.

You scoop him up into your arms and his tail swishes happily, he grabs his claws into your shirt and purrs as you rub his ears, happy and content with the additional affection. He loves all affection he gets from you no matter what form it takes, and being a cat has given him the opportunity to be pampered in ways he never could experience as a human.

He does need his free time as well and he uses it well while you’re out of the house—though you were very optimistic to think that closing the windows would keep him contained, Kaeya easily flips the handles and slips out of your home. He enjoys the attention he gets from any passersby, but is careful not to be too affectionate and get picked up by someone who thinks he’s a stray.

His usual guarded front lowers in this form, he feels like he could slip out of any situation—and he doesn’t have to be careful with his words or actions. No one expects a cat to have alternative intentions.

He jumps up in surprise as he hears footsteps rapidly approaching—he had fallen asleep on a ledge and the sun was already down. Kaeya blinks as you pick him up, breath heaving. “There you are, I’ve looked everywhere for you! I thought something happened when I couldn’t find you around the plaza,” you sigh a breath of relief and practically crush him to your chest. Kaeya wriggles a little but gives up and nuzzles into you, pushing his forehead into your cheek.

After a number of days, Kaeya gets bored, as fun as lounging around and being pampered it… he misses real food, and dragging you away from your work to have lunch—and holding you properly, he can only lay on top of you like this, which doesn’t exactly feel like holding.

And Kaeya being restless… he gets whiny.

He would usually be more subtle, but now that he feels the rush of freedom his feline form gives him, he uses it to protest by loafing on your clothes after you fold them to put away, laying over your lap when you need to get up—even though he’s not really a cat… kind of, you still get the same feeling of not wanting to move him off no matter how much space he’s taking.

But that’s okay, because he just has to slow blink at you and nuzzle into your hand and you forgive him, how could you not?

Kamisato Ayato ;

Ayato is an unreasonably pretty cat. His fur is soft and silky, he has this… smug kitty-smile at all times, and it makes you want to pinch his ears. He sits on your lap and peeks onto the low table inside his study as you go through paperwork. Just because he’s become a cat doesn’t mean his workload just miraculously lessens.

Thankfully, after a few days of trying to juggle his work—how does he do it?!—even with him by your side, albeit in a form that can’t properly communicate… Ayaka decides to lend a hand, she takes it upon herself to attend meetings and represent the clan and Commission in Ayato’s stead. Thankfully no one has questioned where he is yet.

Or why there is a suspiciously similar cat trotting around the estate in his place.

You fish into a bush in the courtyard gardens, hand feeling around—until you find fur and yoink it up. Ayato blinks at you, tail swishing as he has a piece of grilled fish in his mouth that he stole from the kitchens. “You know… you can have all the fish you want—you don’t have to steal it,” you say as you lift him into your arms.

His ears flick as you talk, but he eats the fish happily regardless. You shake your head in mild exasperation. Looks like he’s using the opportunity to engage in… more mischief than usual. Perhaps a different kind.

Ayato likes to use his newfound stealth and agility to his advantage… to torment you.

You put away some laundry and turned to a shelf to fetch something—only to come face to face with Ayato’s cat-face, making you jump as he meows happily—as if happy to see you! He knows he’s just trying to startle you!

He winds around your feet when you walk around the estate and purrs happily when you squint at him.

Ayato knows the limits, he stops before you can lock him inside a room for the remainder of the day. His fur is so soft as you pet him and a rumbling purr leaves him, he knows it’s silly—he’s not really a cat, at least, hopefully not for long. But you keep petting and stroking him while he does.

He takes good care of himself on normal days, and as a cat, it’s no different—he grooms himself meticulously, though finds it rather embarrassing if you’re looking, so he tries to do it out of sight… it's very instinctual, but he also likes to feel clean and groomed.

You once passed the great hall and saw Thoma wriggling a toy with a bundle of feathers on it while Ayato chased it… it was pretty cute to watch, but you hurried along before either of them could notice you.

He hogs the futon, you don’t want to push him to the side and get pushed to the edge of the mattress yourself. Ayato doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

Kaveh ;

Distressed, not having fun, he wants to go home.

A series of meows in varying states of distress and confusion follow behind you as you walk, you stop and turn around, peering down at the strange cat that’s been following you around since you left the Akademiya. You were about to ask what he wants… but as you squint at the cat… doesn’t it look familiar?

Kaveh doesn’t stop when you do, he raises on his hind legs by your feet and sinks his claws into your pants, a shrill, distressed meow leaves him.

You reach down and pick him up, holding under his front legs as you inspect him… hm, golden fur with tints of a darker, sandy brown… those big red eyes.

“... Kaveh?” you must be crazy, there’s no way your partner is a cat, and followed you around without you realising, but you know those eyes very well. It’s him.

Alhaitham just stares at you like you grew three additional heads, he looks at Kaveh in your arms and then back at you. “... it looks like him, but that’s not proof enough—have you asked him to write his name?”

You look at Kaveh and he tilts his small head to look up at you. Write his name…? He doesn’t exactly have thumbs… but Alhaitham has a good point. What if it’s just a very persistent cat?

Then again… where would Kaveh be? He’s usually home by this time.

Alhaitham fetches a pen and some parchment and you put Kaveh down on the table. He tries to use his paws at first but just spills ink all over the place—but as he grabs the pen with his mouth and clumsily scribbles his signature, Alhaitham just hums while you scoop Kaveh up again, holding him up. “It is you! What happened to you, Kaveh?”

Of course, he can’t give a proper answer, he wriggles his paws around and meows in a long dialogue—but it’s entirely incomprehensible.

While you and Alhaitham try to figure out how to get him back, Kaveh tries to adjust to his… predicament. He doesn’t do it with any grace, though… his leaps and jumps across furniture are miscalculated and he falls to the ground or hits his head more often than you can count.

But your worried petting and rubbing the aching area makes him purr and nuzzle into your arms.

He does hate the heightened senses, he jumps at the smallest noise and scuttles across the room if anything startles him—and he gets startled very easily like this.

Neuvillette ;

You call his name, looking around his office… you scratch your head, he can’t have gone far, you just left to fetch some tea for a few minutes. It’s not like he can open the door or window and slip out—why would he anyway?

You hear a very… pathetic meow, from next to you—but there’s nothing there, just a sofa. You hear it again—under the sofa…?

Ducking down, you see that Neuvillette is stuck, he seems to have been trying to squeeze himself under the sofa, and rounding the furniture, you see his hind legs and tail flat on the floor… it’s a bit amusing. “There, I got you,” you say soothingly as you lift the sofa up a little so he can back out. Neuvillette stands up and shakes his body.

You squat down and smile. “How’d you get stuck under there?” you hold out your hand and he presses his head into your palm, nuzzling against your skin for comfort as you turn your hand to scratch and pet him.

He’s not very good at resisting the instincts and temptations that come with this form—you’re unsure why he seems to struggle so much, but you try to help him as much as you can, and not laugh.

You saw him chase a shadow, there is an ornament on the raised blinds that hang above the large window in his office. It's attached to the strings that lower and raise them and it sways slightly—casting a shadow across the floor.

Another time he was grooming his fur and struggling, he has a thick, long coat and had to lean far back to reach the end of his fur as his tongue dragged along the hairs… causing him to roll backwards off the arm of the couch and into the pile of pillows.

Innocent, small things that make you smile, but you’re careful that he doesn’t see it.

He loafs over a stack of court documents as you organise his desk—might as well use the opportunity to clean up while he won’t be making a mess. He doesn’t seem satisfied with his place on the desk and stands… and spots a box on the ground, it’s stacked halfway with old documents to be taken to storage… but it also looks like the perfect spot to rest. He hops down from the desk and circles a few times on the papers to get comfortable. He wriggles a little before sitting down.

It takes him a minute to realise that he was kneading into the paper when he hears the sound of it tearing under his claws in an instinctual need to make the bottom of the box comfortable.

Safe to say, he was mortified to have destroyed the top four documents, but thankfully they weren’t shredded and you managed to salvage them with some memory of what had occurred as well as piecing them together.

Tartaglia ;

You look towards the window above the kitchen counter, cold air brushes into the house as Childe enters through it—with a mouse in his mouth.

You leap up and push the book in your hand against his face and push him straight back outside. “No! Absolutely not! Leave it outside, not in the house!!” You close the window behind him and sigh in relief, brushing stray snow into the sink. When you look up again, He’s sitting there, big eyes and ears flat against his head… but no mouse.

Sighing, you open the window a smidge so that he can step inside, where he shakes himself and tosses flakes of melting snow all over.

Childe sits down, tail swaying—as if waiting for something.

You set your haps on your hips. “What?”

“Mrrow…” he wriggles his head, he wants a pat.

… fine, just because he took the mouse outside because you ‘asked’, you raise your hand to stroke his head and he tilts it to lick your palm—but you pull back. “No, you just had a wild animal in your mouth, wash your mouth!”

What is this?? He feels like a criminal, all he did was bring you a prize… to be fair, he realised how silly it was to bring you a dead animal when you leapt up to push him back out, but it felt completely natural up until that point!

He whines and meows for forgiveness for the rest of the night, and you do eventually ‘forgive’ him and let Chile lounge around on your lap while you pet him and continue reading.

He picks fights with swaying curtains, chases your broom when you’re cleaning and even whacked your cup of coffee off the dinner table—spilling it everywhere. He’s a nightmare in this form, because no matter the scolding, he just stares at you with excited, large eyes and a swaying tail.

Nothing you say gets through his head. In one ear and out the other.

He does not give up either, if he wants affection, he will get it one way or the other, even if he has to whine and meow endlessly, follow you around—fake a limp! You shake him a bit after he worried you and you almost went out in the middle of the evening through the snow to take him to a vet when he just wanted scritches.

In all fairness… this is just typical behaviour, but now he has the kitten eyes to break your self control and composure within seconds.

Thoma ;

He tries to do his job even in cat form, using his tail to sweep, he even takes his duster into his mouth and tries to sweep on surfaces he’d usually need ladders to reach, and now he can just leap to them.

But he also has a problem…

He has an instinctual need to create a mess, knock things over or sit on things—when he catches himself in an act of pushing Ayaka’s discarded tea off a table, he nearly leaps away to stop himself.

Thankfully, everyone around him doesn't mind—and it’s a bit relieving to see that Thoma retains a sense of himself. He finds time where he would usually go into town to instead nap—and the Kamisato estate has perfect napping spots. He lies sprawled across the engawa surrounding the eastern part of the estate near the back gardens, and lets the warm beams of the sun warm his belly—only to shoot up in surprise when he hears footsteps, embarrassed to be caught lounging around.

Ayato sometimes plucks him away to keep on his lap for hours while he sorts through paperwork, petting and scratching behind his ears while his other hand signs documents. Thoma gets a bit restless just loafing on his lord’s lap and meows in relief when you come along to fetch him.

Ayaka leapt at the opportunity to sew a few accessories for him, guised under the excuse of “practise for smaller bodies” and Thoma ends up with half a wardrobe by the end of the week.

But he prefers to be around you, you don’t trap him on your lap (even though Ayato gives very good scritches) or make him model for three hours (even though Ayaka gave him snacks). As you work around the estate, he gets tired—curse this cat body and it’s perpetual need for napping!—and you tuck him gently into your eri*. Thoma lays nestled against your chest warmly, his body light and still as you continue your work.

The gardens of the Kamisato estate is a disaster zone, and after the first few days, thoma knows to avoid it.

He had strolled past, early in his transformation—and been startled by his own reflection in the pond he passed by, the fish swimming away in a hurry as he ran across the gardens in surprise. A second time, he had spent twelve minutes chasing a butterfly while Ayato watched with a signature smile… he will likely not let him forget it.

Thankfully, he’s not needed much in the gardens, and he sits perched atop a high shelf in the kitchens, his tail sways as he leans forward… very much ready to leap and steal some food—before you pluck him up and raise an eyebrow.

His ears flatten in realisation, but you rub his cheeks and tuck him back into your clothes—grabbing some leftover pears from the dessert the kitchens were making, letting him munch on it while you get back to work.

Venti ;

You didn’t think Venti could become even more of an airhead on a typical day as he does when he becomes a cat. He gets distracted by the smallest things and wanders off—leading to a wild goose chase where you have to ask around for a small darkly coloured cat with blue highlights on its ears and tail—a very distinct cat!—and being pointed in every direction possible.

Only to discover him napping in a crate full of apples in an alley you walked past at least six times just in the last fifteen minutes.

He is also very vocal, Venti says anything that comes to his mind… which is unfortunately nothing but meowing nonsense to your ears, but you nod along as if you understand, having a halfway conversation with the lively cat.

Somehow, he very much likes to play and nap like he’s being paid to do it at the same time. In one moment, he’s swatting at your clothes and trying to get to play with your fingers—which he accidentally bites and scratches in his excitement, quickly rectifying it with some licks and nuzzles—and the next, he’s passed out cold in a box or on a shelf for five hours.

He doesn’t seem embarrassed by these new catlike instincts, such as the need to groom himself—he even starts grooming you halfway through his coat, you’re sure your skin is very much clean by the time he finally turns back to himself.

Unlike normal cats, who move and settle down elsewhere when the person under them gets up… Venti is not happy about being disturbed nor that you’re trying to get up, he whines and kneads on your clothes to try and get you to stay a little bit longer, giving you the best big kitten eyes he can muster.

And damn him, it works. He knows what he’s doing.

You had been looking for him one morning, thinking he just wandered off again and you’d find him napping in some corner of the city… when Diluc approaches you with a sheepish looking Venti-cat, holding him by the scruff of his neck. “This yours?”

Diluc doesn’t even seem surprised that the bard is a cat. At least he isn’t an allergy risk when he’s human-like and trying to get into his wares.

Wanderer ;

He is very aware of himself, he knows he looks stupid (cute) and that everything he does will be looked at through the lens of a typical cat and not someone stuck in its body.

And thus, he does all he can to be as eerie and unnatural a cat as he can be.

He doesn’t make a single sound, no meowing, no purring, nothing. He doesn’t walk like a cat—thankfully he doesn’t walk on two legs—nor does he exhibit any of their typical behaviours.

At least, that was the plan.

Every single time Wanderer catches himself doing anything that could be considered “cat-like”, such as grooming himself, chasing a loose string, or gods forbid… kneading—he will immediately stop and compose himself again.

As opposed to some others, he absolutely hates the loss of control that follows becoming a cat.

He can’t write properly, he can’t communicate—and if he tries, no one but you and perhaps Nahida takes him seriously—he’s always sleepy and aware at strange times… he hates it!

And once when he was just trying to have some grapes for snacks—you suddenly leapt towards him to stop him, taking the bowl off the table with a relieved huff when you noticed he hadn’t swallowed any of it… after you pried the grape out of his mouth. At his hissing, you explained that cats can’t have grapes.

He gave you the cold fur-shoulder for at least two days.

You brought him out one time to get some fresh air—since he’s fully aware of himself, he shouldn’t run off and get lost, or into a dangerous situation like an indoor cat might. But when you gave some other cats around the streets of Sumeru attention, he quickly meowed in protest and whacked the other cats away.

It’s a bit cute… he doesn’t normally act so forthcoming, and as he bumps his head into your knee afterwards, you rub his cheeks and pinch his ears despite further protest. How cute!

Wriothesley ;

At first, you weren’t even sure if Wriothesley was just a “cat”. He’s huge*.

You put a bowl in front of him, filled with foods that are okay for cats to eat but also not… gross, as Wriothesley is very much aware in that cat-head of his. “C’mon, there’s nothing wrong with this, I even tasted it—it’s a bit bland ‘cause we can’t put any seasoning, but it’s food.”

He leans down, and for a second you think that he’s going to eat it—but as his whiskers brush against the sides of the bowl, he lifts his head abruptly and swats at the bowl, clattering it to the ground—he didn’t mean to hit it at all, but also not this hard.

You scratch your head, you just can’t figure out why he won’t eat—you’ve tried everything!

It took you several hours of back and forth questions and meowing to realise that it was the shape of the bowl that was the problem and not the food itself.

On another day, you reach down to pet his soft, thick fur—only to get a static shock, it zaps your fingers and both of you jump back. You always have to be careful with petting him, as there’s always a risk of getting zapped at any time. Worst part is, it’s not even every time! It catches you off guard!

He likes to climb and jump on the pipes that web around the fortress, getting into places he’s never even considered before—and sometimes you look around for him for hours before giving up… only to suddenly be leapt on from above by a nine kilogram heavy cat half your size, knocking you over.

Siegwinne noticed that he had been brooding lately, he had been stuck as a cat for five days now and it was beginning to frustrate him. So she decided to soak a small blanket in tea mixed with catnip—after it was dry and she rubbed some more on it, she laid it out in his office…

You watched him for a good long while as he rubbed against it, meowed and rolled on the blanket. It was unbearably adorable, but you eventually pulled him away after a while—worrying it might be too much.

He’s so large that it’s almost like sleeping with a person, just a very furry one. He lies halfway over you and as you wake in the morning—he refuses to get up. You give in and relax in bed for a while… until he starts kneading your cheeks, leaving small scratches with his big paws and claws. You don’t stop him—it doesn’t hurt, he looks so focused, like he’s trying to squeeze something out of your cheeks.

Xiao ;

He meows and wriggles in your arms, but you try your best to hold him until you reach the top of the inn—he swats at you and you finally let him go when you enter his usual reserved room. Despite being paws up when you let go of him, Xiao lands perfectly and immediately hops up to the highest vantage point in the room he could reach.

You don’t get him down by yourself, he only comes down willingly after a few hours when he’s calmed down and adjusted a bit to this form. You’re not entirely sure what happened, you had just been exploring a cave that was strangely entwined with a temple of sorts, when a bright light appeared behind you, and Xiao—who had been accompanying you—was suddenly a cat. A very small cat.

He loafs on the windowsill in the night, his tail wrapped around his paws as he peers towards the sky—at the slightest noise, his ears flicker towards it and he squints at the roads below that pass and surround the large inn.

He is unbothered. Firm. Stoic.

… after getting wet under a pouring rain that persisted all day, he pretends not to be bothered by his wet fur and the uncomfortable existence he leads under this blanket of wet fur…

But he can only pretend for so long. You turn away and pretend to busy yourself to allow him some privacy to reluctantly lick along his fur and smooth it down, trying to clean or groom it in a way that makes it less sloppy.

He hates it, this weird satisfaction that comes with this very primal instinct, and yet, he does still feel the satisfaction.

Xiao is difficult to read on an average day, he’s very used to controlling his emotions and maintaining a front that’s difficult to get past.

But as a cat… he’s an open book, he approaches you with a curled tail, he slow blinks at you when you drag your fingers through his fur as he loafs on the windowsill.

But he does. Not. Meow.

Except for that time you hauled his ass back to the inn… and when Zhongli makes a sudden appearance, he hops from his perched position and snakes around the former Archon’s legs, purring and meowing as he’s being petted and spoken to. He doesn’t notice his own behaviour…

Not until the following night after Zhongli leaves, and Xiao is mortified that he behaved like an affection-depraved cat in front of Morax.

Thankfully you sliding a comb through his fur and untangling some knots from the day distracts and calms him down in the evening.

Zhongli ;

At first, you weren’t even sure if Zhongli was actually aware he was a cat, he follows you around, sits on a bench and licks his paw to clean it while you shop for groceries… he chases anything shiny that you come across and swats at it with his paws, leaps at it and tries to capture it—usually rocks or mora people drop. Maybe he likes the mineral, maybe it’s the shine. You can’t really know.

You try to give him some nice food, cut down nicely so he won’t accidentally choke on it… but he won’t eat it, not unless you plate it properly…? At least, when you rearranged it better and separated the meats from the greens, he seemed to like it more. Maybe he thought you were treating him a bit too much like a pet rather than a partner that’s unfortunately become a cat for a (hopefully) limited time.

After a long day of… not doing much, Zhongli realised he had left scratches on the sides of some furniture and he tries to hide or cover them up for the time being, dragging a blanket over the arm of a divan in the living room… hopefully you won’t discover them and he can fix it after he’s back to normal before you notice.

You do notice that he very much prefers specific textures, he doesn’t like walking on the hardwood floor of your home and instead prefers to lie down or sit on blankets or the silken sheets in your shared bedroom.

Despite the strange predicament, Zhongli is very calm, he’s both patient and has a good sense—if this was a dangerous curse or spell that was difficult to reverse, he would likely sense it. Instead, he considers using this time to show and receive affection in a way you haven’t been able to before.

He often sits by your legs or thighs, he winds around them and rubs his furry cheeks along your clothes and pretty much anywhere he can reach. Your legs when he’s winding around them, your hand when you reach out to pet him, your cheek when he stands on your chest when you’re trying to read in bed before sleeping.

He purrs and cuddles with you, laying in your arms or over your lap—he even hid in your bag once when you went out for the day, and you discovered it too late to take him back home (you did wonder why your bag felt heavier than usual) and thus, he has the pleasure of accompanying you to your work—something he doesn’t often get the excuse or time to do.

Thankfully, Hu Tao didn’t question it when you came to her and said that Zhongli couldn’t come to work for a few days (hopefully just a few days). If anything, she sighed in relief and said something about him finally using his paid time off and sick days. Then thanks you for taking him out of commission???

You pour over some scrolls and papers to try and figure out how to turn Zhongli back, and he hops onto the desk in the study, nuzzling against your arm before sitting down, tail swaying as he joins you in searching for ways to bring him back to you in a more familiar form. Despite how cute he is like this.

* eri is the collar-flap on the front of a kimono/yukata that crosses over the chest, he's tucked into it and lying on his back. if you know about the nioh cat clock scene, yeah.

* wriothesley is supposed to be a maine coon type of cat, just huge and heavy. but not wild cat huge.

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cosycryptid · 14 days ago

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Steve slowly realises way more customers end up actually renting something when he flirts a little with them. So for the sake of making sure he gets the Christmas bonus him and Robin were promised if they hit a certain target, he stops being picky about who he flirts with and starts turning his charm on for literally every adult who walks into the store.

It works surprisingly well. At first he's worried that some of the guys who come in might try to punch him, but he's mastered the art of being subtle with his smiles and compliments. So they mostly just have a pleasant chat with him and leave feeling conflicting emotions and carrying a movie they hadn't planned to rent, but somehow felt compelled to. When Steve and Robin get good feedback from the manager for their consistently improved rental figures, Robin starts encouraging Steve to keep it up.

The only issue is because he's spending pretty much every day flirting with people at work, it becomes second nature to him and he does it in his personal life. Most of the time he does it without even realising, but there are the rare embarrassing occasions where he catches himself saying or doing something that would not be interpreted the way he meant it to be.

One of the worst was when he dropped the kids off at the Byers' place for a sleepover and when Joyce thanked him for getting them there safe, he said, "Anything for you, Joyce," in an unintentionally suggestive tone and winked at her.

He got about half way down the driveway before practically running back to her with a bright red face, apologising profusely. "I'm so sorry, that came out really weird. I just meant that like I think of you as a mom and - no wait, shit, that makes it sound weirder." He had to take a breath to find the words and it came out stiff and unnatural when he said, "I appreciate everything you've done for us all and if you ever need help with anything you can always ask me."

The party witnessed the entire interaction and relentlessly tease him about it and mimic what he said while making kissy faces every time he's scolding them for doing or saying something stupid. They only stop when Will tells them to because that's his mom and he doesn't want to relive that weird, uncomfortable moment where Steve sounded like he was trying to proposition her.

An even worse occurrence happened not long after, when Hopper saw Steve standing around by his car, waiting for the kids to get their shit together and get out of the arcade. Hopper was on patrol, so he called over to him jokingly, "Loitering is a criminal offence, you know."

And Steve, before he could stop it, put one hand on his hip, brushed the other through his hair and said, "Are you gonna cuff me for it, Hop?"

Steve's blood ran cold in the deafening silence that followed where they looked at each other with horrified expressions, but Hopper managed to collect himself quickly. "I'm going to forget you just said that because I know that's not how you meant it to come out."

Steve couldn't look him in the eye when he quietly responded, "That would be really great, thank you."

He also had a weird moment with Jonathan, when he and Nancy walked into Family Video - which to be fair is Steve's main flirting ground - one afternoon later that week.

"So I heard you tried to flirt with both my parents?" Jonathan opened with.

And instead of more blushing and apologising, something unhinged in Steve's brain made him lean forward and say, "You jealous, Jonathan?" and even more wild is the fact that his body thought it would be a great idea to press his index finger to the middle of Jonathan's chest as he said it.

Jonathan looked at him, wide eyed, and only found himself able to let out a blank sounding, "Um."

Nancy, however, stared him down and said, "He's taken, Steve."

Steve pulled his hand away like he'd been burnt as soon as he caught on to what she meant.

And because Steve is a disaster, what was meant to be an assurance that he would never go for Nancy's partner, comes out entirely different.

“Relax, I’m not after your boyfriend. I have much better taste. Like… you, for example." It dawned on him that his tone had been way off as both Nancy and Jonathan stared at him like he had grown an extra head. "That sounded better in my brain. I've moved on, I swear. I meant my past relationships show that my type is not Jonathan. No offence, Jonathan, you are a good looking guy, like you're unconventionally handsome and it's kind of charming... I need to shut up."

He heard himself digging a deeper hole but couldn't make it stop.

"Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?" Robin said, slapping him on the shoulder. "You're supposed to flirt with customers, not everyone."

"I'm sorry, I was going for reassuring this time. Why does everything I say sound wrong lately?" Steve groaned with his face pressed to his hands.

"If it makes it any better, it totally would have worked on me if I was single and into guys," Jonathan shrugged.

"No, Jonathan. That doesn't make it better." Steve snapped in response.

Eddie is blissfully unaware of this new development, until he invites Steve and Robin to one of Corroded Coffin's shows.

Steve can't keep his eyes off Eddie the entire time, and it seems as if Eddie notices and thinks it's weird because Robin definitely notices and announces to Steve that he's being weird. Also, Eddie's eyes keep flitting over to him and he definitely messed up a note or two at some point, which must mean Steve's weird behaviour is throwing Eddie off. Steve tries his best to stop but he keeps doing it so in the end he just lets himself stare and decides he'll explain it to Eddie later.

Then someone tries to approach Eddie at the side of the stage after their set, looking at him with an expression Steve recognises as one that says 'come home with me'. And he feels awful about it because he should let Eddie have that with someone, especially after all the shit he's been though, but his traitorous feet carry him through the crowd to steal Eddie's attention before the person can get there. Robin's left to follow after Steve like a parent chasing a toddler who's running with a sharp object.

Eddie's got no clue that Steve just ruined some potential action for him as he downs a bottle of water so quickly some of it drips down his shirt. Steve's brain suddenly goes 'wow I wish I was that bottle of water', which he will admit catches him off guard because where the fuck did that thought come from? All the other times he'd behaved like this, it was without any thought at all until after the fact. He's also weirdly satisfied when he notices the person who was coming over to talk to Eddie is walking away dejectedly.

"Hey, you guys made it!" Eddie says, his face lighting up as he notices Steve and Robin standing there.

"Of course we did," Robin smiles.

Eddie gives both of them a hug, but Steve's seems to linger a little longer and Steve has to fight himself not to lean in closer and smell Eddie's hair because that's a really fucking weird impulse, especially since Eddie is all sweaty from performing.

"So, what did you think?" Eddie asks, a slightly nervous tone in his voice.

"You were awesome," Steve says, and mentally pats himself on the back for saying something that sounds normal.

"Really?" Eddie asks hopefully.

Something about the look in his eyes makes Steve's chest feel strange. Which is the only explanation he has for immediately demolishing his winning streak against his flirty tendencies.

He means to compliment Eddie on how talented he is at playing guitar. That's what he tells himself anyway.

What actually comes out of his mouth is, "Yeah, you're really good with your hands, Eddie," and it sounds absolutely filthy with the low tone of Steve's voice and the little lip bite he does after, all while leaning in close and making eye contact. There is no room for interpretation at all, but Steve doesn't feel the usual panic and embarrassment that comes when he accidentally does something flirtatious. Huh.

Even more surprising, when Eddie closes the gap even further, raises an eyebrow at him and says, "You should see what they can do when there isn't a guitar in the way, sweetheart," it doesn't throw Steve off one bit, he only feels a spark of excitement at the challenge.

"Maybe I will," he replies, his gaze darting between Eddie's lips and his eyes. And yeah, he's pretty much realised that he's just intentionally flirting with Eddie at this point. He's hoping he'll leave with him because they can't exactly kiss in front of a bar full of people.

"Oh my God," Robin groans, exasperated, and both boys break apart. "Could you take me home before I have to witness anymore of this? It's bad enough watching you flirt when you don't know you're doing it, Steve."

"Shit, sorry, Robin," Steve apologises. "Yeah, I'll drive you home." Robin thanks him, says goodbye to Eddie and starts walking towards the exit. Steve turns back to look at Eddie. "See you later," he smiles, but when he's about to turn to follow Robin, he feels ringed fingers wrap firmly around his wrist.

"Yeah, you will," Eddie responds, his tone still flirty and his eyes watching Steve with purpose. "Your place or mine, big boy?"

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #my fics #When Eddie finds out Steve flirted with Joyce and Hopper I like to think he'd be like you know what I respect that

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irisluvsabby · 11 days ago

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cam girl reader x perv abby

tw: this is terrible but oh well

cw: lesbian sex, strap on sex, abby is older than reader, oral sex, use of a vibrator, some aftercare? sex in front of a camera (livestream), and probably other stuff

you were a college student, studying art in 2025 and of course you were broke, the scholarship you got was nearly not enough for your daily expenses and an idea crossed your mind after a few videos popped on your fyp, why not start a cam girl career?

it's now been 3 months as a cam girl and honestly? best decision you ever made, you got at least 200$ for every stream and as an openly lesbian cam girl your followers were mostly girls, and older woman who were in an unhappy marriage. but of course you had a few favorites viewers who interacted with you the most and sent the most money of course.

amongst those, one of them stood up, a girl who's name you learned as soon as she hopped into your stream..

"fuck.. thank you guys for the donations.." you were fucking yourself with a vibrating wand on your clit, and your rule was, with each donations you would put the settings of the toy even higher. it was all fun and games until a certain 'muscle mommy abs' donated 100$.

"oh shit.." you moan as you turn the settings of your wand higher. "thanks 'muscle mommy abs', what's your real name?.. so i can moan it properly.." you tease with a smirk, trying to stay composed as the wand kept its assault on your clit, and as you were getting close to orgasm. then you see it pop up in the chat: "abby :)"

"fuck, please abby i'm gonna cum please can i?" you moaned, completely fucked out from the vibrations on your sensitive clit, then you saw it, abby saying something along the lines of "cum for me please." it felt so needy and desperate that it immediately threw you over the edge, cumming so hard for all of your viewers, almost squirting as you could feel the gaming chair you were on wet under you.

"shit- well thanks everyone, i guess i'm gonna end this live now and go and try to clean up, bye bye" you say before ending the live.

since that day abby has been attending every single live stream of yours, and always sending you some donations during it, hence to why she was one of your favorite, but aside from that she was just really cute

abby was a 27 years old mechanic who worked in an old crusty garage kinda lost in the middle of nowhere, but hey at least the pay was good. she's always been rather lonely true high school, and college. never had a proper girlfriend aside from some flings she's had in the past. but now that she had found her new obsession, you, a new cam girl she found online as she was just trying to get off, well there's no way that she's getting a girlfriend any soon now. abby attended your streams religiously, it was like the highlight of her day but knew that nothing else than that would happen.

until one day you made an announcement after one of your many hectic live stream; "oh my god guys by the way- wait let me get dressed-" you said before quickly putting on an oversized attack on titan shirt. "okay so, i was thinking, why not finding a way to reward my most loyal viewers right? well i though that one of you guys could maybe win a moment with me so we could live stream together?" you waited for approval of the viewers in the chat only to be met with most of them showing you their excitement in the chat.

ynsleftboob: god please make it be me i NEED to fuck you

minecrftellieee: this is the best day of my life

musclemommyabs: holy shit

behind her screen abby couldn't believe her own eyes , she actually had a chance to be with you for real. so she waited, mouth open, for you to give more details on the upcoming event. abby watched as you explained that there will be a poll and all the boring logistics before sending a link into the chat for your viewers to participate. and with little hope abby went in, filled the forms and agreed to a few terms she didn't have the patience to read before accepting.

the next few days, abby kept imagining what she would do if she actually won that event, how she would fuck you so good you'd only wanna come back to her, how she would appear on your stream and make all of the viewers jealous and how she was gonna be the one fucking you. she also took more hours at work to get more cash and buy a brand new strap on (just in case you know) and went to the gym in the little free time she had, just to get off to your videos when she got home, moaning your name and waiting for the day she would finally have you.

then saturday night came, the day of your weekly stream, but this stream was different, you wouldn't do anything really, just annonce the winner to your event, and that was more than okay to abby and probably all of your other viewers.

"oh my god hey guys!!" you said happily as you watched all of your viewers join the stream excitedly, and amongst them of course was abby, waiting for you to announce the winner. "okay i know what you're all waiting forrr" you teased with a wink, making the viewers act up in the chat. "okay okay- i'm not gonna drag this out but i just wanna say, i would've loved to make everyone happy buttt there is only one winner tonight" you smile.

abby was intently watching you, waiting for you to say the username that would get to film with you, she was hoping for it to be her but there was a little voice in her head telling her that was not possible. that was until, pulling her out of her thoughts, she heard your sweet voice, calling out her username.

"'musclemommyabs, im really glad to tell you that you're the one that's getting to spend a moment with me and will do a stream with me on here.. i also can't wait to see if your username is actually true"

abby felt her heart beat in her chest, that could not be happening. while she was trying to take in the fact that she was going to have you in real life, you were talking about how you're gonna send her a private text about the details, and before she knew it, the stream was over, and many people were still talking in the chat, disappointed about not winning.

it was now a few days later, abby was getting in her car to get to your place, which was thankfully only an hour away, she was making way too many scenarios in her head about how she was going to have you, which made the drive way quicker. when she got there, abby didn't waste a second to knock at your door, mentally preparing herself to actually see her biggest crush ever. and when you opened the door, she thought she was going to faint. there you were, wearing a soft pink robe that was clinging to your curves like it was made for you, and abby could see a bit of your pink lacy bra that was peeking out.

seeing abby in real life also made you nervous, she was older than you, taller than you, very very bulky and wearing overalls that were hanging loose at her waist, dirty security boots and a basic t shirt that made her look so good, just your type.

you couldn't hide your blushing as you welcomed her in and closing the door behind you guys. "omg hi abby, i'm so glad to see you, and you really do live up to your username." you said with a wink. with that a rush of confidence ran over abby "yeah you like what you see?" she asked getting closer to you and closing the front door behind her.

"mhm i love it.." you teased with a sultry voice, slowly undoing your robe, letting it fall on the floor, letting abby take in your brand new pink and white lingerie that you wore just for her. abby couldn't take it anymore, and fortunately for her, you knew what she was here for and vice versa. there was no more thinking when abby pushed you into the nearest wall, tilting up your head to put her lips on yours, finally, turning it into a heated makeout session as abby dominated the kiss, her hands were everywhere, you couldn't take it anymore as you ran your hands under her t-shirt, feeling her abs.

abby went down to kiss your neck, making you moan out and dig your nails into her back, abby moaning from the feeling of your acrylics on her skin. "abby- fuck.. bedroom please..". she quickly understood and threw you over her shoulder with minimal effort, which made you even wetter for her. when she found the bedroom, abby saw the place she's been seeing on her laptop for all this time in her life and couldn't believe it, she looked around for a few seconds before not wanting to lose any more time and putting you on your bed. but before abby could get on top of you, you stopped her "wait- turn on the stream please- cameras and all are already set up." abby got up with a groan before going to your laptop "how do i do this thing.." she whispered to herself before finally turning on the stream. "all good" she winked at you before crawling back on top of you and peppering kisses to your breasts as you tried to speak to the viewers. "hi guys- sorry we got a little carried away- fuck abby- um so yeah.." you stopped talking, going back to abby who was centimeters away from the place you needed her the most.

"abby please.." you begged, looking down at her. "please what?" she said, not even looking back at you as she was taking off your panties, she looked like she did not care a bit about your stream as she finally looks back at you, waiting for some more begging. "please fuck me.." you finally say, and she doesn't waste a second, licking a slow strip on your pussy, making you shiver. after a few seconds of teasing abby finally gets to it, eating you out like a starved woman and you couldn't love it more. she was sucking on your clit so deliciously, then switching to slide her tongue inside of you and rubbing your clit with her fingers, it was the best head you ever had and you were seeing stars.

"i'm gonna cum- fuck" you moaned, feeling yourself getting closer and abby couldn't be happier, "mhm?" she hummed almost as if giving you her approval and sending vibrations right to your clit, and that was it for you, you came on her tongue with a moan so loud your neighbors would probably leave notes on your door the next day. that didn't matter to abby as she kept sucking on your clit making your orgasm never ending and licking up all of your juices. when she finally stopped, you were breathless and abby had your juices all over the lower half of her face. what got you out of your "post orgasm" state was the never ending ding sounds coming from your laptop announcing new texts in the chat.

you squinted you eyes to check some of the messages

minecrftellieee: oh wow that abby girl can eat pussy

lesbiannmommy: should've been me 😔

ynswhore: how i wish i was the one eating you out like that

you smiled reading some of the messages. "you okay?" you the heard abby ask you, her hair was messy and she was still fully dressed. "mhm im great" you smile at her "but get undressed and fuck me for real now." "right away ma'am" she said before taking off her shirt and reaching for her bag to pull out her brand new strap. "bought this just for you, i hope you like it." she admits before taking off her pants, staying in her boxers and putting the strap on.

you couldn't help but blush, abby was this super hot, muscular older woman and she bought a strap on just for you, you might be falling in love right now. "fuck- you're so hot" you tell her as you watch her adjust the strap on her waist. she simply chuckled before getting back on the bed. "get on your hands and knees for me yeah? so your little viewers can really see your face while i fuck you so good you'll only remember my name". this made you even wetter than before, if that was even possible, and you quickly do as she says, putting your ass up and teasing her. "good girl.." she whispers as she gets some of your wetness to coat her strap with it, you were still sensitive so that gesture made you whine and buck against abby's hips. with that she saw how needy you were and decided to finally fuck you how you needed, she slowly sinks her strap into you, to not overwhelm you, and once she saw that you were okay, she rammed into you, hitting your g-spot so easily you didn't even know it was possible.

with abby's thrust into you it was impossible for you to stay on your hands and knees as your arms were already giving out. she quickly took notice of that and pulled you up so your back was against her chest, which made her thrusts into a different angle. "oh my god- fuck fuck abby" you whined as she fucked you so good you couldn't think. "you like that? i'm sure that feels better than all of your silly toys yeah? better when i'm there to take care of you." you whined as abby repeatedly hit your g-spot making it impossible to answer her, only whines came out of your mouth as she doubled her pace.

"fucking you so good you can't even speak yeah?" she chuckles as she kissed the back of your neck, and sliding one of her hands down to toy with your clit, and that was it for you, you came with a cry, shaking in abby's grasp, as she slowed down her thrusts, letting you ride out your orgasm. "abby- too much fuck!" she continued a few more seconds before stopping and settling you back down on the mattress. she gently caressed your back as she pulled out of you gently.

you then rolled over to get on your back, to see abby taking off the strap and going back to you. "you liked that?" she asked with a smirk, knowing already your answer. "hmm it was okay." you tease her with a wink.

after sitting up on the bed you look at your laptop to see that the chat is going crazy and you definitely beat your viewers count record, but you couldn't pay too much attention to that when abby found your favorite ever toy on your bedside table. "do you have a few more left in you? i'd love to use that thing on you after sawing you using it on yourself so much."

next thing you know, you were tied to the headboard as abby used your own vibrating wand on you, and for some reason, it felt way better than when you used it by yourself. "my god you're shaking, does it feel that good honey? you're going to cum yeah? come on cum for me." abby said, trying to make you cum one more time tonight. "no- abs.. it feels different wait wait!" you tried to warned abby but she upped to settings of the wand to the maximum, the vibrations being now way too much for you.

you couldn't handle it and you felt a strange sensation, like you were going to cum but way more intense. and before you could even stop yourself you were squirting all over the wand and abby, you couldn't help but moan so loud as the sensation was so much for you. "holy shit- that was so hot" abby was mesmerized, quickly turning down the settings to not overstimulate you.

when you finally came back to your senses you couldn't help but feel so embarrassed by what happened but abby assured you that it was the hottest thing she ever saw. you were still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm as abby brought you a towel to help you clean up before quickly turning off the stream, to the dismay of your many viewers.

"you okay?" abby asked as she kissed your forehead. "mhm yeah.. it was just so much but i loved it" you admitted looking back at her. "well, i'm glad.. i don't know if this is the right time but can i take you out for a date sometime?" she asked and you could see that she was nervous so you chuckled "of course"

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heich0e · 6 months ago

Text

sukuna likes a lot of things about you.

he likes the perfume you wear, and how recently his sheets have started smelling a bit like you even on the nights you don't spend in his bed. he likes the sound of your voice when you first wake up and how you're fairly slow to rise, so you tend to walk around first thing in the morning a little groggy and disoriented. he likes that you're intelligent—far more intelligent than someone like him deserves—but that you're also clever and quick witted. he likes that you're gentle but can still be headstrong, and aren't afraid to talk back to him sometimes. he likes how well you get along with his nephew. he likes how much his family likes you.

he does not, however, like what you just said to him.

"did you just say... my brother... is hot?"

you blink at him, seemingly taken aback by his horrified tone.

"no," you say with a little shake of your head, but sukuna has no opportunity to feel any sort of relief about the miscommunication. "i said he's kinda sexy."

sukuna feels every artery, vein, and capillary in his circulatory system throb in the wake of your words, and it's as close to a miracle as a man like him can hope for that he doesn't drop dead where he stands from the pure shock of it. his eye twitches at the corner as he continues processing what you've said, his gaze sliding from your blithe expression to his older brother on the other side of the apartment.

jin is in the kitchen with yuuji, washing up the last few plates from dinner. his six-year-old son had just soaked him with the spray nozzle on the sink a few seconds prior, and the two of them laugh together while jin uses the hem of his ugly knit sweater to wipe his face. he'd taken his glasses off after the unexpected drenching, and his damp hair is slicked back from where he ran his hands through it.

sukuna looks back at you, and finds your attention had followed his own into the kitchen. you're watching jin and yuuji interact with a little smile on your face.

sukuna snaps.

in what feels like the blink of an eye, the man scoops you up in one arm—tossing you over his shoulder as effortlessly as he might a half-empty bag of rice—and snatches up your nearby coats with the other before spinning abruptly on his heel towards the door.

"sukuna!" you gasp, calling his name shrilly as you beat your fist weakly against his back. "put me down!"

the spectacle unfolding in the living room draws yuuji and jin's attention towards it, watching in confusion as sukuna stomps in the direction of the genkan.

"ji-chan!" yuuji calls out in dismay, hopping down off the little red step stool he uses to reach the sink and running after him. "where're you going?"

"home," sukuna grunts out tersely, still clutching you in his grasp as you squirm, stuffing his feet into his shoes in the genkan and grabbing yours with the hand not pinning you in place. he keeps his back to his nephew as he reaches for the door.

"but why?" yuuji asks, a lilt of sadness in his little voice.

"sukuna..." jin laughs awkwardly in the doorway to the kitchen, just behind his son, trying to diffuse the situation at hand—the situation he doesn't even properly understand himself.

"papa," yuuji starts to warble, his voice pitching up and breaking sadly in the middle of his cry of protest. "ji-chan's stealing my friend!"

sukuna freezes. you stop squirming.

it goes quiet for a moment.

there's a bit of shuffling and a sound of exertion as, sukuna assumes, jin scoops his crying son up into his arms.

"it's okay, yuuji," you say forcing a gentle, comforting tone. sukuna feels your hands press against his back, and assumes you've propped yourself up so you can meet his nephew's teary gaze. "i'm not feeling very good, so ji-chan's gonna take me home now, is that okay?"

yuuji sniffles a little. "you don't feel good?"

"no," you tell him, "i'm feeling a bit sick."

"are your legs sick?" yuuji asks after considering your words, a bit less distraught than before but still sniffly. "is that why ji-chan has to carry you?"

sukuna feels your fingers twist into the back of his t-shirt.

you hum in agreement to the little boy's question, but the sound is notably strained.

yuuji sighs. "it's a good thing ji-chan's so strong."

"well, say goodnight, yuuji," jin—clearly a bit bewildered—cuts into the conversation as sukuna opens up the apartment door.

"goodniiiiiight!" yuuji calls to sukuna's retreating frame. "make sure you don't drop my friend, ji-chan!"

the door swings closed behind you both with a final dull thud.

the two of you are halfway down the sidewalk outside of jin and yuuji's apartment, still draped over sukuna's shoulder as he carries you, before either of you says anything. you're the first to speak.

"if you don't put me down i'm gonna start screaming," you say, and your voice is shockingly even considering the circumstances.

"you wouldn't," sukuna grunts dismissively.

"i absolutely would," you reply, and sukuna pauses in his stride when he hears the sincerity in your voice.

he just stands there for a moment, in the middle of the sidewalk, the quiet residential street thankfully deserted at this time of evening. he hesitates for a moment, wondering just how loud of a scream you'd be able to muster, and just how quickly it might draw a crowd on a street this silent.

he sighs, the sound resentful and defeated all at once.

"shoes," you order.

sukuna sets your shoes down on the ground, making sure they land upright.

"me, next."

carefully, sukuna lowers you down to the ground, holding you up long enough for you to navigate your feet into your waiting shoes. once both have safely been slipped on, he releases his hold on you and steps back. you turn to him with your expression pinched in irritation, your arms crossing over your chest.

"so, what was that about?" you ask him with an eyebrow raised.

"i'm takin' you home," he replies flatly.

"why?"

sukuna stares down at you, his arms crossing over his own chest to mirror your defensive stance. "you're lucky i'm not taking you to the hospital to get your head checked out after you called my lameass dweeb brother sexy."

you let out a long, world-weary breath, lifting a hand to your face and holding it over your eyes. sukuna just watches you, still pissed off but slowly regaining his senses as the cold evening air bites at his burning cheeks.

"you are..." you pause momentarily, spreading your fingers so you can glare at him weakly. "an idiot."

sukuna's jaw clenches. "you're the one lusting after a four-eyed old man who cries during kids movies."

"i'm never said i was lusting after anyone," you say, letting your hand drop to your side in exasperation. "i said he looked kinda sexy with his hair pushed back because he reminded me of you!"

there's a long, excruciating moment of silence that stretches out for miles between you.

sukuna... must have missed that part.

"oh."

"yeah," you bite back. "oh."

sukuna looks up at the streetlight overhead, if only as an excuse to avert his gaze from your withering stare. he squints his eyes like he's straining to see something far away.

"guess i might've... overreacted a bit."

"a bit," you repeat flatly.

a strong breeze rushes past, rustling the leaves on the trees that line the street and sending a shiver through you. sukuna looks down again, watching as you clasp your arms across your chest for warmth, and wordlessly takes his jacket off his arm to wrap it around your shoulders.

"i've got my own coat," you mutter sullenly as sukuna tugs the two sides of his jacket closed around you like a cocoon. you burrow your face down into the collar in spite of your words.

"you don't want mine?" sukuna counters, knowing fully well how much you like it when he puts his coat on you—and very much using it to his own advantage.

you purse your lips, the tips of your fingers appearing from inside the jacket to clutch sides of the zipper, pulling the garment protectively around your frame. "i never said that, either."

sukuna laughs, rolling his eyes.

"you owe your nephew an apology," you tell him. "we were supposed to read a new book tonight."

"yeah, yeah," sukuna says, waving his hand dismissively. it's of little concern to him, at this point. the kid's not particularly hard to make it up to; it'll only take a couple of chocolates and a trip to the park before the incident is forgotten entirely.

might be a little harder to clear it up with his older brother, though.

"jin faints when he gets needles, you know," sukuna tells you, his tone shockingly serious. "he only uses kids shampoo because he hates when it gets in his eyes and likes the fact it smells like strawberries. and he got so scared in a test of courage in high school that he pissed himself."

you look at your him with a look of absolute shock on your face.

"why are you telling me this?" you ask him incredulously.

sukuna leans down in your space, practically nose to nose with you, his expression stern.

"him and i share DNA—we're gonna look alike, and I can't do anythin' about it," sukuna says, something boyishly petulant in his tone. "i'm making sure you never think of that loser as being anything even remotely close to sexy ever again."

sukuna watches from up close as your expression shifts, a glimmer of mirth swirling in your gaze underneath the glow of the streetlight overhead.

"you really are an idiot," you breathe, half-way to a laugh, the sound is entirely too fond to have any of the bite you may have hoped.

sukuna smirks, shrugging indifferently. "he got the brains, i got the looks."

"he got the personality, too," you add pointedly.

sukuna leans forward, a hand slipping behind your back to pull you close, slotting his mouth to yours in a slow, searing kiss. as your lips part to welcome him, your head tipping back, he feels your grip on the jacket around your frame slacken. when your fingers twist into the material of his shirt to pull him closer, he grins triumphantly into the kiss.

pulling away, he revels in the slightly dazed look on your face. at the sheen of his spit spread across your lips. at the faint smell of your perfume that will cling to his coat just like it does to his bedsheets back at home.

"oh well," sukuna breathes, blissfully indifferent, leaning in close to kiss you again. and on the quiet street outside his brother's apartment, wrapped in his coat against the evening chill, you let him.

it doesn't matter what his brother has, sukuna decides, because he's got something much, much better.

#uncle!sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk writing #jjk drabble #writing

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hausofwoo · 1 year ago

Text

swallow | park seonghwa

pairing: park seonghwa x afab!reader

word count: 5.6K

this is part 2 of open wide! if you have not yet read part 1, i highly suggest reading it first.

summary: ever since that night, seonghwa has been avoiding you. but when new guy yunho starts at the restaurant, tensions rise until it reaches a breaking point.

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, restaurant!au, bartender!seonghwa, server!reader, enemies to lovers trope, smoking (cigarette), alcohol consumption, sex under the influence of alcohol (but both consenting), fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up y'all), dick slapping, biting, cumplay, oral (f receiving), face sitting, creampie, degrading, use of petnames (princess, baby), the passion is T H E R E, woosan allegations once again, feat. new guy!yunho, server/work bestie!ryujin, servers!wooyoung and san, restaurant manager!hongjoong.

author's note: i already intended on making a part 2 of open wide, and everyone's feedback was so sweet and helpful on part 1! thank u again to @hausofmingi and T for being my beta-readers as always :-) plz enjoy ♡ ✧*

your eyes flutter open to the birds chirping outside. it’s way too fucking early to be awake right now. you feel yourself in a half-dream half-awake state, mind fuzzy and floaty. you turn your head to the side to see the man you spent the night with; the man who made you feel so good.

you rub your eyes a bit, attempting to wipe away the sleepiness. your vision adjusts, and you take a deeper look at him. seonghwa.

he really is beautiful. perfectly plump lips, long eyelashes, and there’s something about the way his nose is just a liiiiittle bit bumped at the bridge. even in his flaws you find beauty. you can’t resist gazing at him while he sleeps, his hair all messy in his face. why is it that he is so beautiful, yet the way he treats you is so far from that?

he shifts a bit, letting out a gentle sigh. your eyes begin to droop again, and you feel yourself drift off to the sound of his soft breathing.

when you wake, your bed feels cold. he left. you sit up slowly, stretching your arms up to ring out the exhaustion from your body. you look back at the empty spot next you.

it’s interesting that he left without a word, but you don’t know what to make out of it. before last night, you clearly couldn’t stand each other. you thought he was conceited and condescending. he was rude. and even during last night, his ego pooled over. but was the mere thought of missing him childish? you can’t help but to feel like there was something more to it. there was something on a deeper level that made you curious, therefore you wanted it back even more so. you started to feel like those girls from the movies; the ones where the girl becomes clingy after a one night stand. a cliché.

so what if he didn’t stay? it’s not like he actually felt anything for you. it was just a quick fuck. you probably were just another girl that he decided to throw a bone to. that’s what cocky men like him enjoy; just someone to string along and play with until he’s bored with them. you figured that time came sooner than you expected. well fuck him.

he hasn’t made eye contact with you once since you came in to work. you have the section right in front of the bar (thanks for nothing, hongjoong) so you have to just bear through it every time you pass him by. you prep your tables for service, wiping them down mindlessly.

you suppose there isn’t really a right way to go about this. sleeping with a coworker is a no-no, especially in restaurants. it gets messy (but it happens nonetheless). it’s not like you can go up to him and talk to him as if nothing happened. he didn’t exactly set you up for success either. he left without a word, and now you’re forced into the same space as him, clueless as to what to do. you decide to just ignore him unless absolutely necessary.

ryujin hops over next to you, a little too peppy for how you’re feeling.

“are you ready for a great service tonight?” ryujin says sarcastically, but with a grin.

“i want it to be over already,” you force out a dry chuckle, still half-assing the prep for your tables.

“the hell is wrong with you?” ryujin snorts.

“i’ll just—“ you start, but then realize you felt eyes burning into you. you look up the moment seonghwa’s gaze shifts, going back to wiping down the bar. “um, i’ll tell you later.”

“okay…” ryujin says, puzzled. she walks back to her section to prep.

your eyes are compelled to shift back up to seonghwa. at this point it just feels embarrassing to be wondering what he’s thinking, wondering if he felt what you felt sunday night. your thoughts are interrupted by hongjoong approaching you with a tall man, someone new.

“this is yunho,” hongjoong says, almost presenting the man to you. “he’s going to be trailing you tonight. just show him the ropes and i’ll grab him once dinner service slows down.”

yunho steps forward, extending a hand to you. “it’s so nice to meet you!” he gives you a warm smile as you shake his hand.

“it’s nice to meet you too, yunho,” you say, surprised by the immediate kindness. this feels a lot nicer than how you’ve been treated before.

tuesday nights are usually slow, even during dinner service. you had a decent amount of tables, but nothing you couldn’t handle. and fortunately the new guy caught on really quickly, grabbing the drinks for your tables, clearing empty plates when needed… working with him was making your shift a breeze.

“you’ve worked in restaurants before, haven’t you?” you ask yunho. you refill a water jug for your table with him in the back.

“yeah, i have,” he says meekly, rubbing the back of his neck. “you can tell?”

“definitely,” you nod with a smile. “what happened at the last place?”

“the management,” he chuckles, and you knew exactly what he meant without any explanation. “don’t tell anyone, but i quit without notice.”

you fake a gasp, pretending to clutch your pearls. you let out a light-hearted laugh. “don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

yunho gives a sweet smile to you, eye contact lingering a bit. you look down and realize the jug of water started overflowing and quickly move it away, letting out a humored yelp.

“oops,” he whispers, and you both giggle quietly to each other while wiping down the mess.

little did you know, seonghwa was entering the back to switch kegs for the beer on tap, and he walked in on your giggle-fest. he looks between the two of you momentarily as he continues to the back. you don’t even notice him until he passes. in a strange way, you can almost see annoyance radiating off of him. but maybe you’re making things up?

at the end of service, you finish closing all your tabs and count your tips at the bar with ryujin and wooyoung. yunho was in the back with hongjoong, debriefing the shift. you assumed seonghwa was in the back too, but you pushed away the curiosity.

“what a slow night,” ryujin sighs. she holds up her measly few bills and fakes a cry.

“how was training the new guy?” wooyoung inquires, packing his things.

“it was really good,” you can’t help but smile a little too big. your face drops when seonghwa walks back out to the bar, carrying a pack of beer to restock. you swear he steals a glance at you before kneeling down to refill the low-boys.

“speak of the devil!” ryujin grins, with all of you shifting your view to see yunho walking to the bar with an apron in hand.

“i think you guys might be seeing a lot more of me from now on,” he says, fake-cockily. the three of you congratulate him, all while seonghwa minds to himself.

“when’s your next shift then?” you ask.

“hongjoong said i’ll train the rest of the week, and then my first day live is sunday,” he says, throwing his bag on his shoulder.

“you know what that means…” wooyoung voices mischievously.

“uhhh, what does that mean?” yunho utters, a curious expression on his face.

“sunday celebration!” ryujin throws her hands up in excitement.

“what the hell is sunday celebration?” yunho laughs.

“basically,” ryujin starts, “it’s where we all go out after our shift to a dive bar nearby and drink away our sorrows. but this time we can drink in ACTUAL celebration!”

“i could be down for that,” yunho says. he looks directly to you. “will i see you there?”

your lips part to answer, but your ears are punctured by glass shattering, and the sound of beer fizzing on the floor. your head snaps over to see seonghwa grumbling and picking up the pieces.

“party foul!” wooyoung says jokingly, but then was met with seonghwa’s glare. “kidding…”

you stand from the bar stool and gather your things, taking the cue to leave. “i’m gonna head out. yunho, see you tomorrow?”

“yup,” he says, holding back a smile. “i’ll see you then.”

you turn to walk to the door, feeling eyes like daggers piercing your back.

seonghwa is messing up a lot lately. which is very unlike him, being that he’s a perfectionist. you rang up an order of drinks for your tables, and yeah it was quite a few drinks, but you had never seen him mistake a gin martini for a vodka martini. you approach the drink pass with the misfired drink, setting it down.

“seonghwa,” you call to him, pointing at the drink. “i need a gin martini.”

“that IS a gin martini,” he says flatly, filling a beer from the tap. so sure of himself.

“no,” you insist. “this is vodka.”

he approaches the pass, setting down the beer with its appropriate ticket. he plucks a cocktail straw to do a straw taste of the drink. but with the sip, he wasn’t remotely shaken. he just tosses the liquid in the sink, remaking it without a word.

“you just gonna stand there and watch?” he says while stirring the beverage.

“are you gonna make it right this time?” you snap.

he places the drink on the pass, clearly pissed off. he slams the ticket next to the drink and glares at you, almost too close. you feel the huffs of his irritated breaths fanning your face, and for the first time since that night, you really look at each other. but all that was tangible in the air was anger.

“run your drink, princess.” he enunciates your nickname, packing a punch.

after finishing your closing duties, you’re ready to leave and put this shift behind you. you wave goodbye to your coworkers and start heading out the back door, it being held open by a loose brick. just as your feet hit the pavement of the alley, you hear your name being called behind you.

“wait!” you turn to yunho calling after you, and stopping in the doorway. “you leaving?”

“oh, uh, yeah,” you say, adjusting your tote bag on your shoulder. “i got all my side work done so i’m heading home.”

“oh, okay,” he says shyly, obviously with a second thought on his mind.

you look at each other for a moment, but not out of awkwardness, just with a peculiar feeling of enticement.

“so um, how was training with wooyoung today?” you ask.

“oh yeah,” yunho laughs. “it was good. he’s really funny with his tables.”

“yeah, that guy’s definitely a yapper,” you both giggle to each other in amusement.

“sooo… you’re walking home?” he asks, leaning on the frame of the door.

“i usually walk home, i don’t live that far,” you explain.

“me too! maybe i can walk you—“ yunho gets cut off by seonghwa barging into the doorway.

“can i borrow her for a sec?” seonghwa says, barely making it a question.

yunho hesitantly nods, “yeah, um, i guess i’ll see you later?” he says to you, giving you a small wave.

“yeah, i’ll see you tomorrow yunho,” you force a smile, with a pleading HELP ME written behind your eyes.

seonghwa leads you to the walk in, slamming the door behind him. he hovers over you and you can literally see the heat fuming off of him.

“what do you want, seonghwa?” you ask bluntly, trying your best not to sound intimidated.

“we need to talk,” he growls at you, stepping forward, forcing you to press up against the wall behind you.

“about what?” you quip with a begging tone. is this really the time to talk about it?

your eyes bore into each other, faces inches apart. his snarl nearly dissipates when he rips his eyes away from yours for a moment to glance at your lips. you blink up at him in temptation. you can feel the tension in the air, wondering if it was contempt or all encompassing desire. perhaps it was both.

“th–that shit you pulled earlier, don’t do it again,” seonghwa hesitantly lets out, nearly losing his composure.

“what, when you fucked up my drink order?” you ask.

“when you grilled me in the middle of service,” he defends.

“for fucking up, yeah,” you say, crossing your arms. “doesn’t feel nice to be scolded for your mistakes, does it?”

he glares at you for a beat, clearly unsure how to dig himself out of this hole. a hole that he dug. as if he snapped out of a trance, he steps back slightly. he clenches his jaw, and in a swift motion, withdraws from the walk-in. you’re left alone, still pressed up against the icy wall. a rolling cloud escapes your lips, making you realize you had been holding your breath.

it felt like sunday night didn’t come soon enough. this weekend was busier than usual, so all the running around on top of the rigidity of seonghwa was making you go mad. it’s difficult to avoid someone you hate when you have to retrieve drink orders from him all day. luckily, he just reserved to himself and you followed suit.

throwing your bag onto the bar, you slump into the bar seat at the end of the night.

“here,” hongjoong passes a shift beer to each of the servers at the bar, including you. “you guys need these after this weekend.”

you give a thank you while cracking it open, taking a big gulp. you let out a big sigh of relief.

“you’re right, hongjoong,” you say blissfully. “i did need this.”

ryujin snickers next to you, nudging your shoulder. “there will be plenty more at sunday celebration, don’t you worry.”

“speaking of,” san says, grabbing the shoulders of yunho. “congrats on your first live shift, yunho!”

“yeah, how was it?” you ask. you can’t help but smile at the beaming man.

“it went…” yunho starts, pausing for effect. “swimmingly.”

“sounds like a cause for celebration!” ryujin sing-songs, raising her beer in salute.

you all raise your glasses, short one person of course: seonghwa, who was mopping down the bar floor. after a hefty drink, wooyoung crushes his can first and tosses it in the trash.

“let’s start celebrating, sannie,” wooyoung says, throwing his arm over san’s shoulder. (seriously, what the hell is going on there?)

san and wooyoung book it out the door and ryujin follows soon after, finishing her beer and beckoning you to join.

“almost done, you go ahead!” you encourage, packing up your things hap-hazardly with one hand and chugging your beer with the other.

“shit, you guys drink fast,” yunho says, swishing his beer around to hear how much he has left. with a laugh he says, “wish i could just take this to go.”

“i won’t tell,” you whisper to him, grabbing him to join you. “walk with me?”

“okay,” yunho smiles, almost looking like he had stars in his eyes.

you two waltz out the door, leaving seonghwa at the bar cleaning alone. and with your eyes finally averted away, he can finally have no shame in watching you intently out the window. he is so fucked.

“here’s to yunho!” mingi hosts the cheers, with everyone raising their glasses, clinking them together and collectively taking a drink.

“guys,” yunho says with his face still contorted from the liquor. “thank you so much. you’ve all been so welcoming!”

“of course, you’re part of the fam now!” san smiles, wrapping his arm around the man’s shoulders.

everyone takes their respective seats and mingle amongst each other, all while taking more shots and drinking more beer. you, of course, were sat with ryujin and wooyoung talking about the latest work drama.

“have you guys noticed something different about seonghwa lately?” wooyoung asks. “like when he broke that beer the other night? i swear, the whole year i’ve worked here i’ve never seen him break a thing.”

“dude, yes,” ryujin says, leaning in. “he fucked up a couple of my drink orders today. so weird.”

“he’s definitely been in a bad mood lately,” you mumble, holding back from telling your secret.

“yeah, more than usual,” ryujin rolls her eyes. “he probably just needs to get laid.”

you choke back a bit on your drink, taken off guard by the comment. you realize the problem is not that he needs to get laid, but that he did get laid. and now he’s being tortured by seeing the poor girl at work every day. why did he have to sleep with you when you know he feels nothing but disdain for you? are you just a toy to him? you begin to feel dizzy, partly from the alcohol, but also from the thoughts spinning in your head.

“you okay?” wooyoung asks you, handing you a water. you nod and take the drink from him, but his eyes are quickly diverted to the bar. “oh shit, seonghwa is here.”

“what?” ryujin tries her best to look subtly. “do you think our shit-talking manifested him?”

“i don’t know,” you huff, trying to figure out a way to avoid him. “but i’m gonna go sit on the patio.”

“there’s a patio?” yunho chimes in, hearing the last bit. “can i join?”

you smile and nod, leading him back. this will be a good distraction.

“so…” you start, leaning against the wooden patio covering. “how do you like it here? at the restaurant, i mean.”

“it’s definitely different,” yunho laughs. he leans on the covering next to you. “everyone is super nice, the food is good… and it’s nice to work for a local business. the management seems to really care about the employees.”

“definitely, hongjoong is great manager.” you nod to him.

“it’s actually crazy,” yunho starts. “i’ve never seen so many attractive people all working in one place before.”

“what, like ryujin? or wooyoung? or san?” you giggle, realizing he was right. you do have a LOT of hot coworkers.

“well, sure,” yunho says shyly. “but no, i meant you.”

“oh,” you say, caught off guard. you suddenly feel a lot more drunk. you look up at him momentarily, him leaning closer to you.

if someone else saw this body language from an outside perspective, they’d think that he looks like he wants to kiss you. and so what if he did? would it be the worst thing in the world to entertain this, even after your mess with seonghwa?

yunho leans in and places a soft kiss on your lips, quick but sweet. when he pulls away, you’re left looking at him with an unreadable expression, but in your mind, you were reeling.

there was something… missing. and it irritated the fuck out of you. yunho did give you butterflies, but you wonder if it’s just because it feels nice to have attention on you. especially from someone that’s actually kind and seems like he actually wants to get to know you. but in your crazy toxic head, you realize what was missing. passion.

“i-i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have done that,” yunho says, touching his fingertips on his lips.

“no, no,” you say, grabbing his arm. “it’s okay.”

before yunho can get out a word, the back door shuts with seonghwa walking out, witnessing the scene. you can’t resist stepping back slightly from yunho, as if it’s not too late to be caught. he looks between you and seonghwa, adding two and two together just from the tension alone.

“i think i’m gonna head back inside,” yunho says, rubbing the back of his neck. “sorry, again.”

“yunho, wait,” you call after him, but he already shuts the door behind him.

“let him leave,” seonghwa commands, leaning against the wall.

“what are you even doing here, seonghwa?” you ask, already putting your guard up.

“the fuck are you doing with the new guy?” he says, placing a cigarette between his lips and lighting it with a match. of course he’s one of those pretentious dudes that uses a fucking match to light a cig.

“since when do you smoke?” you say, desperately trying to change the subject.

“i don’t,” he says casually, blowing a cloud into the air. “just been stressed lately.”

“i can tell,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “it’s like you forgot how to bartend.”

“it’s not just work,” he says, brushing off the insult you threw at him. “it’s also you.”

“what about me?” you basically refuse, shaking your head. “i’ve been doing exactly what you want me to do. i don’t talk to you, i don’t look at you. i pretty much avoid you at all costs. you’re off the hook, seonghwa. you don’t have to worry about me bothering you.”

“who says that’s what i wanted?” seonghwa says, finally looking directly to you.

“you didn’t have to say it,” you spit at him, forcing him silent.

the air feels heavy. seonghwa struggles to find words for what he wanted to say. he looks down again, ashing his half-smoked cigarette. the back door opens to wooyoung and san following after him, both opting to sit in the patio chairs in the corner. they continue their conversation, and seonghwa looks to you.

“we should talk somewhere more private,” he says, motioning to your coworkers. he’s already grabbing his keys from his pocket.

“why, so you can keep being an asshole to me without an audience?” you say.

“because i want to finish what we started,” he mumbles, walking out of the patio and to the back parking lot.

you try your best to resist, but curiosity overcame you as you follow.

after a short but tense drive, you arrive at what seems to be seonghwa’s apartment. he shuts the engine off and jumps out of his car. you slowly try to register what the hell is happening, unbuckling and hopping out. seonghwa doesn’t look back you, he just continues walking, knowing you’re trailing after him. he unlocks his front door, letting both of you in. he closes the door behind you, watching you examine your surroundings.

“this is exactly how i imagined your place,” you say, almost to yourself.

“you’ve been imagining my apartment?” he smirks.

“yeah,” you scoff. “it’s just as cold and rigid as you.”

“thanks,” he mutters sarcastically.

“so now what?” you say expectantly. “you bring me back here yell at me? make me cry?”

“there’s only one scenario i want of you crying,” he says, stepping closer to where he’s leaning over you. you suddenly feel stone-cold sober.

“and what’s that?” you say, tongue in your cheek, pretending not to know exactly what’s about to happen. and pretending you don’t want it so bad.

seonghwa grabs your cheek, beckoning your face closer to his. his eyes bore into yours, before landing down to your lips. not holding back anymore, he presses his lips onto yours with purpose. your lips meld into his, placing your hands on his chest. your kiss deepens in fervor, as if the hunger completely took over both of you. soon enough, you’re moving together towards his bedroom, clothes and inhibitions shedding along the way.

you fall back onto the bed with seonghwa standing over you. he takes off his belt while looking down at you with a look that can only be described as burning desire. once he discards his pants, he slowly runs his fingers across your panty-clad core. you’re embarrassed by how fucking wet you are already, slightly closing your legs around him.

“no no, princess,” he smirks down at you, licking his lips. “keep them open for me.”

you do as your told, letting him push your underwear to the side and feeling the wetness between your folds. he gathers some of your slick and brings his fingers to his mouth, savoring it.

“fuck,” he tilts his head up as he groans, unintentionally bucking his hips against the edge of the bed. “you taste so fucking good.”

with one hand gripping your thigh, the other hand dips back to your heat to slowly insert his middle finger in you. he lets you adjust momentarily before sliding in his ring finger, curling them both. he thrusts in and out, all while watching you squirm under his touch. he just watches in awe, mouth hanging open as he fixates on your pussy enveloping his digits, coating them with your essence. he releases the hand on your thigh to palm himself at the sight. he twitches in his underwear, precum soaking through at the tip.

as if he couldn’t take it anymore, he withdraws his fingers from inside you and rips your underwear, completely tearing the fabric to have more access to you. he tugs his bottoms down to release his aching cockhead, the tip leaking in a long drip onto you. he guides his member down the length of your core to gather your juices and stimulating your clit all the while.

with an elongated hiss, he enters you slowly. you’re taking every inch of him, pulsating around him. you moan with him as he starts rolling his hips into you. you can feel his head hitting every inch of your walls, the pressure making you moan in sweet agony. your sounds ring in his ears, savoring the whimpers you let out just for him. this quickens his pace, still driving into you with cadence.

he’s literally fucking you into the mattress, splitting you open with vigor. you find it impossible to keep from tightening around him in pleasure, and he loses a bit of his rhythm. he pulls out of you completely.

“you’re gonna make me cum if you keep squeezing me like that,” he says between exasperated breaths. he holds his length above you, slapping it onto your core. he bites his lip to hold back a groan before grabbing your waist to switch positions.

he sits up on the bed and places you on top of him. he holds your waist as he guides you down onto his cock. he examines every inch of your face, reveling at the way it contorts at the feeling of him entering you. once you adjust to him again, you start moving. you ride him, throwing your head back. seonghwa takes the opportunity to kiss and bite at the expanse of your neck. he moans as he begins thrusting upwards in tandem with you. he’s hitting all the right spots, and your bodies move together like a dance.

the moans you let out are uncontrollable, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. it feels like no one’s ever made you feel this way, feel this good. and maybe it’s true; maybe no one has ever awakened this primal, animalistic desire within you. it feels addictive, and you could not get enough. you pull him closer, yearning to feel every inch of his glistening body against yours, desperate for your forms to meld together in an all-encompassing embrace.

he crashes his lips to yours in a fervent kiss, a surge of passion pouring through and intensifying with every passing second. he reaches his hand down to toy with your clit, forcing you off his lips to let out a wanton moan. you core clenches around his length and a wave of stimulation transcends your body.

“cum with me, baby,” seonghwa lets out softly, continuing to thrust into you and toying with your clit.

you throw your head back in ecstasy, all while seonghwa’s eyes devour every inch of you, mesmerized by the sounds of your moans, the sweat trickling down your neck. each movement and touch sends shivers down his spine, solidifying his obsession with you. he wishes with every fiber of his being he could immortalize this sight in his mind forever. he is absolutely captivated by you.

“you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs before resting his hand just below the side of your face.

his jaw goes slack when your core clenches erratically around him, drinking up this view as you completely come undone on his cock. he continues to piston into you until he follows immediately after, no longer holding back his moans of euphoria.

as your hips both begin to slow to a stop, seonghwa pulls you off of him, eyes still full of unrelenting lust.

“get on top of me,” he says, pulling you to straddle his face. “i want to taste myself in you.”

his hands grip your thighs as he guides your folds to his eager mouth. as soon as your core meets his tongue, a moan escapes his lips. his seed is still spilling out of you, and he licks up every drop with determination. your hips are still above him, hesitant to put your full weight on him.

“i need you sit on my face,” he says between licks. “i want you to fucking suffocate me.”

his hands on your thighs urge you down, letting you become fully seated on his mouth. he devours you, exploring every inch of you. you rock your hips against his tongue, each motion intensifying your pleasure. his hands encourage you to move faster, to take what you want from him. he separates from your core briefly to groan.

“baby, fuck my tongue,” he commands, attaching back onto you, granting you full access to his mouth.

you let his tongue slide into you and thrust onto it, all while his nose bumps at your clit. you feel the tension building in your stomach once again. the overstimulation sends you spiraling, hips continuing to grind onto his hungry tongue. you see his eyebrows knitting together in bliss, the vibrations of his insistent moans sending a pang throughout your body.

“seonghwa, p-please,” you beg, as if you weren’t the one on top of him, fucking his mouth. his dominance overtook you in every way, no matter what position. “i’m going to cum.”

he nods as if he’s saying, ‘yes, please cum on my face, please let me feel you,’ but is stifled by the grinding of your hips. he flattens his tongue so you can thrust your folds on him, and he’s smirking with lust behind his eyes. you let out a cry in pure bliss, your core contracting and spilling your essence onto his lips. he swallows every drop before latching his mouth back onto your clit, prolonging your orgasm. your movements slow down, and you let out a satisfied moan.

you fall off of him, positioning to rest your head on his chest. the waves of pleasure start to subside, and the only thing that can be heard in the silent air was the synchronization of your heartbeats. then reality hits you.

“seonghwa,” you say quietly. “what are we doing? why are we doing this?”

“i don’t know,” he sighs, bringing his hand up to run his fingers through your hair. he struggles to find the right words. “i just… i don’t think i want this to stop.”

you lift your head up, almost thinking it’s a joke. but when you look into his eyes, you can tell he’s being genuine.

“but… but you hate me,” you say.

“i could never hate you,” he urges. he places his hand on your cheek, stroking softly.

you want so badly to believe him, to trust the softness in his eyes. but a voice in the back of your head reminds you that this is temporary, this isn’t real for him, and urges you to not fall for this trap. your mind plays over the past few weeks of turmoil between you. you recall every harsh word, every cold stare, and wonder if this moment of tenderness can truly outweigh all of that pain. is it worth risking your heart again?

“then i need you to explain yourself,” you say, pushing his hand away. “tell me why you’ve been like this with me.”

he sits up, taking a deep breath. “i’ve been so fucking stupid,” he shakes his head. “i think all these years of working at a restaurant kind of roughed me up. i think i built these walls to try and prove myself in the industry, to prove something to myself. and it made me become someone i don’t even like.”

he meets your gaze, seeing your anticipation for him to continue.

“and then i met you, and i still had these walls. i walked all over you and made you feel like shit. and what’s so fucked up about it is that despite that, i actually started to like you,” he runs his fingers through his hair. “i was scared. i’m still scared.”

you never expected him to be this vulnerable with you, let alone confess his feelings for you. you sit up and kiss him softly, intimately.

in that moment, the barriers between you begin to crumble. it’s not going to be easy, but for the first time, you find yourself on the same page.

“i don’t know what comes next,” you say softly. “but we can be scared together.”

a/n: guys i am so proud of this one! i hope i successfully portrayed the intensity between them. shit got my heart racing personally. again, im new to writing fics so plz leave feedback and reblog to support me! thank u sooooo much ♡

edit: sadly there will be no part 3, but i will be releasing something new within the next week or so, so stay tuned 🫶🏻

✰taglist✰ @trinityhasjams @mxnsxngie @sooberryworld @mingtinysworld @spenceatiny18

#park seonghwa #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fic #seonghwa smut #seonghwa x reader #ateez one shot

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f4ggydog · 4 months ago

Text

shauna x reader: is there someone else🔞

minors do not interact nor read! u have been warned!

warnings: nsfw, possessive shauna, toxic shauna, manipulative shauna, controlling shauna, reader uses pussy and cunt as genitalia, fingering, degradation, twisted affirmations, just overall bad friend behavior!

Unsurprisingly, Shauna’s had another fight with Jackie. It’s the daily routine at this point. The two bicker over nonsense and then they make up. That’s how it went and tonight was no different. Only it was kind of different because the argument was in front of a bunch of people, rather than being kept to themselves.

You weren’t sure who started it. Shauna always claimed that Jackie started it, but you know Shauna’s temper could get out of hand in certain moments. Though, you did not believe she always got out of hand. There was nuance to it, some nuance that might be able to save the friendship between the teenage girls if they can’t save themselves.

Shauna trudges over to you. You can’t tell if she’s half drunk or if this slow walking is just part of her being pissed off. Either way, you don’t want to bug her with inquiries. No need to add fuel when there’s already fire.

Shauna approaches you without a word. Her face screams fury and her hands are balled into fists. Should you try to console her or leave her be? She came over to you for a reason. It wouldn’t be abnormal to suggest that she might need some consoling, no?

“You’re a funny girl Shipman,” you say, carefully patting her shoulder. “Hanging out with girls that you don’t like. It’s like you enjoy torturing yourself.”

Shauna doesn’t respond, only shakes her head. However, she nuzzles into your touch and pulls you closer. Clearly it’s a sign that you’re doing something right. So you continue.

“What did Jackie say?” You ask. “How bad was it this time?”

Shauna always seemed to run to you when shit went awry. You were like her secret friend outside of the Yellowjackets that she never spoke about. But, she didn’t know how to explain to you that she didn’t just cause problems with Jackie this time. Now Taissa and Nat currently hated her guts as well. Perhaps without a bad reason, but still temporary hatred nonetheless.

“Can’t wait to go home,” Shauna sighs. “I should’ve never let Jackie convince me to go to a party I never wanted to go to. And stupid fucking Randy had the nerve to talk to me too.”

“Yeah, he’s definitely annoying.”

“He’s not just annoying,” Shauna grumbles. “He literally smells like shit. Like if I was in another continent right now, I would still be able to smell how much his breath stunk. It’s like he’s never heard of brushing his teeth.”

You wince at the description, imagining Randy’s odor traveling through your nostrils. It’s a good thing you never really got to hang out with him. Though, you realize that Shauna had no interest in being his company. She was only forced to stick around him because he’s close with Jackie’s boyfriend. And they were the epitome of Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee. Or perhaps Tweedle Dum and…Tweedle Dum again.

“Do you have your car with you?” Shauna asks. “Or did a friend drive you here?”

“N-No, no. I took my parents’ car.”

“Do you even have a license?” Shauna snickers.

“Um…” You debate the proper way to answer this question. “Ummm, let’s just say that’s…irrelevant.”

“So the answer is no.”

“Yeah okay,” you sigh. “The answer is no.”

“Don’t care.” Shauna shrugs. “As long as you can get me the fuck out of this place.”

When you both your reach your parents’ car, Shauna hastily hops into the passenger’s seat. She slouches in her seat without even putting her seatbelt on. Her arms are crossed and her lips are turned into a frown.

“So,” you say. “Do you want me to start driving you home or do you just want to stay here?”

“Don’t drive yet,” Shauna demands. “I think we need to talk.”

Your eyes widen slightly, but you obey her instructions. However, Shauna’s tone throws you off. Speak about what exactly? Why does she sound like she’s about to break up with you, despite you guys obviously not being in a relationship?

“Would you ever leave me?” Shauna asks. “Do you have somebody lined up in my place? Am I your second option? Be honest with me.”

“Shauna, what are you on about?” You arch your eyebrow. “No? Look, are you getting self conscious again because of Jackie? I know you have issues with her, but-“

“So, what if I am? You haven’t said anything nice about me the whole night.”

“N-Nothing prompted me to. I-I’m confused. What?”

“You complimented Jackie’s shoes,” Shauna reminds. “You didn’t compliment my shoes. Or my hair. Or my outfit. You didn’t compliment anything about me, but you complimented Jackie.”

“That’s cause I barely saw you the whole night, Shauna. I really think you’re looking too deep into this. Seriously, just relax.”

“You didn’t look for me because you like Jackie more than me,” Shauna asserts. “Admit it. Jackie’s better than me. So you like her more than me. She’s the queen bee so naturally everyone’s gonna flock to her. I get it.”

You stare at her with blatant confusion written on your face. “No Shauna, that couldn’t be further from the truth. I know you more than I know, Jackie!”

“And yet you still complimented her before you complimented me, so clearly I’m not good enough.”

“Shauna,” you sigh. “I don’t know what Jackie said to you at that party, but you’re overthinking this by a mile. And it’s okay if she’s influencing your mind a little bit, but there’s no need to project this on me. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Of course you’re trying to defend yourself,” Shauna grumbles. “I’m always the bad guy, aren’t I? I’m always the problem, always the villain! You think of me the same way Jackie does. You secretly hate my guts and only keep me around to torment me.”

The word ‘irrational’ almost slips out of your mouth, but you don’t dare use it. Even if it’s a perfectly accurate way to describe Shauna’s behavior currently.

“Am I pushing you away?” Shauna questions, softer than before. “Are you gonna leave?”

“I’m not going anywhere Shauna,” you reassure your insecure buddy. “Trust me. You’re just…letting whatever Jackie said get into your head. You need to shake all those shitty thoughts out. They’re not worth it.”

“There’s no guarantee that you’ll stay.”

“There’s no guarantee I’ll leave either, Shipman.”

Shauna lowers her head. She glances over at you before firmly pressing her hand on top of yours.

“I don’t wanna go home yet,” Shauna states. “Wanna stay with you.”

“We don’t have to go home yet,” you respond. “Thankfully, my parents aren’t feeling that strict tonight. So, I think they’ll be okay with me staying out a little longer.”

“Yeah,” Shauna murmurs and looks out the window.

She daydreams. She dreams of a world where she doesn’t live in Jackie’s shadow. She dreams of a world where she feels confident enough about her appearance to pursue people. She dreams of a time where she’ll feel genuinely wanted. She imagines a world where she’s the only friend you’ll ever need.

But Shauna’s not sure if her ideal world could ever exist. It remains a fantasy, but if only she could obtain at least some parts of it. She’s not expecting a genie to grant her all three wishes. But one good thing happening to her shouldn’t be so out of reach, right? She still had you. And Shauna’s not aware of how close you think you are with her. But for her own sake, she hopes she’s the person you’d cut off an arm and a leg for.

The drive home is mostly silent. Shauna occasionally leans on your shoulder and you allow her to. It’s the least you could do after she had such a rough night. But during the trip, you can’t shake away this pain in your gut, gnawing at you like it’s trying to send a message. Shauna seemed to have calmed down from her earlier explosion. But, something told you that this wouldn’t be the last time she blew up on you, precisely over Jackie.

The next day, Jackie unexpectedly walks up to you during lunch. She takes a seat by you and whispers.

“Hey, do you know when that essay for Mr. Snyder’s class is due by? Someone told me it’s due tomorrow and I’m kinda freaking out.”

“It is,” you answer Jackie’s question. “But we were given like a week to complete it.”

“A week isn’t enough!” Jackie groans. “Ugh, he always grades so harshly too. I heard the highest grade he’s ever given in his class was an 89.”

Okay, that didn’t seem far fetched. You could only score 80s in Mr. Snyder’s class yourself.

“I haven’t even been paying attention for most of the reading,” Jackie admits. “But it’s not my fault the book is so boring. He doesn’t even try to make it exciting. He reads it in the most monotone voice ever!”

“Did you at least start your outline?” You ask.

“We were supposed to do an outline!?” Jackie gasps. “Shit! Oh, I’m so screwed. I’m so screwed. This asshole is gonna kill me.”

“He’s not gonna kill you.” You roll your eyes. “Just cram through it. Stay up all night if you have to. I know it’s not ideal, but I guess it’ll help you learn your lesson.”

What you don’t realize is that Shauna is eyeing the both of you from the corner of the cafeteria. She looks like an angry dog ready to defend its owner from outsiders. Her eye twitches and her nails dig into her palms.

Shauna instantly gathers that her suspicions were correct. After the conversation last night, she didn’t expect you to speak with Jackie less frequently. She expected you to avoid Jackie altogether. Everyone was turning against her. She was losing the people she so desperately clung onto. Nobody was going to want Shauna’s attention. Everyone was gonna leave her. She was gonna be worse off than Misty fucking Quigley.

How could you do this to her? Did your friendship mean nothing? Was Shauna just a placeholder until someone better came along? Was she worthless to you? All of the worst possible thoughts raced through her head. Shuana immediately jumped to the worst case scenario, as per usual.

But she chooses not to confront either of you. She lets you two have your conversation while she watches from afar. Shauna doesn’t know what the conversation is about and she doesn’t want to know. All she senses is betrayal, attachment to another besides her. And that wouldn’t fly. No, she had to do something to ensure you remembered your place. You were hers, and either Jackie was trying to steal you away from her. Or, you were planning on abandoning Shauna.

When lunchtime ends, Shauna ignores Jackie when she passes her. Jackie calls out Shauna’s name, but Shauna pays her no mind. She storms into class, only you on her mind. She’s got no time for frivolous lessons or pop quizzes or difficult homework assignments. Her main problem right now should only be you.

Class couldn’t go by fast enough. Shauna wishes she had this class with you, but unfortunately she only shares this class with Lottie. Shauna just needs this class and the next one to pass. Then, she can corner you alone. She just needs this class to not go by a snail’s pace.

For Shauna’s last period, the teacher keeps her class behind for a few extra minutes. The woman won’t stop yapping and cared more about getting every note from her lesson out than the kids getting home on time. Finally, the teacher allowed the students to leave and Shauna exited class, finding you waiting for her outside of her classroom.

“Hey,” you say. “Why’d you get out so late?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Shauna adjusts her backpack straps.

“Okay. Well, I figured I’d wait for you.”

“Thanks,” Shauna says in a monotone voice.

She still doesn’t believe you value her enough. You waiting for her outside of class didn’t suffice enough as proof. Shauna was right about you. She was always right. Her stubbornness would be her downfall, just as your helpful attitude towards Jackie would be yours.

“Can we talk?” Shauna asks the dreaded question again.

“You know we can always talk,” you respond. “Um, where do you wanna go? Just talk outside here or….”

“We’ll go where I say we should go.” Shauna’s driving the bus. She’s taking the reins. Shauna practically drags you towards the girls bathroom, already struggling to keep her fury bottled up. She knows once that lid pops off, you’re in for some of the worst wrath of your life.

Shauna shuts the door behind you guys once she’s got you inside. She presses you up against the sink’s counter, her hands digging into your waist.

“I fucking knew it,” Shauna snarls. “I fucking knew it all along. You tried to play me for a fucking fool, but I know better.”

“What are you talking about?” You gasp out, trying to swat Shauna’s hands away. “Have you lost it again?”

“Of course you think I’m just some demented bitch,” Shauna hisses. “You’re trying to make me look stupid. Again. I fucking knew you were thinking of replacing me. I should’ve known.”

“Shauna, where is all this coming from?”

“You were fucking talking to Jackie! Don’t you dare try to deny it. I saw you two. Probably gossiping about me, huh? Probably making me look like a fool?”

“S-Shauna,” you stutter. “I-It’s not what it looks like. She was just asking me about an essay that was due tomorrow. That’s all.”

“Bullshit.” Even though you’re being honest as you can be, Shauna still suggests that you’re lying through your teeth. She can’t trust you. She’s too afraid of losing you to trust your motives.

“Why bullshit? Jackie can’t ask me for homework help?” You state defensively.

“Jackie would’ve asked me!” Shauna declares. “I’m the one with straight As, not you. If Jackie was so panicked over a dumb essay, she would’ve came to me. Why the fuck would she ask you about it?”

“M-Maybe cause she thought you were mad at her. I dunno, Shauna. B-But, I’m telling the truth. I swear.”

Shauna shakes you against the bathroom counter. Talking to her is like trying to get through to a brick wall. This whole conversation was fruitless.

“You think you’re better off without me?” Shauna interrogates. “You think Jackie can be a better friend than me?”

“N-No, I…”

“What about that time you stayed over at that classmate’s house because you wanted to hook up with them? And I lied to your parents, saying that you were with me? Remember when I covered for you then? All so you could go fuck somebody like some sort of whore?”

“D-Don’t call me that,” you whimper, Shauna’s face dangerously close to your neck.

“You don’t want me to call you that? When you’ve been whoring yourself out for attention? Jackie’s probably your next victim, isn’t she?”

You’re too stunned to speak. You know Shauna’s had a jealous edge to her. But, this went far beyond any ordinary envy. She wouldn’t let you talk with anyone. You were literally her property and she’d punish you if you didn’t respect that.

“Please leave me alone Shauna,” you beg. “P-Please, can we talk about this later? I-I…I don’t want to do this right now.”

“No.” Shauna says firmly. “Since you want to whore yourself out to people, I’m gonna teach you a lesson. It’s what you deserve for not realizing how good you have it.”

Without warning, Shauna stuffs her hand into your pants. She swirls her fingers around until she finds your cunt and runs her digits along your pussy lips.

“Shauna, what are you doing? Are you nuts? What the fuck?”

“You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do this,” she husks. “Since you wanna act like a whore, I’ll let you be one.”

Shauna bites down on your neck like a vampire drunk on the thought of your blood. As she nibbles, her fingers trail over your clit, brushing the nub with the lightness of a feather. It’s still enough to make you jump, though.

“But you will only be a whore for me. Nobody else. Just me.”

“Nobody else,” you repeat timidly. “F-Fuck…”

“Are you already enjoying this?” Shauna smirks. “I knew a whore like you would. You may be a whore, but you’re such a good one for letting me play with you like this.”

Shauna uses her other hand to harshly grasp your chin. She sucks and licks over the bruise she created on your neck, admiring the purple spot as evidence of your claiming.

“You’re not even asking me to leave you alone. It’s cause you like this, isn’t it? It’s only natural for a whore like you to enjoy being touched inappropriately. Bet you were wishing Jackie fucked you with her fingers.”

You shake your head. Shauna’s hand shifts downward and squeezes your throat. With her other hand, she inserts two fingers into your dripping pussy, eager and ready for penetration.

“I expect an answer,” Shauna growls. “You might be a slut, but I want you to be a competent one. So answer me. Now.”

“Y-Yes Shauna,” you answer. Though, you’re not entirely telling the truth. “I-I wish she did.”

“Good girl,” Shauna praises, stretching your hole out and scissoring you with her digits. “Loosen up for me, baby. C’mon.”

“Fuck, trying. Trying. I-I’m trying.”

There was a slight soreness at your core, pain mixed with a hint of pleasure. But, Shauna couldn’t care less about your potential suffering. She’s proving a point and you will be her obedient student, whether she has to use force or not.

“There we go,” Shauna encourages, able to pump her fingers faster as you adjust to the intrusion. You exhale, your heart beating rapidly. You felt your mind slowly melting, your head getting fuzzy with all sorts of lewd thoughts.

You make the mistake of letting out a moan too loud. To combat this, Shauna silences you with a fierce kiss to the lips. She bites down on your bottom lip until it’s close to drawing blood and shoves her tongue deep inside of your mouth.

Her fingers curl inside of you and you hump Shauna’s digits for more friction, most of the pain subsiding. Gasp after gasp erupts from your throat, your eyes almost rolling back from how deep Shauna’s thrusts were hitting you. You grab onto her for support, leaning against the bathroom counter as you let her absolutely use you.

“You like this?” Shauna spits. “Tell me how much you like it, my pretty little whore. Tell me how much you enjoy being used like a sex toy for me.”

“L-Love it,” you pant when she pulls away from your mouth. “Fuck, it’s so intense. Can’t take it. Can barely take it.”

“You will take it though,” Shauna demands. “Because that’s what good sluts do. They take what I give them.”

“Yes Shauna,” you whine, feeling your cunt wrap tightly around her fingers. Your pussy was throbbing as squelching sounds filled the bathroom. Your entire body wobbled and you felt your vision blurring.

“You’re already getting close?” Shauna chuckles. “My god, you’re fucking pathetic. It’s perfect. I want you dumb and pathetic just for me, okay? Not Jackie. Not Jeff. Not any of the other girls on my soccer team.”

“Just you,” you reply obediently. “J-Just you. Fuck, fuck. Shauna, I’m gonna…I’m gonna…”

“What the fuck are you waiting for, you pretty slut?” Shauna barks. “Cum on my fingers, you filthy girl. Show me how good it feels to give up your innocence for me. Show me that I’m the only one you deserve, the only one you’ll ever need.”

“Fuck!” You cry out, probably loud enough for people outside of the restroom to hear. You coat Shauna’s fingers with your juices as her fingers milk you dry. You don’t even bother biting back your moans or chewing on her shoulder to suppress her noises of desire. You’re lost, in a whole other world where only you and Shauna exist.

Once you’ve ridden out your high, Shauna withdraws her fingers and presses them to your lips. You know exactly what to do. With an opening of your mouth and a flick of the tongue, you clean off Shauna’s digits and embrace the taste of your own fluids.

“You’ll never get rid of me,” Shauna promises, leaning in close to press a kiss to your forehead. It’s a sign of tenderness after the storm, the restoration of tranquility after you’ve been marked as her own pet. She doesn’t need to go hard on you anymore, at least for right now.

“Didn’t plan on it,” you say meekly, still processing your friend’s deeds.

“I know.” Shauna smiles confidently. “There’ll never be another girl like me out there for you.”

Ain’t that the truth.

#shauna shipman #shauna sadecki #shauna yellowjackets #shauna shipman smut #shauna shipman x you #shauna shipman x reader #yellowjackets smut #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets fanfic #yellowjackets fanfiction #smut

628 notes · View notes

aggroindustrial · 30 days ago

Text

is it really a bad thing to disobey god?

summary. natalie, the stranger who works for your father, makes you question everything you've ever known.

pairing. natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

word count. 3.3k

warnings. smut, smoking, drinking, brief mentions of violence, religious themes, loss of virginity

fic note. i'm honestly not sure if this is even good since it's my first time writing a full fic lol. also my first time writing smut so yeaaa expect some mistakes maybe. and i’m also terrible at writing summaries and the amount of time skips might be a warning as well. anyway please enjoy ^v^

+18. minors do not interact

Longhorn Ranch, located in a forgotten town in the middle of nowhere. Just a name barely hanging onto a rusted highway sign, swallowed by weeds and time. The type of place that feels abandoned, where technology seems like only a rumor, and the sky always looks a sickly shade of blue. The kind of place that truckers speed past without a second glance.

The town had once had promises—a gorgeous train station; wide, thriving and golden wheat fields. Now, the station was long forgotten, only inhabited by rats and insects. The fields were all scorched, victims of too many merciless summers.

It was late June. The sun was high and mean, making the air feel suffocating. Dust from the road clung to the air like a dense fog, crawling down Natalie’s throat with every breath, mingling with the bitter smoke of her cigarette and the old, musty breath of her beat-up truck.

After her latest “incident”, her father pulled the old favor card on her and forced her to offer a helping hand at his friend's ranch for the rest of the summer. It was either that, or spend a few months behind bars for beating up a guy who insulted her friends, Tai and Van, at a bar.

The ranch looked like it had seen better days and only its bones remained. The two-story house, its wood weathered to a dull gray. Wind chimes hung from every corner of it, their eerie jingles the only sound above the distant bleats and calls of livestock.

A sun-bleached and stiff scarecrow standing in front of the house almost seemed to be telling Natalie to abandon all hope out here.

The man met her outside, a rifle slung over his shoulder, his boots dirty with mud and something darker that could've been dried blood. Natalie hopped off her truck, and he greeted her with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

“Your father says you're good with cattle.” He rasped, voice like sandpaper, as he shook her hand.

“I know how not to get kicked by one.” Natalie nodded, shielding her eyes from the sun with the back of her hand.

“That’ll do. You’ll learn.” He nodded. “Hop back in. I’ll give you the tour.”

Natalie nodded again and went back into her truck. He climbed in beside her with a grunt, laying the rifle across his lap.

She caught a glimpse of a person observing her from a window on the second floor of the house, but glanced away without thinking too much about it.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

From your window, you saw her arrive. A brunette stranger. Everything about her screamed sin and regret—from the dark makeup around her eyes, to the sleeveless black shirt and ripped jeans she was wearing.

Your father had mentioned someone would be spending the summer at the ranch to lend him a hand, but you never expected it would be someone like her.

Her sharp gaze met yours, and suddenly your thighs tensed, your hands white-knuckling the windowsill. As much as you tried to ignore it all, thousands of images ran through your head, that you definitely shouldn't be thinking about.

She was everything you were always told to avoid—the big, bad wolf to watch out for, who always lurks in the shadows, waiting to pounce. Ready to devour, to take you away from God's side.

It's what your mother always told you, to never talk to the other men from your small town. But then again, this stranger wasn't exactly a man, so did that mean she wasn't a threat? She sure felt like one, but not the kind you feared.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

A couple days later, Natalie was laying on a thin mattress in the barn loft, staring at slivers of moonlight leaking through the roof. She had discarded her work clothes long ago. Sweat clung to her like an extra layer of skin. It was too damn hot to sleep.

Below her, the cows stirred. One of them let out a quiet huff. She tried not to think about the rifle the man had leaned against the barn door before locking her in for the night.

“Just in case of coyotes.” He said. Natalie didn't think coyotes came that close to the house, but she decided not to question him

She lit another cigarette and took a swig of her now-warm beer.

And then she heard it—the sound of footsteps trying to be quiet but failing miserably.

The door creaked open, just a little. Not enough to let in moonlight, but enough to see a silhouette framed in the crack.

You.

Natalie sat up, and she could feel her heart speeding up in her chest—mostly because she wasn't really looking forward to finding out how your father would react if he saw you with her.

“You got chores, and you got rules. Stay outta the house unless I call you.” He told Natalie while cleaning his rifle. “Don't bring mud inside, my wife hates it.” His gaze lifted from the gun and stared at Natalie pointedly. “And keep your eyes off my daughter. That clear?”

“You lost?” Natalie asked, and stubbed out her cigarette.

You didn’t answer and stepped in, and closed the door behind you.

“I heard noises.” You whispered. “And I couldn’t sleep.”

Her head tilted slightly to the side in curiosity, and the corner of her lips twitched. “And your first idea was to come out of your house and all the way here?"

You blinked, as if you were just now realizing the weight of your actions. It was almost adorable to Natalie, watching the way your innocent, wide eyes filled with nervousness for a second.

“You smell like smoke and beer.” A small mumble left your lips as Natalie took a step closer.

She hummed, and shrugged. “Better than smelling like the shit I have to clean every day.”

You flinched at her words, just a little. But even then, you didn't leave. No, you stayed and observed her like she was the most interesting thing you'd ever seen in your life.

Natalie should’ve told you to go back inside. Your father's rules were clear. That nothing good ever came out of moonlit visits and soft voices, and most definitely out of disobeying a man as scary as him.

But she didn’t. Instead, she watched you like someone watches a flame dancing too close to gasoline.

“My mama says people like you are to be avoided if I do not want to stray from God's path.” Your fingers played with the small, golden cross hanging around your neck.

Natalie stared at you, as if studying you. “What do you say?

Your gaze flickered down to the ground for a moment, but then lifted to look at her again. Even behind that undeniable hint of fear in your eyes, Natalie could notice something raw and hungry, eager to go against everything you've ever known until now.

“I don't know.” You whispered. “I think God is mad at me for thinking stuff I should not be thinking about.”

Her gaze dropped down to your lips, and you seemed to notice. Your shoulders stiffened.

Before Natalie could even think of moving any closer, you took a step backwards immediately, your cross still clutched between your fingers.

“Please don't tell my father I was out of the house.” Was all you said before you hurriedly ran out of the hayloft, leaving a confused Natalie behind.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The next few days passed in silence.

Natalie kept her head down—cleaning stables, feeding animals, brushing horses. You avoided her like the plague, as you were supposed to.

Although the discreet, curious glances over meals and the quick nervous smiles were gone, too.

Perhaps it was for the best, Natalie thought while she watched the angry rain falling from the cloudy sky.

Getting involved in any way with the daughter of an eerie religious couple didn't seem like the smartest idea.

She worked until the sun hid itself behind the horizon. The rain hadn’t stopped. Not even after she showered and shared a quiet dinner with your family.

That night, thunder cracked like a whip, and rain sneaked through the cracks on the roof. Natalie lay on her mattress, a cigarette burning between her lips.

Her thoughts unraveled—until they were interrupted by the sound of the hayloft door, accompanied by the electric snap of a thunderbolt.

Natalie turned.

There you were—standing in the doorway, soaked, shoulders trembling. You looked frightened, caught between a nightmare and waking.

“I'm scared.” You whispered, staring at Natalie with an almost begging look in your eyes. “Can I please stay here with you?”

It was a dangerous request. Many, many things could go wrong—from your father finding out you sneaked out to be with her, to the temptation of repeating the mistake she’d almost made nights ago.

But she nodded. “Of course. You can come sit, if you want.”

The ghost of a smile passed over your lips for a brief second, before another thunderclap made you flinch, and you crossed the room to sit beside her.

“Thank you.” The words left your lips with a shaky breath. “I’ve always been afraid of thunder.”

“No problem. I get it,” Natalie said, though her hands sat uncharacteristically stiff in her lap. “I used to be afraid, too.”

“That… seems unlikely.” You let out a quiet laugh that lit your face for a short moment. “You look like you’re not afraid of anything.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I may not look like it, but have a heart, too, you know.”

You giggled again, softer this time. Then silence. It fell between you like a curtain—gentle, yet charged. The kind of silence that trembles with things unspoken, resembling a rubber band wanting to snap with all the tension.

Natalie caught the way you looked at her. The way you swallowed nervously.

“You don't have to be afraid of me. I can tell you are.” She wanted to tell you. But the look in your eyes wasn't fear, unlike she'd first assumed. Not anymore. It was something else—something repressed and caged, practically begging to be set free.

The thought had Natalie's head spinning a little.

Your tongue flicked out to wet your lips, and Natalie’s eyes followed, heat rising in her skin. It felt like you were doing it on purpose to tempt her, but she knew better. You couldn’t possibly be that calculated in that matter.

“Please.”

It was an invitation. A spark. A permission.

It was almost ironic. How your parents had raised you to be their perfect devout daughter, clean of all sin. Only for a stranger to come along and ruin it all by staining your very existence forever.

“You sure?” Natalie asked, voice barely a breath, as she leaned closer—giving you a chance to pull away, to back out and run back into the house like last time.

But you never did.

All you did was nod, and Natalie didn't dare to question you again, selfishly afraid that you would vanish into the night.

Natalie closed the distance between you, her lips brushing yours in a slow, reverent kiss. You were hesitant, unpracticed—but it didn’t matter. She led you gently, her movements careful, tender.

Her hand slid to squeeze your thigh, and you pulled back with a sharp inhale.

“Sorry,” she murmured, eyes searching yours. “Too much?”

“No.” You shook your head, cheeks flushed. “Just… surprised. But I like it.”

Natalie’s fingers danced over the soft fabric of your nightgown, and she kissed you again. This time, there was a hunger behind it. As if she was desperate and ready to consume you whole.

She guided you down onto the mattress gently, her hands coaxing, and her mouth never leaving yours. Only when your lungs screamed for air did she finally pull back.

Small pants and gasps escaped your lips as soon as Natalie moved down to trail her own lips down the column of your neck.

“Let me make you feel good.” She breathed against your ear, taking your earlobe between her teeth.

“I don't know how.” You whispered back while your hands gripped her shoulders. The amount of new sensations and emotions were making you dizzy, heat burning in your stomach and between your legs.

“You don't have to do anything. I'll do it all.” Natalie shook her head and pulled back to look at you. “Only if you want it, too.”

You thought about it for a moment. The cross sitting around your neck was a reminder of how bad all this was. God was probably observing you from Heaven, disappointed that you were so weak for someone you barely knew at all.

“Okay.” You nodded slightly, already out of breath and Natalie hadn't even begun yet.

Perhaps with enough prayers, you could repent for your sins someday.

At some point, her kisses began to turn sloppy and uncoordinated. The desire and passion increased, like a fire engulfing the two of you until all that was left was pure and raw longing for more.

Your forehead rested against Natalie's as her hand gently squeezed one of your breasts. Your fingers wrapped around her wrist.

“I'm ready.” The hushed words slipping from your lips almost made Natalie moan out loud. Instead, she nodded and let her hand move down your torso slowly, wanting to engrave the feeling of every curve of your body in her mind.

Her fingers lifted your nightgown slightly, and she caressed your leg tenderly.

“Are you really sure about this?” She asked once more. “We can stop right now, if you want. It'll be okay.”

But the thought of stopping almost felt like a crime to you.

“I want it.” You reassured her, and cupped her cheek with your hand. “Please, Natalie.”

The sweetest lamb she'd met in her entire life, so innocent and pure, begging to be taken like this.

Natalie wondered how many good deeds she'd done in her past lives to earn this.

Her fingers caressed your panties, slowly moving to the apex of your thighs. You had absolutely soaked through the undergarment, and Natalie's eyes almost rolled to the back of her head at the feeling.

She let out a shallow breath, and began dragging the piece of cloth down your legs slowly while she stared into your eyes the entire time.

Your legs instinctively clamped together after your panties were gone, and Natalie's free hand came up to caress your cheek gently.

“You don't have to feel shy.” She mumbled softly. “I think I'm just as nervous as you are, honestly.” A small smile grew on her lips as she showed you how her hand was trembling slightly. “See?”

It was the first time Natalie felt nervous like that. Not even during the night she lost her own virginity.

The action seemed to help you calm down a little and you let your legs spread open again slowly.

Natalie kissed you. Not like earlier, desperate and hungry—no, it was gentle and sweet, guiding you through the moment.

Her knuckles brushed against your wet folds, making you breathe sharply and pull back from the kiss. She was afraid she'd hurt you somehow, but the quiet mewl that escaped your lips said otherwise.

She repeated the action, and her fingers moved against your clit in slow circles. Your eyes immediately shut and your head dropped down on the mattress with a small thud.

Natalie glanced down and let out a shaky moan when she saw the way you were completely drenched and your hips were moving slightly to meet her touches.

“Fuck…” She whispered, increasing the speed of her movements just a little and it immediately earned a whimper from you. “You're doing so great. Do you like that?”

You nodded at the question, unable to form any words at all.

The sound of your wetness reached your ears and it should've been embarrassing, but you couldn't bring yourself to care about anything at all.

If it's a sin, why does it feel so good? You asked yourself for a moment, but the thought disappeared from your mind when you felt Natalie's finger poking your entrance gently.

Carefully, she slipped it inside of you. She gave you a moment to adjust to the new feeling and kissed your cheek several times to distract you from the dull sensation of pain.

Her thumb found your clit again and pressed against it while she slid her finger in and out of you slowly, earning moans and quiet whines from your throat.

Your arms wrapped around her neck and you pulled her closer for a kiss that she returned eagerly. Ragged breaths and pants left both of your lips as she sped up her movements, to the point where you couldn't kiss her back anymore.

“I think…” Your voice trailed off quietly as your nails dug into her shoulders. It almost made Natalie hiss out of pain.

“Let it happen.” She whispered, kissing your lips one last time. “It'll feel so good, I promise, baby.”

Her voice drowned out, replaced by the loud sound of your heartbeat in your ears as you neared your climax, until you couldn't hold it back anymore.

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip to avoid moaning out loud and your back arched against Natalie. Your legs shut around her hand and she watched you crumbling down under her.

It was the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen.

Natalie helped you come down from your high, whispering sweet words into your ear while her free hand wiped the single tear that rolled down your cheek.

She removed her hand from between your legs and wiped your juices on her shirt with a shaky sigh.

“How are you feeling?”

The question drew a breathless chuckle from you as you opened your eyes.

“Great,” You answered, curling into her side as she lay beside you. “It was good.”

She nodded and kissed the crown of your head, wrapping her arm around your shoulders to hold you close.

The rain still fell, but the thunder had moved on.

“You’ll have to go back to the house soon, huh?” Natalie mumbled, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I… kinda wish you could stay.”

“Yeah.” Your voice was quiet now. “I wish I could, too. But you know how he is.” The thought of your father finding you like this with Natalie made your blood run cold. “Thank you for tonight. Really.”

Natalie turned her gaze to you and offered a soft smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

You began sitting up, reaching for your ruined underwear with a sheepish grin.

“Hopefully there’ll be another thunderstorm tomorrow.” She joked, and you turned to her with wide, scandalized eyes.

“Hey!” You laughed, blushing furiously. “That’s not funny at all.”

She chuckled, biting her lip. “I know. I’m sorry.” She brushed your wrist with her fingers, and leaned in for a quick kiss. “Go. Before he shoots both of us.”

You sighed and nodded, heading to the door. Just before stepping out, you glanced back with a small smile and a wave.

Natalie watched you disappear behind the door. She lay back, the mattress still warm, the memory of you already carved into her mind like a secret prayer.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Days pass again.

You didn't speak. It wasn't exactly a problem—you weren't even supposed to talk to each other, anyway.

But Natalie still longed to hear your voice, to see you smile at her again with that sweetness of yours, like you were handing her a sacred secret.

One night, weeks later—after a long day spent beneath the scorching sun—Natalie returned to the hayloft and found something tucked into the hem of her pillowcase.

A torn page, folded neatly. Your handwriting—neat and elegant.

“Even the stars envy us. Even the saints must have sinned once.”

A slow smile spread across Natalie’s lips, soft and involuntary.

And in her chest, something stirred. Sincere hope, soft and fragile. Blooming like wildflowers after a storm.

#natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x you #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you

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100vern · 3 months ago

Text

while he's gone | ksy & hvc

𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒆 // 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓.

★ pairing: vernon x f. reader; established hoshi x f. reader ★ genre: open relationship, fwb to lovers au; smut, fluff, lite angst ★ summary: your boyfriend's on tour, but vernon's still in town. ★ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ★ warnings: i am reiterating that this is an open relationship so there is NO CHEATING!! i don't wanna hear it!! soloist hoshi, producer vernon, i wax way too poetic about music and interior design, swearing, alcohol, use of pet names, one miscommunication, one tiny argument that gets resolved, discussions about polyamory. everyone being in love and down bad for one another. ★ smut warnings: mentions of threesomes, voyeurism (over the phone), dirty talk, oral sex, dry humping??, protected vaginal sex, marking/biting, multiple orgasms, sex toys, cuckolding, recording (photos/videos), masturbation, teasing, cum play/eating, lingerie. please tell me if i forgot anything! ★ wordcount: 12.6k ★ credits: cam (@highvern) for spreading the "hoshi holding vernon's head down" agenda far and wide. bee (@imnotshua) for telling me when my words don't make sense and fixing them. jess (@starlightkyeom) for reading this over. ★ author's note: more cursed thoughts thanks to a conversation about monsta x with @aeristudios. i've been wanting to write a fic based off "got my number" for ages, so here we are! a lil treat dedicated to @sailorsoons for girlbossing her ass off these last few weeks (and pulverizing her knee). i would also like to apologize to all the hansol truthers. i typed it out once and had a visceral reaction, much like i did using hoshi's government name, so he's just vernon.

Your boyfriend’s flight departed from Incheon just shy of four p.m., though he’d left the apartment long before that.

Needed time to make the hour and a half drive. Fix his hair and makeup before he hopped out and posed for Dispatch. Push his way through the horde of fans and to security, get his face scanned and passport checked. Needed time to make it to the privacy of his terminal lounge where he could catch his breath and lock himself in the bathroom. Needed time to send you a mirror selfie: hoodie unzipped to the middle of his bare sternum, hat pulled low to cover his eyes, tongue just barely peeking out from between his lips.

Made it 😘, it said.

Beneath that, even though the two of you have been through this exact scenario more times than you can count—even though it’s the same every time and he said all the same things as he was fucking you into the mattress last night and again this morning, as he was kissing you goodbye at the door hours ago:

Soonyoung: Love u babe. Gonna miss u sooo much~ I’ll text u every chance I can !! Soonyoung: Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do ㅋㅋㅋ just kidding don’t u dare behave Soonyoung: Send me pictures tho. What if I get lonely 😔

There was a thought: your boyfriend on tour, all alone between the cold, crisp sheets of his hotel bed, no one to occupy all that extra space. You’d snorted at that. Replied with the eye-roll emoji and wondered, privately, if he was going to meet up with the same old flames; if he was going to send you pictures with faces and bodies you recognized. Anticipation clawed its way up your spine and settled in your gut, left behind an insurmountable want.

Saying goodbye was always hard, but this part? It felt like Soonyoung held the forbidden fruit in his hand, sliced and fed to you on the point of a paring knife.

Delicious, in other words.

Whatever you and Vernon have fallen into can best be described as a foregone conclusion: Soonyoung leaves, Vernon arrives, and there’s no need for the discretion or the habit, but you can’t deny there’s a certain allure to it. It feels scandalous, dirty—something that only happens in a dark corner away from prying, garrulous eyes—even though it isn’t. Not really.

Soonyoung will be in Japan, Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand; he’ll be in Berlin, Paris and London; he’ll go across North and South America. In every one of those places, someone will keep him company until he comes home to you. And, after every single time, you’ll have something in your inbox to mark the occasion—a text, some pictures, a video—because your boyfriend is nothing if not a pervert.

So no, the discretion isn’t necessary. You and Soonyoung are free to do as you please, both separately and together, which is how all of this started, anyway: his album release party, prod. by VERNON in the credits, you safely sequestered on the other side of a velvet rope. Not a secret, just… not out in the open, either, which was both a little embarrassing and difficult to explain to Vernon over the deafening, teeth-shattering background noise as he unabashedly hit on you.

He’d known, of course, that Soonyoung had been writing love songs about someone, but he hadn’t known it was you he’d helped him write about.

Not that it mattered much in the end. Soonyoung had slunk over, drunk on the spotlight and the status it afforded him, the most important man in the room, and looked Vernon dead in the eye. Pushed his tongue into the fat of his cheek, looked like a real sleazy piece of shit, and said, “You wanna fuck my girl?”

He did, admittedly, and Soonyoung had rewarded him for his honesty. Took both of you home and held Vernon’s head down as he told him how to eat you out, wet and messy and filthy. You came in record time, and a man that made you come in record time was not one you were itching to get rid of.

Vernon fucks you right and doesn’t ask a lot of questions you don’t have answers to. Doesn’t mind your unconventional relationship and definitely doesn’t mind recording the way you suck his cock: the way spit pools in the corners of your mouth and glistens under the flash; the way you moan around him as he rasps out husky praise; the way he says shit—fuck, baby, just like that, cock’s so far down your fuckin’ throat, huh; how wet your eyelashes are and the tears tracking down your cheeks.

Vernon fucks you right and doesn’t ask a lot of questions and calls Soonyoung hyung even though they’re colleagues, but that’s the sort of relationship you naturally fall into after you have a threesome and fuck said colleague’s girlfriend, you suppose, and Soonyoung doesn’t mind it. Because he’ll go away for whatever it is he gets called away for and Vernon will come over and tell you to ride him as he pulls out his phone and says shit like, “God, hyung, she’s about to come all over my cock. I don’t think she’s thinking about you at all. You aren’t, are you, baby? You’re not thinking about Soonyoung-hyung at all, are you? Only me,” between gasping, fractured moans.

And Soonyoung knows how that feels, is the thing. Knows the feeling of being suffocated in your tight, wet heat and how it can drive a man nearly to madness, and all he feels is pride. That’s his girl, bringing another man to his knees.

Hence the routine.

Normally you’d go out—a swanky new rooftop bar, a nightclub owned by a friend of a friend. Your drinks would glow neon blue under the blacklights, skinny red straw stuck in a plastic cup that matched the cherry at the bottom. Your skin would glisten with sweat as one of your friends twirled you around, kaleidoscope shapes behind your eyelids, both of you laughing breezy and sweet.

At some point throughout the night, Vernon would text you. You’d send him your location. He’d show up in an outfit contradicting the exclusivity of wherever you were, shower-soft, Sauvage on his wrists and neck, and he’d lean in close, ask if you wanted to stay or get out of there. Discarded on your bedroom floor, pooling at his feet in the club bathroom—it no longer mattered what he was wearing, because it never stayed on very long.

So here you are. While Soonyoung’s 800 kilometers away, undoubtedly trying to charm someone into his bed, you’re at home biding your time until the inevitable, no urge to go out. Instead, you indulge in yourself, work yourself up. Soonyoung, Vernon, both of them together—regardless of who you think about, the results are the same: you pinpoint the anticipation in your stomach and press, let your body sink beneath the weight of it.

Your boyfriend has only been in Osaka a handful of hours when the inevitable happens.

Vernon’s name lights up your screen. Transforms the slow simmer of expectation into full-blown wildfire. Has you squeezing your thighs together, bottom lip tugged between your teeth, when you open the text thread. Before tonight, the last time he’d texted you was three months ago: two o’clock in the morning, a video with a completely innocent thumbnail belying its content, already sent this to hyung but figured u might want it too written underneath.

Vernon: heard soonyoung hyung’s out of town for a while Vernon: what are u doing tonite

You exhale a soft laugh. As if Vernon just happened to stumble upon this information. As if he doesn’t already know what you’ll be getting up to tonight. As if he also isn’t falling victim to the desire. As if his lowercase letters and disregard for his ego with a double-text aren’t feigned nonchalance.

But just because you both know exactly where this is heading doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun.

So you pull your shirt over your head and toss it aside. Open up your camera and angle your body the way you like: glossed lips parted, the bruise Soonyoung sucked into your skin this morning just beneath your collarbone, cleavage framed perfectly, curve of your ass center frame, both covered in cheeky forest green lace. You snap a photo and another one with a painted-on pout; snap a third as the tips of your fingers delve beneath the waistline of your panties.

You: [Attachment: 3 Images] You: Hopefully you?

At the receiving end, Vernon swears, drops his phone. Of course you’re bathed in his favorite color. Of course you’re wrapped in sheets he’s lucky enough to know the feel of. Dizzy, his breath catches in his throat; tries to stave off feeling like he’s in free-fall. He’s no stranger to this kind of insatiable hunger—becomes reacquainted with it every few months, in fact—but it always catches him unaware. Always comes back with such a vengeance, as if all the times before had simply been the prefix.

He grabs his jacket.

Vernon’s barely been at your place twenty minutes when your phone rings.

You groan as he rolls his cock against you, jeans undone but still sitting low on his hips, zipper biting into your skin every time he presses you further into the mattress. The next sound you make he swallows with his mouth. Moves his lips to the column of your throat, the underside of your jaw, the spot just beneath your ear. Takes your lobe between his teeth, asks, “Is it him?” and lets you feel the way he smirks.

Blindly, you reach toward the sound, that horrible scattering across your nightstand that makes your teeth ache. It must be Soonyoung because it’s relentless, another call just as the first one ends, and you’re trying, you really are, but Vernon’s relentless, too. Abandons your space, takes your common sense and all his heat with him as he sits back on his haunches and moves his hands beneath your ass; drags you closer until your cunt—still covered in that dark lace and growing darker the wetter you become—is back against his cock and ruts.

You’re speechless, head thrown back against the pillows, the synapses of your brain misfiring and coming up empty. Both of you are still clothed and Vernon’s still having his way with you; still smirking dirty and arrogant out of the side of his mouth. Almost looks like he’s sneering a little as he asks again, “What’s the matter, baby? Not gonna answer him?” At your continued silence, he amends, “Oh, or maybe you can’t?”

You want to roll your eyes, shut him up with some sharp retort, but he’s got you exactly where he wants you. It’s a place you don’t mind being, either, because whether it’s the way his thick cock feels rubbing against your clit or the result of months of waiting, it doesn’t matter, it all feels divine. Has your breathing labored and heavy, has sweat pricking at your skin, has Vernon staring down at you with a gaze so pointed it cuts through the haze.

So he makes the decision for you. Reaches over and grabs your phone, tucks it between his ear and his shoulder. Keeps his hands free so he can keep moving you against him and greets your boyfriend with a, “Sorry, hyung, she’s a little busy right now.”

You can hear Soonyoung’s bark of laughter from where you’re laying, and then more muted chattering. He must give Vernon instructions, because Vernon puts the phone on speaker and tosses it somewhere on the bed. “Hello, princess. Are you having fun?” All you can manage is an uh-huh that’s fractured in the middle, punctuated with another roll of Vernon’s hips. “Mm, you sound so good, baby. Miss hearing you like that already. Can I see you, too?”

Vernon catches your eye as he reaches for your phone again. Waits for your nod before he points the camera at you and switches it to FaceTime. You hear Soonyoung suck in a breath. Wonder what he looks like. If the low light of his hotel room casts amber shadows across his face that intensify his stare, sharpen it to a point. If he’s got his arm tucked behind his head, laissez-faire in that way that drives you crazy, sensual without having to try. You almost ask Vernon to see, but then Soonyoung clicks his tongue and says, “That set is your favorite, isn’t it?”

The man he’s addressing looks down at you, eyes full of stars. “Yeah, hyung,” Vernon says, and it’s breathy, barely counts as separate words. Through the camera, Soonyoung watches as Vernon runs his fingertips over the hickey he’d left, over the swell of your breast and the space between each rib. Watches as Vernon grips at the meat of your thigh; as his hands flex before he grabs at you again.

“You want to touch her, don’t you? Properly.” He watches as Vernon nods, the camera wobbling with the intensity of it. “Put your mouth on her, Vernon-ah—she loves that so much.”

You can hear the shit-eating lilt to his tone and you know he’s enjoying this. That he loves watching you. Loves that Vernon’s always so fucked up over you and that he gets to direct these scenes. Loves what he gets to experience with you: something enduring and impenetrable, something that grants him freedom and indulgence. Loves you, most of all, but there will be time for that later.

Right now, he wants to watch Vernon make a mess of you. Wants to watch him pull those little lace panties to the side and eat you out, fervent and messy. Wants to hear it when he starts sucking at your clit and you keen high in your throat. Wants to watch the way you grab at his hair and force him closer as you roll your hips and seek out your own undoing.

Right now, Vernon hands the phone to you. “There’s my pretty girl,” Soonyoung says, and your face grows hot—as hot as the hands that skim over your skin and move to take off your panties. Soonyoung loves this part—loves watching someone unwrap you like a present; loves the tension even when isn’t there for it—so you flip the camera so he can see. “Leave them on,” your boyfriend instructs. Vernon’s brows pinch together. “You know she wore that set just for you, so leave it on when you fuck her. Make a mess of it. Cum all over it and ruin it, and then maybe I’ll let you take my card to buy her a new one.”

Vernon’s eyes flutter closed, long lashes fanning across his ruddy cheeks, so fucking pretty.

Anticipation sinks its claws into you again. Feels like an eternity passes before Vernon’s hands start moving again. Before he presses the pads of his thumbs into your hips and the contact makes both of you gasp. Before he leans in closer and kisses all the places he’d left fingerprints. Kisses your stomach, hips, the tops of your thighs and down, down, down until he’s where you want him—until you can feel his breath against your cunt, goosebumps rising from the warmth.

You only tear your eyes away from him to look at Soonyoung. Even through the screen you can tell he’s growing restless: pupils blown wide, teeth worrying at his bottom lip, breathing unsteady. You reach for Vernon, thread your fingers through his hair and tug, and at his resulting whine Soonyoung flips his own camera. What greets you is an expanse of familiar tan skin, his defined abs, legs spread wide, cock curved and hard.

There isn’t an ounce of shame to be found as he palms at himself. Just a ghost of a touch before he squeezes at the base and groans. All the times you’ve watched him do this… you can imagine the way his head rolls back, lips parted, muscles tensing.

“You look so good,” you murmur, and there’s no telling who it’s directed at—because Soonyoung looks good, just as he always does, but Vernon is a vision.

Especially when he’s between your legs.

There’s a glimpse of a half-cocked smile before he flattens his tongue and delves between your folds, stealing the breath from your lungs. One stripe and then another, all parallel lines as he works you over. Wraps his arms around your hips and pulls you closer to his mouth, doubles his efforts, doesn’t pay any mind to the mess he’s making, both of the sheets and of you.

You tug harder at Vernon’s hair. Roll your hips in time with his tongue, both of you endlessly noisy. Vernon groans as he sucks at your clit and you feel the sparks like lightning. Feels like he’s making a mockery of you. Feels like all he knows is your pleasure. Feels like an eternity has passed since he’s worked you over like this, and Soonyoung must agree because he almost sounds whiny as he says, “God, I missed this. Missed seeing you two together.”

You dare a look. Soonyoung jerks himself slowly with a loose fist, drags it out, savors every second and shiver that dances up his spine. Hisses through his teeth when he gathers the precum at the tip and spreads it along the length of his shaft. You want to see his face. Want to see the way his dark hair falls into his eyes when he shudders and curves into himself, the crease that forms between his brows, his eyes when they’re glassy and unfocused.

But then Vernon does something with his mouth that has you crying out—a strangled sound halfway between shock and gratification. Has you mirroring the exact image you expected to see on Soonyoung’s face. There’s poetry in that, you think, and that’s the last thought you have before Vernon drags your orgasm from you and your world tilts on its axis.

When you come to, vision still out of focus and fuzzy around the edges, you’re covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your phone is lost somewhere in the duvet, and Vernon’s still between your legs.

You choke. Feel around desperately for your phone and can barely hold onto it, weak and trembling, all your energy drained. Try to clamp your thighs around Vernon’s head for some reprieve but he knows you too well, knows you can take it, so he forces them back open.

Bliss spreads like wildfire. Starts in your toes and works its way into your bloodstream. Feels like you’ve been carved out of kerosene and matchsticks. It’ll be Vernon, you know—he’ll be the catalyst, light the spark that consumes and overwhelms you.

Especially when he’s like this.

When you’re the only thing that exists to him. When he’d forego pleasure for the rest of his life if it meant drowning in your pussy and getting you off. When he pays no mind to your boyfriend’s obscene goading—“Can you taste me, Vernon-ah? Did she tell you I filled her up this morning? That it was so much it was leaking out of her?”—and stays focused on you. When he runs two fingers through your mess and presses them inside, right against the spot that nearly folds you in half, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, pressure mounting.

“Oh my god. Vernon, please, it’s too much, I’m gonna—”

You feel him smile against your cunt. Pulls back only far enough to bite at the juncture of your thigh and say, “I know you can take it,” in his hoarse voice. With lips that are covered in you. “You’re gonna come again, aren’t you, baby? And you’re gonna be a good girl and soak through these fucking sheets while your boyfriend has to jerk himself off.”

That’s exactly what happens.

The cord inside you snaps. Soonyoung swears as he watches you come again, body pulling taut, Vernon’s name spilling from your lips like a mantra. Vernon’s on you immediately, setting the phone on your nightstand and kissing you senseless. Lets you taste yourself and the way you claimed him. Slots his body between your legs, careful as he presses against you because he knows how oversensitive you get. Waits until the tremors subside and he can feel you tracing shapes against his back before he murmurs a quiet okay? into your ear.

It takes a second for you to nod, but you do.

Vernon looks to his right at your phone. “Still want her fully dressed, hyung? She’s made a pretty big mess already.”

Soonyoung laughs, breathy and a little disbelieving. He loves this part, too, when Vernon dishes back as good as he gets. Both of them know it’s not a competition and would never treat it as one, but Soonyoung can’t help himself sometimes. Loves to stir shit just because he can—because Vernon is younger and looks up to him, but also because you like Vernon and he enjoys teasing you just as much.

So Soonyoung laughs. Asks, “How are you feeling, pretty girl? You want him to fuck you?” and continues stroking himself, pace leisurely, cock glistening with spit and precum, balls tight.

He’s always affected.

And so are you. You nod. Readjust your body beneath Vernon’s so he can press in tighter, so you can wrap your legs around his waist and delight in the sounds he makes—first like the breath’s been punched out of him, then more intentional as the electricity ebbs away and settles into his bones. His fingers grip at your thigh, movements fluid as he rocks his hips, unconcerned with the stickiness seeping through the fabric of his briefs.

Vernon wants you every second of every single day, and he doesn’t care who knows it.

You move your hands to his face. Let your thumbs rest on the high points of his cheekbones and settle into the contours there. Press your lips to his and lick into his mouth, all teeth and tongue and no savoir-faire. Vernon responds in kind. Starts moving frenetic and mindless, vehemence making up for his lack of composure, swallowing everything you give him.

Fucks you up a little that he still tastes like you—that you’re not all that easy to rinse out.

“Shit,” he swears, slurring the word against your mouth, lips bitten red and swollen. “Need you so bad, baby, please.”

Your vision swims, the raw urgency in Vernon’s tone making everything look like television static. All you can do is nod, spread your legs wider, press your body into him and hope he knows what to do with it, but he needs you to say it. “Tell me,” he says, settling a hand around your throat. Not tight—just so he can feel your words, just so he knows they’re there. “Tell me you want me. Tell me how you want me to give it to you.”

“Want you. Wanna ride you,” you answer. “Wanna be able to look at you. So pretty, Nonie—you look so pretty when you cum, I wanna see it.”

Vernon swears again. Sits back and has his jeans and underwear pulled off before you can process what’s happening, rolls on a condom, and that’s where you meet him, in the center of the bed. You move into the space between his spread legs, drape your arms over his shoulders as your knees bracket his hips, spit into your hand and work it over his cock, thumbing at the head just to make him whine.

“Babe—”

And then you’re pulling your panties to the side and sinking down on it.

The stretch is overwhelming. Steals the air from your lungs. Has Vernon pressing his forehead to yours, sharing your breath, dimpling your hips with bruising fingerprints. “Slow,” he pleads, and you’d give him anything, so you kiss the spot just beneath his eye, say okay, okay, and turn your attention to Soonyoung.

Not far off from how you’d left him: touching himself with reverence, not an ounce of shame to be found; sounds spilling from his lips that sound like home. He doesn’t notice you watching, but it doesn’t matter, he’s a performer in every aspect of his life. Thrives when he’s under the spotlight, demanding everyone’s attention, all eyes on him. Sex is no different. Always goes into it with eyes wide open, so you’re not surprised when he feels yours on him. When he says, “What’s the matter, princess?”

Beneath you, Vernon’s starting to gather his bearings. Thrusts slow and shallow and groans. “Did you bring it?” you ask Soonyoung, trying to keep your voice steady as Vernon fucks into you.

“The—”

“Yes,” you interject, already knowing what he was going to ask. Shit, Vernon feels so good. “Get it out. Use it. Wanna see you cum that way.”

Soonyoung swears. Says, “Fuck—god, yeah, I’ll get it,” and disappears from the screen. Vernon’s lips move to your chest, your neck, your mouth. He’s moving in earnest, now—doesn’t care what he sounds like, that he’s devolved into staccato whines and half-syllables. Doesn’t care about the mess between your legs.

Doesn’t care that when Soonyoung comes back onto the screen, you’re wholly focused on him, grinning pleased and wicked. If you want him to work for it, he will. If you want him to give it to you so good you’re not even thinking about your boyfriend, that’s what he’s going to do. If you want him to fuck you so hard you can’t even speak, well, that’s the goal.

So he doubles his efforts. Plants his feet on the bed and uses the leverage to bury himself as deep in you as he can. He’s done this enough to know his angles, know how to have you dripping and shaking, but he wants to savor this. Wants to drag it out for you. Some sick, selfish part of him wants this to be the fuck you’re thinking about later as you’re about to drift to sleep even though you aren’t his to claim. Not like that, anyway. He can still paint you in bruises that match Soonyoung’s, undecipherable from one another. No telling what’s his work and what’s Vernon’s.

“Tell me what to do.”

Vernon glances sideways. Watches as his hyung dribbles lube all over his cock, slicks himself up. Glances at you and sees you watching. Sees the way your jaw ticks, your eyes darken. Can feel how endless your love is for Soonyoung and he wants to burn up.

But then you say, “Fuck yourself the way Vernonie’s fucking me,” and the words soothe over him like a balm. Even more so when Soonyoung listens; when he grabs the pocket pussy and works it slowly down his shaft, moaning long and drawn out the entire way.

“God, I’m about to fucking bust.” Soonyoung laughs. “Tell me how he’s fucking you, pretty girl. Bet it feels even better than this, huh? Bet he’s making you feel so good.”

Everyone’s about to make an early exit at this rate. Vernon tells (begs) him to shut up in so many words. Tries to focus on himself, thinks about every terrible thing in the world to stave it off, but the way you’re nodding along with Soonyoung’s words are hurtling him towards the end at record speed. The way you look at Vernon with constellations in your eyes. The way you’re reduced to mindless babbling, all your words slurring together as you say, “It’s so good. So good, Soonyoungie, he’s so deep, fucks me so good, god I’m gonna come again—”

Vernon panics, bites at your collar bone, knows he wouldn’t survive feeling you clench around his cock. Tells you, “Not yet,” even though he’s barely able to choke out the words; even though he can barely endure you now, cunt spasming, walls fluttering around him. The unbelievable white-hot heat, the vice grip. Fuck, he wants to do this every day. Wants to do this for the rest of his life.

And you must be able to tell. Must see how spaced out he looks, because you move your hands to the center of his chest and dig your nails in, urge him backwards until he’s propped up on one elbow. This is what Vernon sees when he closes his eyes, when it’s been months since he’s seen you and he’s cumming all over his fist: the lines of his own body, the coarse strip of hair that leads from his stomach to where your bodies connect; you on top of him, hips sinuous and sinful as you circle them.

You put on a show of your own. Move your hands to his knees and spread your legs wider. Vernon’s cock looks obscene inside of you, trapped beneath your lace panties, so he grabs your phone, makes sure Soonyoung can see what he’s seeing. Makes sure Soonyoung can see the sheen your wetness leaves on his skin as you grind back and forth on him. Makes sure Soonyoung can hear the slapping of your and Vernon’s skin, the way your pussy squelches, how lewd everything sounds in the still air of the bedroom the two of you share.

“Jesus—fuck,” Soonyoung says down the line, voice metallic and fucked out. “You two are so goddamn hot together. Make her come, Vernon-ah, and then I wanna see her covered in you. Wanna see you ruin my pretty girl.”

Vernon shudders and nearly folds in on himself. Grabs your hip to slow your movements, refusing to get off before you, but you’re determined. Your grin is devilish as you move his hand to your clit and tell him to get to work. As you lean forward briefly to kiss him before you’re moving in earnest again, more intentional than before, and it’s all Vernon can do to stay conscious. All of it’s too much: the way you look above him, head thrown back, the marks he’d left on your throat; the way you’re able to handle both of them at once, riding Vernon into the mattress while you talk Soonyoung over the edge, the most filthy words spilling out of your mouth.

The way you gasp as Vernon thumbs circles against your clit and reach for his hand, trying to ground yourself as your pussy clenches, as you barely have time to stammer out the words before you’re coming on his cock.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Vernon pulls out, almost cries at no longer being enveloped in your heat, pulls off the condom and fists his cock once, twice, and then watches, entranced, as he does what his hyung said and covers you in cum.

Your tits, your stomach, the fabric of your panties.

For a moment, everything is quiet, everyone still coming down and trying to catch their breath. You’re spent, exhausted and satiated in ways you haven’t been in months. Every muscle in your body feels overworked. Your throat feels raw. Every inch of skin that’s bruised feels like a branding iron, and it is, you suppose. Soonyoung’s, Vernon’s, it doesn’t matter—you wear them both.

“Don’t wash those,” comes Soonyoung’s voice.

It takes you a second to realize what he means. “My panties?” you ask, shock apparent. You’d known he was a freak, of course, but the depths of his perversion continue to surprise you. “Soonyoung…”

“Don’t kink shame me, princess, I’m covered in my own jizz and I need another shower. I came so hard I think I had religious visions. How’re you feeling, Vernon-ah?”

The man in question doesn’t answer. You’d think he was asleep with his eyes open if you knew he was capable of it, but that’s not what’s going on. Vernon’s fixated on you. Can’t tear his eyes off of you and the cum that’s drying into your skin, and you know you shouldn’t, that you should give him a break, but there’s no fun in that, so you trail your fingers through the mess on your stomach and suck them into your mouth.

“Yeah, don’t need to ask after that. Goddamn. I’m gonna go shower before you get me hard again. Good luck with her.”

The call disconnects. In the aftermath, the silence is almost stifling, almost makes you feel a sense of guilt that’s entirely undeserved, but then Vernon’s sitting up and crowding your space, hands behind your back as he works at the knots he finds there. Pulls you in closer. Presses a spun-sugar kiss to your forehead that makes your heart skip a beat.

The thing is, though: he doesn’t stay.

It’s not a rule. It’s not something Soonyoung requested to keep some semblance of boundaries in your relationship. He doesn’t care, and neither do you, but Vernon does. Doesn’t want to overstep and muddy the lines. Doesn’t want to make it seem like more than it is, and you’ve always been fine with that, but something about this time feels different. Strikes you someplace deep, hidden away, tucked behind your ribs. Vernon runs you a bath and changes the sheets while you’re soaking your aching muscles and when you’re tucked into bed, he presses another kiss to your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. Promises to text you later in the week.

And then he lets himself out.

You’re still awake an hour later when your phone lights up with a string of texts, and you force yourself not to think about what it means that you’re disappointed it isn’t Vernon.

Soonyoung: Going to sleep. The two of u wore me out ㅋㅋㅋ Soonyoung: I’ll text u in the morning. Got an early day tomorrow 😭 Soonyoung: Love u baby. Sleep tight ❤️

With Soonyoung in Paris, it’s hard to make the time difference work.

Seven hours usually isn’t a problem—it’s worse when he goes to the Americas, for example—but it’s been weeks since your technological ménage à trois and you aren’t feeling any less unsettled. All you want to do is talk to him. Ask him what the hell is going on with you, why you can’t seem to shake this, what it all means, but it just never works out.

Not the right time. Not enough time. Soonyoung often has his own plans that keep him occupied until the early hours of the morning wherever he is, and by then he’s too exhausted and you’ve been awake for hours, already well into the monotony of your day.

Still, it eats at you. Makes you feel guilty in ways you can’t rationalize. You know you haven’t done anything wrong. Haven’t done anything you haven’t done plenty of times before; haven’t done anything Soonyoung isn’t also doing when he’s not around to answer your calls. And that’s fine—even though it’s unconventional to most, you love the dynamic the two of you have. Wouldn’t change it for anything except Soonyoung himself, so you know he’s not the point of contention.

No, it’s you—you’re the problem here.

Something’s changed, but whatever it is isn’t all that keen to let you in on the secret yet.

So you do your best to push it down and swallow it. You go to work. You meet your friends for dinner and drinks. You suffer through your gym sessions just to give the anxiety and jitters someplace to go. You clean your and Soonyoung’s apartment top to bottom until there’s not a speck of dust to be found and all the countertops start to squeak. You go shopping and charge whatever you want to Soonyoung’s credit card because he’d want you to.

None of it works.

It’s no wonder, then, that you break by the time Soonyoung gets to Paris. That you’re sending up flares and paying little attention to the time difference. That you text him—

You: Can you make some time to call me today? You: I don’t care about the time. You: It’s nothing bad, I promise. Just need/want to talk to you.

—and expect something, anything, in return: the familiarity of his tone, his overuse of emojis, the way he always calls on FaceTime and always greets you barefaced and with a relieved smile, like you’re the only thing he wants to see at the end of a long day. You expect him to say anything for my girl—or, at the very least, can’t today baby 🙁 I’m so sorry, but I’ll have time tomorrow and I’ll call first thing, ok ??

You don’t get any of that.

What you get is silence.

Your texts go unanswered. He doesn’t call. You double-check your calendar just to confirm you hadn’t gotten the date confused, but he doesn’t have a show tonight. Rehearsal and a team dinner, maybe, but nothing that should make him so unavailable to you.

Well, except one very obvious thing.

There’s a flashbang of hurt you immediately try to tamper down. Soonyoung can’t read your mind. He’s never ignored you when you’ve needed him or given you reason to believe he’d do something like this intentionally and maliciously—not to mention that the arrangement the two of you have has never been an issue before, so it’s nothing to get upset over. You know it’s nothing to get upset over, but knowing doesn’t suck the poison out.

A temporary lapse in communication is all this is. You’ve survived worse.

It’s just—

This shapeless, undefinable thing that’s clawed its way inside of you isn’t going anywhere. And you can deal with the stopgap emotions until you’re able to put a name to it—the anger and confusion, the abstract betrayal—but it’s always easiest to carry burdens with two sets of hands, is all.

Hours tick by. What was two hours without a response turns into four; four turns into six turns into you readying yourself for bed and spending the night tossing and turning, checking your phone every time you awake in the middle of the night. When your alarm goes off at eight o’clock and there’s still nothing, all those ugly feelings come swimming back to the surface.

Your first call rings and rings until it goes to voicemail.

So does the second.

Soonyoung answers the third out of breath, voice gravelly. A woman’s laughter greets you before he can, and for the first time ever, it makes you sick to your stomach. Makes you wonder what the fuck you’re doing. Has your hands trembling, all your words stuck in your throat, frustrated tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Another twinkling laugh that your boyfriend responds to with a husky one of his own. “Hello? Hi, baby, I’m a little—”

Busy, he’s going to say. You’ve gathered as much. Busy is laughing in your ear, probably has her hands all over him, and it’s always been like this, the sharing and the nonexistence of possessiveness, but you come first. That’s the rule. Both of you come first to one another, so busy isn’t acceptable. Busy has resentment biting at your heels. Has your blood pressure spiking, your skin flushing hot.

Has you cutting him off, saying, “So busy you couldn’t answer my fucking texts?” with so much animosity all noise at the other end of the line immediately ceases.

You hear footsteps and the shutting of a door, the turn of a lock. “Okay, I’m alone,” he murmurs softly; you wish it did anything to comfort you. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

A laugh of your own, derisive and disbelieving. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to do.”

You’re not about to spill your guts when Busy is in the next room over touching herself so she’s primed and ready to go when your boyfriend ends the call, goes back into the bedroom and says, sorry about that, and climbs back on top of her. You’re not about to spill your guts and feel like an inconvenience.

So you scoff and shake your head, say, “You know what, Soonyoung? Don’t even worry about it. Go back to fucking whoever the fuck she is and forget I even called.”

“Baby, come on, wait—”

You’re not about to spill your guts, so you rewrite the script.

You end the call. You ignore the texts that follow.

You text Vernon and ask if he’s free after work.

He is.

Vernon gets done work a little after ten.

You get off the train a few stops early and decide to walk the rest of the way. It’s been so long since you’ve done this. Since you’ve breathed in the smell of the samgyaetang and dakgalbi restaurants, the tteokbokki and bungeoppang from the street food vendors. Since you’ve thought the neon lights of Hongdae Street were going to blind you and shielded your eyes. Since you’ve walked by groups of friends posing for selfies in the middle of the sidewalk, apple cheeks from wide smiles pressed together; couples doubled over in laughter as they try to jump on one another’s backs. Since you’ve watched patrons stumble out of bars and clubs with queues to get in, faces flushed from the alcohol they’ve already consumed.

Vernon lives in Mapo, in an artsy high-rise in Seogyo-dong. New construction that’s meant to look much older, meant to resemble the industrial loft apartments found in older American cities, warehouses made irrelevant as the 21st century moved in and took hold. They’re all exposed brick, twenty-pane windows, concrete floors, neo-expressionist paintings hung in the lobby.

A block away, a bingsu restaurant is closed until the next afternoon, but it’s what lies beneath that piques your interest: a basement rock bar, show flyers plastered all over the door, live music pounding the pavement and spilling onto the sidewalk.

You’re in the lungs of the city, and it’s every bit as alive as you expected—and hoped—it would be.

You feel at home here, surrounded by people and nightlife and unrelenting noise. Where you and Soonyoung live isn’t dissimilar, just different—more refined and inhibited, more concerned with appearances than letting loose. You’ve gotten good at rubbing elbows with those types of people, as necessary and inevitable as it is, but sometimes you just miss the unpolished grime of ordinary people.

Vernon’s outside waiting for you when you reach his building.

Hat pulled low over his eyes. An oversized black hoodie that drowns his lithe frame, makes him look smaller than he is. Face lit up by the glow from his phone. A lollipop stuck in his mouth that he presses into the fat of his cheek when he looks up, sees you, and smiles.

“Hi,” he greets you, arms twitching at his sides, unsure of what to do—what’s okay, what isn’t. If he’s allowed to be affectionate with you in public. If anyone can know, even though you’re no one to these people and he’s as out of the spotlight as you are.

So you make the decision for him. Place a hand on his waist, lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. When you pull back, his cheeks are the same shade of cherry red as his lips and tongue. He ducks his head, tries to hide it, but there might as well be a flashing sign above his head to signal his embarrassment. “Oh,” he says quietly, touching the spot where you’d kissed him.

You swallow. The Vernon standing in front of you is a stark contrast to the one you fall into bed with. This one is all soft, rounded edges: shy, chivalrous, almost self-conscious—the kind that wouldn’t bruise if you bumped into him. You try to ignore the way your heart is hammering away in your chest, but the duality is making your head spin.

“Do you want to grab a drink first, or should we just…” He trails off, coughing to cover himself when all you do is quirk an eyebrow just to see if you can get him to blush again. “There’s a pretty cool LP bar down that way, if you’d be into that sorta thing? But I also have vinyl at my place, so I guess it doesn’t—”

You know laughing will only mortify him more, but you can’t help it. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” comes his automatic response.

“Are you sure?” you tease, watching as his fingers—covered to the second knuckle by his sleeves—worry insistently at the fabric of his hoodie. He flushes again, mouth opening and closing around words that don’t materialize, and it’s almost painful how endeared you are by him. “Come on, then,” you say, deciding to put him out of his misery, “show me this pretty cool bar.”

It’s a short walk, only a few blocks, but Vernon sets a slow pace and holds your hand anyway. Neither of you acknowledge that his is sweat-slick, and you can tell he’s thankful for this bit of reprieve. Must help him settle, because it isn’t long before he starts yapping away, animated and buoyant. He talks about work, about the album he’s mastering and how he hasn’t yet gotten the sidechain compression on the bass where he wants it. Tells you about a group the company recently put together that he’s excited about and thinks could be really successful.

“I don’t see them much since they’re always at practice,” he explains, slowing further as you approach a convenience store, “but when they have free time some of ‘em like to sit in the studio and watch me work. This GS25 gave me a black eye once.”

“What?”

He sounds straight out of a nature documentary as he tells you the story. How he’d wanted convenience store ramen because they had a 1+1, and on the way decided he needed a Yonsei bread, too, except he was piss drunk and didn’t realize the doors weren’t automatic, so yeah—hence the black eye. And it’s not particularly funny, but you laugh until your stomach hurts anyway; laugh until both of you are off-kilter from it, shoulders knocking into one another, tears blurring your vision and making the city look crystalline.

You laugh all the way to the bar, and Vernon only lets go of you to open the door and help you inside, hand reassuring and warm when it moves to the small of your back.

A two-seater table is open in the far corner. You sit with your back to the wall and a Blondie poster above your head, content to take in the view. Vernon’s content to let you. Asks what you’d like to drink and doesn’t bat an eye when you request a midori sour. You throw him an exaggerated wink as you say, “If you ask them to put a cherry in it, I’ll show you a magic trick.”

Vernon nearly cums on the spot.

But he does as you say. Returns to the table with two drinks and a pencil and paper. “For your song requests,” he explains when he sees you eyeing it.

“Thank you,” you say, taking your midori sour from him. “What are you gonna request? And what are you drinking?”

“It’s a Coke and something,” he answers, “but I’m not telling you what.” You roll your lips to keep from laughing. As if you couldn’t smell the coconut from across the bar. As if you can’t smell it on him now, when all you can think about is if you’ll be able to taste it on him later when he’s licking into your mouth. “I think you promised me a magic trick.”

A group of American girls taught you this in university, back when you were a starry-eyed freshman completely out of your comfort zone, friendless, more wallflower than functioning human. You just need a party trick, one of them had said, something to break the ice, and that’s how you learned to tie a cherry stem with your tongue.

Just like all those impressionable, hormone-riddled college boys, Vernon is stunned when you stick out your tongue to present it to him. Gets that dazed, faraway look in his eyes; has to clear his throat to get his lungs working again. Turns the tables on you when he reaches out and grabs it, putting it in his pocket for safekeeping, and then it’s you who feels like they’ve been punched in the chest.

It’s maddening, how oblivious he is to the effect he has on you.

“Did I ever tell you I was born in New York?” He drums the pencil against the table. Looks around the bar that’s grown steadily busier. “I moved here when I was five so I don’t really remember much, but it’s always felt like this huge part of me, so I went through this phase a few years ago—read a ton of books on the history of the music scene there, listened to all the albums they said were influential.”

You jot down some songs. “And? What was your verdict?”

He takes a sip of his drink. Laughs a little as he scratches at the back of his neck. “I got really into Tom Tom Club,” he answers. “You know Talking Heads, right? Tom Tom Club was the side project of the drummer and the bassist of that band. Husband and wife.”

Over the speakers, a bluesy folk song starts playing, soft and melodic. You’re not as musically inclined as your boyfriend or the man across from you, but you’re still able to be moved by it. Still able to appreciate in others when they love something so much it becomes tangible. When a bluesy folk song starts playing in a bar and it brings a smile to Vernon’s face. When he talks about artists and albums he’s discovered and speaks with all the reverence of an archaeologist digging up ancient riches thought to be long-forgotten. When you glance at the songs you’ve written down and don’t have to worry that they won’t be cool enough, because everyone here just loves music, no matter what form it takes; are able to find something to appreciate everywhere they look.

“Talking Heads had already put out, like, four or five albums I think by the time Tom Tom Club formed,” Vernon continues. His drink is almost gone. “But David Byrne had released some solo stuff by then with Brian Eno, so they wanted to do something, too, and what they made was this really funky, kind of unexpected new wave album.

“They did some really weird stuff production-wise—103 bpm when everyone else was doing 120, deliberately tuning Tina Weymouth’s bass to 150 hertz, using a really crunchy synth. I find myself going back to it every time I get stuck, mostly because it’s the sort of thing you can listen to and feel how much they loved making music.” He pauses. Almost looks horrified when he sees there’s nothing left in his glass but half-melted ice. “I—oh my god, I’m sorry, I can’t believe I’ve been talking your ear off about this.”

Head tilted to the side, you smile. “We’re in a music bar,” you deadpan. “I’d go so far as to say we’re in the perfect place for you to talk my ear off about this.”

“Yeah, but—” You give him a look that has him holding his hands up. “Okay, okay! I’ll go refill our drinks since it’s the least I can do. Do you have your…?”

That aforementioned smile morphs into something more mischievous when you hand him your slip of paper. You watch as he looks it over, nods at the picks he thinks were in good taste: “Dreams” by The Cranberries, “Don’t Push It Don’t Force It” by Leon Haywood, “Smalltown Boy” by Bronski Beat, “When I Come Around” by Green Day just to take the piss out of Vernon, who seems to have an endless collection of faded, worn Green Day t-shirts with loose necklines. Then, you watch as he gets to the last song on your list and his brows furrow.

He looks up at you. Even against the dark backdrop of the bar, against the red green blue lights casting technicolor shapes across his forehead, his cheeks, you can tell Vernon is stunned. Can see how wide his pupils have blown.

There, at the bottom of your list, is “Fantasy” by Mariah Carey.

Arguably the most well-known song to sample “Genius of Love” by Tom Tom Club.

Vernon’s apartment has three bedrooms.

One is used as a home studio, with a massive L-shaped desk that nearly takes up the entire room. In the middle, a laptop hooked up to a massive curved monitor with immaculate resolution, flanked on each side by monitor speakers. Stereo receiver. Preamps and input patch bays. A midi controller and a drum machine.

The rest of the room is taken up by instruments. An upright piano against one wall, clearly purchased secondhand; beside it, a two-tiered stand containing a keyboard and analog synthesizer. Two electric guitars, one acoustic, one bass. More microphones and over-ear headphones than you’ve ever seen in a single room.

Another resembles the LP bar: two walls of floor-to-ceiling built-ins that house his extensive vinyl collection, sorted first by genre then alphabetically. More records sit in milk crates on the floor, waiting to be catalogued and put away. To the right, on the only remaining wall that isn’t fully windows, sits a vintage credenza, most likely Japanese mid-century. You don’t have to ask—just by looking at it, you can tell Vernon’s hi-fi setup is top of the line, each item carefully chosen after hours of research and trial and error. Two plush armchairs, angled toward one another. Colorful shag rug.

His actual bedroom contains none of those things, but there are still touches of him everywhere.

Framed prints from his favorite artists and films. A concerning number of plain white t-shirts hung on a chrome clothing rack. On his nightstand, a well-used Replica candle (Jazz Club; smells like him) sits atop a stack of books with neon spines: Virgil Abloh. Nike. ICONS, Sofia Coppola Archive, Yoshitomo Nara. There’s a lamp on his dresser meant to look like entrance beacons of the New York City subway. Above his bed hangs a neon sign of Basquiat’s Beat Bop album cover, and on the floor, a black and white checkered rug.

As for the rest—well, you hadn’t been given much time to admire it before Vernon was laying you in the middle of the bed and kissing you breathless.

(It does taste like coconut when he licks into your mouth.)

And it isn’t like you needed a reminder—you never do with Vernon—but it serves as one anyway. That the two of you spent the last few hours of a Friday night drinking together in a bar, laughing at one another’s song requests, laughing at Vernon’s drinks mixed with coconut rum, laughing in general. That it’d taken a few rounds, but after the laughter faded and he plucked up the courage, he asked about your and Soonyoung’s relationship: how you met, how it started, how it works. That you answered all his questions because there was only curiosity beneath them.

That he paid your tab and held your hand as you left, giddy and eager to get back to his place. That when the two of you reached an intersection, no walking sign lit up, he pressed his chest to your back and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

That when you passed the GS25, you cracked a joke and asked Vernon if he wanted to stop and get ramen and Yonsei bread.

That he’d clenched his jaw and sent you a look that was pure heat; grabbed you by the waist and leaned in close, whispered in your ear, “I’ve been ready to bust in my fucking pants since you decided to torture me with that cherry, so I’m not doing a fucking thing that isn’t taking you back to my place and making you come over and over.”

Now here you are.

Vernon’s pace is bruising. It’s frenzied and unpredictable, like he’s trying to prove a point. What it is, you don’t know, but you find it hard to care when he’s like this. When he sheds his shyness like a second skin and is brazen in the way he wants you. When you’ve crossed the threshold of his bedroom and he makes it clear selfishness doesn’t exist here—that all you have to do is lay claim to what he’s willing to give.

And maybe that’s the thing: you can’t put a name to what you want. “Everything” feels too heavy, too much. When it’s exactly what’s on offer, it feels like the weight of the world. I couldn’t possibly ask for that, you think, and Vernon is right behind you asking, Why can’t you?

So you’ll take it, for now. You’ll let Vernon’s deft fingers undress you with reverence and you’ll claw at his back and help him pull his hoodie over his head. You’ll revel in his proximity; how it never, ever feels like he’s close enough. You’ll steal the breath from his lungs and wrap your legs around his waist to keep him draped over you like chiffon. And the first time your phone vibrates you’ll ignore it. The second and third times, too.

When it doesn’t let up, Vernon pulls back. Asks, “Is that…? Should I grab it?”

You only have a split-second to decide how things are going to play out—not only this, right here, but everything that comes after. You and Soonyoung come first to one another, but you still feel scorned. A bit petty. Hi, baby, I’m a little busy, still feels like a bruise; has hurt coursing you like it came from a blood bag.

So you thread your fingers through his hair—impossibly soft; the color of molten chocolate—until they’re resting at the back of his neck. Bring his mouth back to yours and let the taste of him transport you someplace else. Vernon groans as he fits his hands to the curve of your waist.

Your phone is still ringing. Vernon opens his mouth and you shake your head. “No,” you answer, voice unwavering, “this one’s just for us.” He stares down at you. Everything he’s feeling shows clearly on his face, but it’s still undecipherable: the push and pull of the tide, always changing. “Kiss me.”

He does. Whatever fire had consumed him earlier has cooled off considerably, replaced only with the need for closeness. Every press of his mouth against your body is delicate. Every brush of his fingertips and knuckles against your skin is tender. When he kisses down your body and makes you come with his tongue, it isn’t booming fireworks but a quiet gasp into the crook of your elbow.

When he rolls on a condom and presses into you, he twines your fingers together again, and they aren’t sweaty. When he rests his forehead on your shoulder, the words he speaks against you are full of velvet praise. When he moves his hips, the sound of his skin against yours reminds you of a symphony: adagios bookended by scherzos, culminating in a shared finale that leaves you both glowing and euphoric.

Four a.m. looks different from Vernon’s apartment.

More down to earth, not as deep into the clouds. You’ve called Seoul home for the entirety of your adult life, but you’re still learning its secrets. Here, on Vernon’s side of the city, it’s more lively. Sleeps less. You watch as dot-sized people duck in and out of 24/7 shops; as groups of friends converge and separate like starling murmuration. You watch through bleary eyes as the city lights start to blur together.

This is where Vernon finds you, sitting on his living room floor, knees tucked against your chest.

Wordlessly, he sits beside you. Stretches his legs out, hands planted on the rug behind him. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth still stuck to his skin, see every breath he takes from the corner of your eye. And you think you should say something—maybe apologize if you woke him—but four a.m. is built for silence.

Minutes pass. The traffic signals go through their sequence, green yellow red green yellow. The stream of dot-sized people remains steady. The man beside you is steady, too, but he’s also perceptive, and usually it’s a perception that lets you initiate, come closer once you’re ready, doesn’t push. Not this time. This time, he turns to face you and studies your profile. Must notice something, because his eyes narrow, perfect brows pinching in the middle. “You okay?” You nod. Give him a smile you hope is convincing. Four a.m. is a lot of things, but it doesn’t feel like the time or place for this kind of revelation.

Because you like him.

Something of this magnitude should feel world-altering, you think, but it doesn’t. Even if it was subconscious, you’ve known this, so it feels the same as when you look at the sky and see it’s blue, when you look at the grass and it’s green—the universe as advertised and in perfect working order. The way things are meant to be.

But you aren’t sure where the lines are drawn anymore, or if there’s anything left of them at all. Both you and Soonyoung have been here before: feelings that came out of nowhere, hookups that left a more lasting impression than others, the occasional short-term fling. All of it was within the boundaries of your relationship, but something about this—about Vernon—feels different. Feels like something you don’t want to lose.

You suck in a deep breath. “I’m okay,” you confirm, “I just… there are things I need to talk to Soonyoung about, I think.”

Vernon nods. “I figured as much with all the phone calls.”

And because it feels like something you don’t want to lose, you need to be honest. “We got into an argument yesterday morning, before I texted you. It wasn’t—I don’t even know if I’d actually call it an argument, really, because I just got pissed and hung up, but.” You sigh. Place your chin on top of your knees. “I needed to tell you that, because I don’t want it to seem like I used you. It’s not like that for me with you, but I also can’t lie and say I’m not still stung about it.”

Vernon hums. Asks, “Did you want to hurt him?”

“No,” you answer immediately, because it’s true. You never want to hurt him. “I know the relationship me and him have doesn’t make sense to a lot of people. Most people, probably. It works for us, though, and because it’s always worked, I’m not always sure what to do when it doesn’t.” A sigh. “I’m not jealous, you know? I love him, and I love that other people love him. I don’t want someone else’s normal.”

A half-smile ghosts across Vernon’s face. “I’m sensing a but coming.”

“No but.” You laugh. “Well, maybe a but—ever since you left a few weeks ago, I’ve just felt… off? I couldn’t put my finger on it. I couldn’t shake this feeling I’d done something wrong, and I tried talking to Soonyoung about it but we couldn’t make the time difference work, so I texted him and asked him to make time, but he never responded, so I called him yesterday morning. I’m sure you can guess where this is going.”

“Mm, yeah,” comes his simple reply.

“I overreacted, and I need to apologize for it, but I wasn’t ready to have the conversation until I figured out what was weighing on me.”

“And?” His fingers inch closer to yours. “Did you figure it out?”

You place yours over them. “Yeah, I did.”

Vernon had gotten called into the studio just after eleven.

Both of you had tried holding onto the last dregs of excitement of waking up together for the first time. Tried blinking the exhaustion out of your eyes and showing some semblance of life as you danced around one another, brushing your teeth and getting dressed. Vernon paid for your ride home and kissed you goodbye at the door, but not before promising it’d all get figured out.

The drive takes you down streets lined with cherry blossoms in full bloom, petals covering the asphalt, blowing in the breeze. Morning doesn’t often find you philosophical, but there’s something comforting about the changing of the seasons. Winter will always give way to spring in the same way everything will always work out, just like Vernon had promised, and it makes you feel light, finally unburdened, so you dig your phone from your bag.

You: I’ll be home soon You: I know it’s early where you are, but I’m around if you’re up and want to talk

Soonyoung doesn’t answer, but this doesn’t surprise you—the message just sits there, undelivered.

So you thank the driver when he drops you outside your apartment. Without much else to do, you stop into the grocery store to grab a few things, including a bundle of yellow and pink flowers, and the café next to your building after that, where you order something strong and not watered down. You soak up the sun on your skin, let it warm you from the inside out, and after half your coffee’s gone you start to feel human again.

This only lasts as long as it takes to get to your apartment and open the door.

Because there’s your boyfriend asleep on the couch. Soonyoung, whose mouth is hanging open and is snoring lightly. Soonyoung, who’s supposed to be in Europe. Soonyoung, whose phone is laying on the floor, halfway under the couch. Soonyoung, who startles awake when you call his name and punctuate it with a question mark.

Soonyoung, who realizes it’s you and crosses the living room in milliseconds. Who pulls you into his arms before you can breathe life into another question. Who peppers kisses all over your face and sighs when you thumb away the tears beneath his eyes simply because you’re touching him. Who presses his forehead to yours, content to hold you, and you, who fists your hand in the fabric of his shirt, content to let him.

Once the shock wears off, you realize you’re still holding the flowers. Say, “Let me just…” as you gesture at the bouquet. “Then we can talk?”

He’s reluctant to let you go, but he nods anyway. Doesn’t say a thing about the dozens of flowers already covering the kitchen island. When you spin around, his cheeks are dusted pink, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “I ordered them to be delivered first thing this morning,” he explains. “Well, no—I ordered them yesterday, but they couldn’t deliver that many on such short notice. They also thought it was fake, since I was ordering them from France, so I had to call them, but—”

“They’re beautiful,” you whisper, rubbing a rose petal between your fingers. “Thank you.”

“I panicked. I thought you were breaking up with me.” You don’t mean to laugh, but one tumbles out anyway. Soonyoung pouts around a smile he tries to tamper down, doesn’t take any offense because he, too, knows how absurd it sounds.

“Why would I ever do that?”

He nods his head in the direction of the couch—his favorite place to have these kinds of talks. Says having serious discussions standing up gives him heartburn. Really, you suspect it’s so he has pillows within grabbing distance for when he inevitably starts crying and needs to cover his face in embarrassment, but you’ll give him this. You’ll sit in your usual spot and wait as he sits in his, and then you’ll stretch out and place your feet in his lap like you always do. And he’ll try to apologize first like he always does because he can’t stand things being tense between you, even when it’s your fault.

Today, though, you don’t let him.

“I owe you an apology,” you say, and you want to laugh again at the shocked look on his face, that he can’t believe you beat him to the punch, but you don’t. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. It was out of line and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.”

“I did a little,” he snarks, all self-deprecation. “I am never, ever too busy for you, and I made you feel like I was.”

“I know.” He moves to protest; you hold up a hand to stop him. “Just let me try to explain this. After Vernon left a few weeks ago, everything felt really off. I had this overwhelming sense of guilt, like I’d done something horrible and I couldn’t figure out what it was, because it’s not like I’d crossed any boundaries, you know? Everything was above board. But I wanted to talk to you about it in case you knew something I didn’t, and then we couldn’t—”

“You like him.” Soonyoung says this as a declaration rather than a question. He says this with a shit-eating grin on his face. He says this as if he’s an old philosopher imparting ancient wisdom upon you, like he’s predicted historical events and has yet to be wrong. “You do, don’t you?”

“I—yeah, but how did you know that? How long have you known that?”

He laughs. “Baby, it’s been obvious to everyone except the two of you since that first night.” You sputter, ready to defend your own honor—Soonyoung’s album release party feels like ages ago now, so surely you would’ve been able to put two and two together before now if what he’s saying were true? “I know you,” he adds, tone far more serious and gentle. “I know what you’re like when you have feelings for someone, remember? I’ve watched you fall in and out of love; not only with me, but—”

You gasp and nudge him in the ribs with your foot. “First of all, I have never fallen out of love with you. Don’t even joke about that—”

“Yes, ma’am.” Soonyoung salutes you sarcastically. Captures your foot and acts like he’s going to tickle you just to get a rise.

“Soonyoung, don’t—you know how ticklish I am! I won’t be able to control my body and I’ll kick you in the ribs or the dick or whatever and hurt you and you’ll get all upset! Also, we are in the middle of a serious conversation here! Stop derailing!”

“I’m not even doing anything,” he lies. “Please continue.”

With a groan (and a very deadly stare), you convince him to stop fucking around. He doesn’t release you entirely, but he forgoes the threats of tickling to press his thumbs into the arch of your foot instead. It works. In an instant, you’re calm, half-melted into the fabric of the couch.

“I went out with him last night.” You swallow, feeling the guilt creep in again. Soonyoung digs in deeper. “I texted him after I hung up on you. I didn’t intend for it to be one, but it very much turned into a date. I slept there.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Yes,” you answer honestly. Soonyoung pulls you closer, moves his hands to your calf and works at the muscle there. “I didn’t tell him.” You don’t know whose sake you’re saying this for—if it’s for Soonyoung or you or even Vernon—but it feels important to admit. To acknowledge that Soonyoung still comes first to you; that, as chaotic as things feel, one thing hasn’t changed. “Wanted to talk to you first.”

“Okay,” he replies breezily. “Let’s talk, then, pretty girl. Let’s figure it out.”

And you do.

The two of you talk for hours. Mostly apologies and promises to do better, but Soonyoung wants to hear all the perverse details of your night spent at Vernon’s apartment. Can’t help himself. Laughs when you scold him for getting hard, but you’re laughing, too. He asks if you want to date him—properly, not only when you’re feeling spiteful—and you ask if it’d be okay if you did. Briefly, you wonder if such a question is presumptuous. After all, you haven’t talked to Vernon, haven’t put your feelings into plaintext, but then you think back to the way he’d touched you last night and come to the conclusion it isn’t.

The two of you talk about the future. Soonyoung makes a point to revisit the original agreement; needs to make sure the two of you are on the same page. “It’s okay if you don’t want this anymore,” he assures you. “I just want you to be happy.”

There’s something in his tone that has you eyeing him. “Do you still want this? You’ve never floated the idea of closing the relationship before.”

“I had a near-death experience,” he jokes. “You know how they say your entire life flashes before your eyes right before you die? That’s all I could think about on the flight home—that it’d be my fault if you left and I’d deserve it because I was selfish; that no one I’ve been with could ever come close to you and none of it would’ve been worth it.”

Everything’s starting to sound waterlogged again. Soonyoung takes you into his arms when you crowd his end of the couch and fit yourself against his side. “If you just want it to be the three of us, that’s more than enough for me.” You press a kiss to his shoulder. “Or we can decide later when I feel less like a deer about to get destroyed by a car.”

You snort. Say, “You can decide. Whatever you want is okay with me. I know it’d be a big adjustment for you.”

“Don’t say what you think I want to hear.”

“I’m not,” you affirm. “I’m really, truly, one-hundred-percent okay with whatever you want to do, even if, like, fifty-five-percent of that is because I’m way less enthusiastic about butt stuff than you—”

“Hey!”

With another shared laugh, the air is cleared. Together, the two of you erase the existing lines and draw new ones. Talk about what it would look like for two to become three. Has another moment of self-doubt and apologizes that he is who he is, that he can’t love you in public the way he desperately wants to, the way you deserve to be loved out in the open. “You love me in the ways you can,” you tell him, “and they’re more than enough because they come from you.”

You talk until the sky begins to darken and the conversation devolves into nonsense. Until Soonyoung realizes he never plugged his phone into the charger and his team’s probably in a panic. Until his stomach rumbles and he suggests ordering a ton of food for delivery, except he really does mean a ton, and when you ask him who’s possibly going to eat it all his cheeks redden and he says, sheepish and a little nervous, “I thought we could invite Vernonie over?”

Another playful groan. “You’re back home for—what, barely 48 hours?—and your main concern is having another threesome?”

“And if I say yes?”

You text Vernon and ask if he’s free after work.

He is.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Sharing and reblogging my work is the best way to show you enjoyed it, but I also accept any and all feedback and screaming in my inbox. <3

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wonderjanga · 9 months ago

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Marvel and the Supernatural

Basically some Marvel interactions with supernatural creatures. I think he would be really friendly with some and, you know, not as friendly to others.

Marvel: “Sorry, guys. I gotta head out early.”

Flash: “Dude, why? I wanna see a drunk Marvel!”

Aquaman: “Cap, what would it take for you to accept even one invitation for drink?”

Marvel: “Uh…”

Superman: “Cap, you know you can just tell us if you don’t want to go.”

Marvel: “Oh- uh- it’s not that. I already have plans, that’s why I can’t go. I have to see a friend of mine who’s visiting.”

Wonder Woman: “A friend?”

GL: “I thought we were your only friends.”

Marvel: “I have other friends.” *sounds slightly offended before brushing off the offense* “You guys might know her actually.”

Superman: “Is she a hero?”

Marvel: “Oh no. She’s Bigfoot.”

*loud silence*

GL: “What…?”

Marvel: “She’s Bigfoot, but she prefers when I call her Rhonda. She’s a very classy lady.” *nods head* “We get tea every time she’s in town.”

*another loud silence*

Aquaman: “Buddy…” *puts hand on Marvel’s shoulder* “If you really don’t want to hang out with us that badly, you can just tell us. You don’t have a make up an excuse like that.”

Marvel: *visibly tenses at being called a liar* “I’m not a liar guys.” *shrugs off hand and shoves own hand into pocket dimension and starts rummages, looking for something*

JL: *horrified for a solid three seconds when they see half of Marvel’s arm disappear*

Marvel: *pulls photo from pocket dimension* “Look!” *shows photo of him at a table that looks comically small compared to him, also holding a tea cup too small for an 8ft tall man. Also shows Bigfoot in a very elegant sundress also sitting at the table, also making it look comically small while also holding a teacup that also looks too small for it*

*loudest silence*

GL: “Why are you casually just friends with Bigfoot? How do you just fail to mention things like this??”

Batman: “Marvel, why did you put in a notice for leave?”

Marvel: “I thought I put sick leave?”

Batman: “No… You just sent in an email that said, “I’ll be gone for a week” and that’s it.”

Marvel: “Oh. My bad. Well, I’m gonna be gone for a week cause I’m going Wendigo hunting with a couple buddies of mine.”

Batman: “Wendigo. Like the evil, man eating spirit.” *raises brow as if it’s noticeable from under his cowl*

Marvel: “Yeah! It’s kinda like big game hunting, but for people with magic. Plus, they’re kinda starting to become a problem up North. Wanna come?”

Batman: “I don’t have magic.”

Marvel: *shrugs* “You’re Batman. You could probably figure out a way. But even then, we’d be happy to have you.”

Batman: “Hn.” (Translation: I’ll think about it.)

Flash: “Dude, you’re sulking. You never sulk! Something’s wrong.”

Marvel: “It’s not that big of a deal. I’m mad at Satan.”

Flash: “Me too, bro me too.” *pats shoulder* “What’d the devil do to you?”

Marvel: “He cheated at poker!”

Flash: “You gamble— I see. So you’re down on your luck at casinos.”

Marvel: “No, like literally! He hid a card up his furry sleeve!”

Flash: *blinks rapidly trying to process that whole statement* “Oh. Uh- you could always disinvite him.”

Marvel: “I guess. But he’s my friend.”

Flash: “Why can you confidently say you’re friends with the devil?”

Marvel: *ignores his question* “What if that hurts our friendship?”

Flash: “Maybe try talking to him about it…?”

Marvel: “That’s actually… a pretty good idea! Thanks, Flash!” *hops up and speeds off to where Flash can assume is literal hell*

#billy batson #captain marvel dc #dc captain marvel #shazam #fawcett #fawcett city #fawcett comics #aquaman #arthur curry #the flash #wally west #wonder woman #diana prince #green lantern #hal jordan #batman #bruce wayne #superman #clark kent

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v1sexual · 2 months ago

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power couple | vi, arcane

basketball player! vi x cheerleader! reader

warning/s: cursing, minor injury (?)

summary: in which you and vi have been keeping your relationship a secret from the public, but that was until an unfortunate injury during the nationals.

note: i am so sorry if this sucks lmao, i haven’t written anything in like almost a year. also i’ve been obsessed with the wnba lately so expect the next few fics to be basketball related… oops! also i have zero knowledge about cheer and about a 30% knowledge when it comes to basketball. anyways i hope you guys enjoy! sorry for any mistakes and spelling errors, also i had no idea how to end that. plus this fic was written at 3 in the morning.

hiding your relationship from the public has never been easy, but you and vi have both agreed that it would be for the best knowing that both of your lives will always be under the watchful eye of the public. your friends have been very helpful in helping hide the relationship, but with all the rumours going around and “evidence” circulating the media they could only do so much. especially when vi has a habit of always needing to touch you, and you being a sucker for vi’s touch.

exhibit a:

after a tough but rewarding game against piltover university, zaun’s basketball team decided to celebrate by going to the last drop for a round of drinks. jinx, in true jinx fashion, decided to host a live on one of her social media platforms. the live started out quite normal, fans asking questions, fans wanting to see specific team members etc.

“yo vi,” jinx called out to her sister. “the fans wanted to see you.” she then panned the camera to her right, showing vi sitting at the corner of the booth with you on her lap and her head on your shoulder.

sevika, who was standing next to jinx snatched her phone away, her eyes bulging from her head as she nodded towards vi and you. jinx laughed nervously and immediately changed the topic, as you hopped o vi’s lap (much to vi’s dismay).

@iluvbball: DID U GUYS SEE THAT

@munchmadness: WAS THAT A GIRL ON VI’S LAP???

@zaunbball4ever: call me crazy but is that (name)??? lLIKE CHEER CAPTAIN (NAME)??

sevika snorts and rolled her eyes, “you guys are crazy. there’s no way vi can pull her or anyone actually.” jinx nods in agreement, yapping about how she would know since she’s vi sister.

you rolled your eyes playfully at two, snickering as you ordered another round of drinks. vi squeezes next to jinx to say hi to the live, lying through her teeth saying that she just came back from the bathroom but the fans weren’t having it.

@igotjinxed: STOP LYINGG

@sevikasarms: bro ur nose is growing stop lying

@ilovegert: no because who else would have that fuckass haircut???

“yo leave my haircut out of this,” vi whined as her teammates cackled, which only made the fans eat the dating rumour up.

exhibit b:

after the chaotic live at the lost drop, you and vi (plus the whole basketball team) decided to be more careful. always making sure to hide from the cameras, started to plan date nights in your dorms, and just trying to tone down your interactions.

during your one year anniversary, vi booked a weekend getaway for the two of you at a cabin located in a small town two hours away from zaun. the two of you were still cautious of course, wearing your caps low and sunglasses resting on your noses. but of course, it’s still not enough.

during your last night at the cabin, you and vi decided to visit the village park to check out the local festival. the two of you were seated at one of the benches watching the fireworks when a camera flash from the distance caught your eye. vi froze as you buried your head in her neck,

“did you think they caught our faces?” you whispered as vi placed her arm around you, her hands covering your face. she shook her head, “i don’t think so, plus we both have our hoods up so they can’t drag my hair into this.’

you giggled, “poor you.”

the next day, on your back to zaun university, a call from sevika interrupted you and vi’s road trip karaoke sesh.

“have you guys opened any of your social media accounts?” she screeched, holding jinx’s cracked phone up. lo and behold, it was the picture from last night. vi’s arms around you, your head on her shoulder, but the two of you had your backs turned from whoever took the picture. the photos were grainy, a bit blurry, but there was one where you can make out the faint features of vi’s side profile as her head faces you. a small tuft of her pink hair peeking from her jackets hood, her crooked nose adorned with her nose piercing, and those powder blue eyes soft with affection.

you shrugged, “i don’t think its that bad.” vi nods in agreement, keeping her eyes on the road. “we literally have seen worse,” she added.

when the call ended, you decided to open your socials making sure you were using one of your dump accounts. “the comments are crazy,” you laughed, reading vi your favorites.

@nationsnumber1: okay but this is actually so sweet i want to cuddle and watch the fireworks too

@wassapphic: idek if this is actually vi and (name) like pls its so grainy and they’re not even facing the camera BUT this is so them coded

@iluvwomenwhohoops: nah man see that pink hair in the last photo??

@hoopsalot: idc if this isn’t them, my delusional heart say it is

exhibit c:

one of the perks of being in the cheer team is that you get to watch to vi play and cheer for her at the same time without anyone twisting it into something else. so here you are, courtside with the rest of the cheer team, clutching your pompoms as vi and the girls go neck to neck with piltover for the nationals.

every time vi shoots a three (or a two) she shoots you a quick glance, a smug smile on her face. she’s been doing this since the two of you started dating, but she’s been way more obvious about it recently. her gaze would linger, hell she’d even shoot a wink and it was enough for fans to notice. the next thing you know edits of you and her starts taking the internet by storm. but the crowd’s favorite edit is probably the one that has guilty as sin by taylor swift as the background music of a video compilation of you and vi.

@zaunufaves: is this wlw?

@getmiloed: you mean GAYlty as sin

@wlwbballs: i love the basketball player x cheerleader trope

@basketbawler: very “he was a punk and she did ballet” coded

“so much for being subtle violet,” you sighed, resting your head on her shoulder as the two of you scroll through tiktok.

—

it’s been two years of you and vi hiding your relationship from the public, but at this this point the whole world believes that there truly is something between you and her. the only reason why it’s not official yet is because, well, the two of you haven’t hard launched or confirmed anything. during interviews where reporters would bring up your relationship status, the two of you would always redirect the question or answer neutrally, not really denying or confirming anything. but that was until the nationals, zaun university vs the university of piltover. the game of the century, violet lanes vs. caitlyn kiramman, coach vander vs. coach silco.

the game was tough, both teams are going neck to neck, at the end of the second quarter piltover and zaun were tied 38-38. both teams were getting ready to head into their locker room to regroup and discuss the game plan, which means it was time for the cheer teams to shine. on your way to the court, you passed by the team and a series of “goodluck’ were exchanged.

“i’ll be watching you baby,” vi whispered under her breath as she passed by you, jinx groaned in annoyance and pushed her inside the tunnel after giving you and the other cheerleaders a high five.

ekko, one of your spotters and jinx’s boyfriend, elbowed you. “man you guys are so obvious.” he teases, you laughed and rolled your eyes. “let’s just focus on the routine.”

the routine went well as expected, heck it was perfect. your coach smiled and cheered from the sidelines, proud of you and the rest of the cheer team. as you guys got into the last part of the routine, somehow something went wrong. during one of the last stunts, one where you were thrown in the air, one that you and your team have practically perfected, you slipped. one second you’re in the air and the next thing you know you were falling. you tried your best to land on your feet in attempt to somewhat save the routine, but the landing was off as expected (since you weren’t supposed to land on the ground at all).

you clutched your ankle in pain, face paling as you looked at the way it bended unnaturally. your team scattered around you, shouting for medic and blocking you from the camera’s view. you laid there, tears streaming your face as your ankle swell up. your coach knelt next to you, “you did great (name), you’re okay.” she whispered ass you apologize profusely.

as you tried to even your breaths out, you heard vi shouting.

“move!” your girlfriend shouted, squeezing through the huddle your teammates made. vi was immediately on your side, her hands cupping your face. “you’re okay baby, breathe for me.”

“what are you doing here?” you whispered, ignoring your coach’s stare. “the media will—“

vi shuts you up with a kiss, “fuck that. you’re injured (name), i don’t care what they say.”

you nodded, resting you head on her lap as you waited for the medical team to arrive.

ekko handed you a towel which vi draped over your head as they loaded you to the stretcher. you can’t help but groan when your ankle was moved, vi immediately gripped your hands and told you that it was going to be okay, that the pain will be temporary. as the medics take you away vi followed, well attempted to but you shooed her away.

“you have a game to play violet,” you whispered harshly. she shakes her head, “but i want to be beside you, help you feel better.”

“the only thing you can do to help me feel better is if you win this vi,” you argued. “you practiced and trained your whole life for this and i’ll be damned if i let you miss it just because i got my ankle sprained.”

vi sighs, she squeezed your hand tight. “you sure?”

“knock ‘em dead violet,” you smiled, squeezing her hand back. vi nods slowly as she let your hand go, but before she went back to her team she pulled you in for a kiss. you kissed her back, a soft sigh escaping your lips when she pulled away. “make sure you watch yeah?” you replied with a nod before ushering her away as the medical team took you to a tent.

—

as the medics treat your ankle, you watched a live recording of the game on your phone. two quarters later, zaun emerges victorious winning this year’s national.

“oh thank god,” you murmured. you quickly sent vi and the rest of the team a short congratulatory text before putting your attention back to the livestream. a smile formed on your lips as members of the basketball team were pulled individually for short interviews, you laughed at how everyone was energized and pumped up (especially jinx who was literally vibrating during interview). then last but not the least was vi, your girl had a huge grin on her face as she happily answered the reporter’s questions but you could tell she wanted to get out of there quick.

“okay vi last question,” the reporter said. “during the halftime cheer performance, we all saw how you ran to cheer captain (name)’s side. heck, you even helped her onto the stretcher and refused to leave her side until she told you to go play and win tonight. the two of you have always never denied nor confirm the dating rumour that’s been brewing for two years now, but i think tonight changes that now? especially because of the sweet kiss you shared before you went back courtside, any comments?”

you groaned, completely forgetting about the kiss. you watched vi, you can see the cogs in her head turning. she stayed quiet for a minute, you knew how important it is for her to ask your opinion on what to and what not to say publicly about your relationship, but at this point the kiss pretty much confirms it.

“yeah i guess the cat’s out of the bag.” vi smiles at the camera and shrugs, “(name) and i have been together for awhile now. we weren’t really trying to keep it a secret, just private. but tonight changes it you know? seeing my girl get injured like that was just— yeah.”

the reporter nods, “thank you vi. before you go, is there anything you want to say to her? knowing that she’s watching this?”

“hey baby.” vi smiles cheekily at the camera. “i cannot thank you enough for the support and motivation. i couldn’t have done it without you, i love you so much my cheerleader.” she winked as everyone laughs.

“sweet, thanks vi.” the reporter said as vi went back to her team as they presented trophies. “there you have it folks, this year’s national champions and couple of the year.”

your jaw drops, you were absolutely speechless. the nurse who sat at the desk near you let’s out a chuckle which only made your cheeks grew 10x redder than it was.

—

“i swear the internet is eating this up,” jinx said, as you and the rest of your friend group lounged at vi’s dorm. jinx’s phone was connected to the tv as everyone watched replays of the games, fan edits, and fan reactions to the championship game. you and vi were tucked away at the corner of the couch, your feet propped up on one of foot rests as she cuddled you.

after a couple of minutes of mindlessly scrolling through tiktok, jinx stumbled upon a new fan edit of you and vi. the clips were taken from her interview and the kiss that happened on live tv.

“i cannot believed you guys did that,” sevika said as she shook her head, laughing as jinx scrolled through the comments projecting it through the tv.

@ho0p3r: AND THE GAYS WIN AGAIN

@iloveyn: i told you guys they were dating! can’t believe i got called crazy for shipping them

@zaunch33r: this may or may not be the best thing to happen in women’s college bball

@ynandvi4ever: (ship name) deniers how are ya’ll feeling

@sapph1csports: me and WHO

you rolled your eyes playfully and just buried your face in vi’s chest as she laughed. she pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “at least we won’t have to spout anymore stupid excuses.”

#vi x reader #arcane #arcane act three #vi arcane x reader #vi arcane #arcane smut #violet arcane #wlw yearning #wlw post #vi league of legends #wlw community #wlw x reader #wlw love

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highdramas · 3 months ago

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peaceful road | dr. michael robinavitch

pairing: michael robinavitch x f!reader

warnings: language, age gap (reader is 29, robby is 50)

word count: 2392

summary: (small town au) you've lived in cradle point, oregon for nearly your entire life. when you come down with a nasty sickness, you meet dr. robby-- just having opened his new private practice after running away from it all.

notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. i'm very excited to kick off this series! i admittedly know little about operating a private practice, or medicine in general, so please forgive any inaccuracies. thank you for reading <3

dr. michael robinavitch starts his day at 7am, by habit more than anything else. he doesn’t begin seeing patients until 8am, but there’s something very comforting about the quiet of his office, the sound of the keyboard, the faint sound of johnny cash playing out of his speakers. he makes the short drive to work every day and he now has the time to stop for coffee, rather than make it at home.

life has been slower since that day in the pitt. that day that lead into an almost immediate sabbatical, which then lead to a resignation, he still has to fight off this notion that he gave up, that he conceded something. he wakes up and wonders most mornings still– how are they doing? how’s whittaker holding up? sometimes, he nearly texts dana to ask, then he remembers she’s now at a private practice, too. except she didn’t move across the country.

how could he stay in pittsburgh? what was going to be left for him there?

he loved the pacific northwest for a long time, after visiting one time with collins. he enjoyed portland, but he loved his time on the coast even more. when he thought about where he wanted a fresh start, that felt like a good a place as any.

after extensive research, he decided on cradle point. with a population of 1,500, and no private practice since the last doctor had moved away, it felt like a good place to try. and so he did. and after two months… well, things were going pretty well. it felt like he could breathe, while still doing the thing that he had burning passion for. he could save lives and not put his own mental health in turmoil every single day. he could step away from emergency medicine and live with himself.

that’s what he said to himself, anyway. sometimes, when he was feeling really crazy, he would go to the emergency room in lincoln city, and he’d sit in the parking lot and consider going in and asking if they needed an er physician. but then he always got back into his subaru and made the drive down the coastline back to cradle point.

he’s only on month two of operating his own private practice, and he doesn’t want to say that it’s perfect– he knows it isn’t. but it’s good. and that’s what he cares about.

hearing a tug at the door, his head pops up, tugging his readers off. it’s unusual to get anyone at his door until 9 or 10. he suspects that townsfolk are still trying to decide if they trust him– he gets it. well, not really, but he is starting to understand the small town mentality. the aversion to outsiders.

when he swings open the door and sees you, it starts up those same emergency medicine instincts. you look unsteady on your feet, holding a coffee, sunglasses on the crown of your head. “hi,” you say, voice graveled. “i’ve been wanting to come by and introduce myself–” you give him your name before you cough into the crook of your arm. “i’m sorry, i know you’re probably not open yet. my friends finally shamed me into coming, but i need to be at my shop at 8:30, and i saw that your light was on–”

“no, no. please, come in and sit.” he gestures to an exam bed which you hop onto. he can’t help his slight smile as you cross your legs and toss your bag into the chair by the exam table like you’ve done it the exact same way a million times. “did you used to see dr. jackson?”

michael doesn’t know much about his predecessor, other than that it sounded like he had pretty big shoes to fill. dr. angela jackson was beloved by the people of cradle point. that much was abundantly clear. you flush and laugh a little bit. “she’s my aunt.” you rub your hands on your pants and look at him sheepishly. “that’s a small town for ya.”

he laughs louder at that. “well,” he takes a step closer to you. “i’m not your aunt, but i’ll take good care of you. my name is dr. robinavitch, but most people call me dr. robby. i’m gonna do a quick exam on you and hopefully get you out of here.”

“thank you, dr. robinavitch.” you smile so earnestly it makes his heart stutter over itself.

shit.

–

you had a crush on the hot doctor. why did no one tell you that he was hot?

having lived in cradle point for your entire life, any new person moving into town was undeniably a big deal. it felt like, anymore, people moved away frequently, but there wasn’t a steady stream of those returning. of course, there was the tourists in the summer and the occasional retiree that would settle down on the coast. but most people didn’t feel like living out of the way of so much.

you loved your hometown. you loved the tall trees and the fact that you could walk onto the balcony off your bedroom and hear the faint crash of the ocean. you loved that your best friend erin was just like you, and had stayed, and that every day you could walk ten minutes down the road to see her. you loved that you could take your cat onto the beach in her little harness and leash whenever you wanted. you loved the farmers market. you loved being a business owner in this town. there wasn’t much that you didn’t like.

and you really loved when new people entered your orbit. there was a sort of excitement that it brought– it was so rare, how could you not be excited?

dr. robinavitch is thorough with you. you believe him when he says he’s doing to take good care of you. you’ve been going and going with little slowing since you got sick– not taking days off of work, carrying on despite your body screaming at you to stop. he cradles your face and gently presses on your cheeks, causing you to wince slightly. it’s then when he leans back and looks at you and says, “yeah, you’ve got a pretty nasty sinus infection. i’m gonna get you some antibiotics and you should be good to go within the next week. but you’re gonna need rest– no work. you think you can do that?”

“i can give it a really good try,” you say. “no, no– yeah, i won’t work. i’ll get erin to cover the store for a couple of days.”

“where do you work?”

“i own mazzy’s. it’s a bookstore on main street.” feeling bold, you say, “you should come by sometime, once i’m better. do you like to read? i can give you plenty of suggestions.” you pause, and add, sheepishly, “if you want, of course.”

michael, utterly charmed despite everything in him screaming at him not to be, shoves his hands into the pockets of his zip up hoodie. “yeah, i like to read. i’ve been driving past it every day and thinking about how i should go in. i’ve read through just about everything i’ve got.” that was about all he did during his sabbatical– reading, pretending, pushing it all down. “i’ll come by. i like sci fi.”

“sci fi! we have a great sci fi section–” you sneeze. “and fantasy, too, if you’re into that sort of thing.” you have that same sheepish look on your face and all he can think about is how sweet you are, how in fifteen minutes you’ve made him feel more welcome in this town than anyone else in the past month has made him feel. including his neighbors. no fault to them, he thinks; they would be in pretty stiff competition with you around.

no. you’re younger than him– twenty nine, he found out, as he was doing your intake. he may be having a midlife crisis, but he never fancied himself the type to go for a girl nearly half his age, let alone a patient. but then you start talking about a book called this is how you lose the time war and his heart does that same stuttering that it did earlier. maybe he should be the one seeing a doctor.

“--and, yeah, it’s a love story more than anything. a very good love story. not some of the cheesy slop that’s out right now. i mean, don’t the people want to yearn anymore?” you sigh, clearly exasperated at your own train of thought. you stand and grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. “anyway. i’m sorry, i’ll get out of your hair.”

“no, no–” he chuckles, the sound awkward in his ears. “stay in my hair as much as you want.” it’s his turn to flush, but you are too, and you meet each others gaze and laugh together. maybe there’s some knowing it that laugh. that neither of you can quite place it, but… there’s something.

“as much as i’d love to, i should take your advice and get my rest. thank you so much, again–” you open the door to the clinic, greeted by the torrential downpour that started at some point while you and dr. robby were in your trance. “wow. anyway, i’ll be seeing you.”

“oh–” he grabs the door, holding it open for you and looking out at the unyielding rain. “you drive here?”

“i walked. i’ll be fine, i–”

before he can think better of it, he says, “i can drive you,” a doctor for more years than he can count at this point, and he’s teetering on breaking the code of ethics over the first girl he meets. of course. “if you want. only if you want.”

hanging onto the doorframe, you smile a little and look out to the rain. fuck it. “sure. thank you.”

–

you both make a quick jog to his car parked slightly down the road, tugging your hoods over your heads. “this one’s mine,” he says, pointing to an immaculate black subaru suv. he rushes to open your door for you, making sure you’re safely inside before he hops into the drivers seat. the sound of the rain pounding on his car fills your ears, and you’re both slightly out of breath, looking over at each other and smiling. “wouldn’t have been a fun walk home,” he muses.

you blow out a puff of air. “no, it wouldn’t have.” you lean your head back against the seat, sniffling some. “thank you.”

“my pleasure.” you’re still looking at each other for a beat when he clears his throat, starting up the car. “you lead the way.”

you provide him instructions on how to get to your small seaside cottage. it was your parents home– when they decided they were ready to go on and retire in southern california, tired of the rain of the oregon coast, they put the house in your name. it was your grandparents home before that, the entire house wrapped up in the history of your last name.

you provide him anecdotes regarding businesses and landmarks as you drive past them. “that’s mrs. felicia’s diner. have you eaten there yet? don’t get the pie. just trust me.” a moment later, “this is the lookout where high schoolers go to make out or smoke weed. it’s like, don’t they know they’re not that slick?”

michael listens to all your musings, riveted. having grown up in chicago, later relocating to pittsburgh, he’s always been a big city guy. big cities have their own charms, quirks, and rituals– but none the way that you’re describing to him. he likes that about cradle point. that you have a story for every square inch of this town.

“so. why did you move here?” you ask. it’s an innocent enough question, and you’re not the first person who has asked it but it still makes his heart seize up. “i mean– i’m just not used to new people. you’re probably gathering that none of us are.”

“yup, i’ve gathered that much.” he tries not to sound too irritable. it’s not your fault you’re asking. it’s not your fault that he’s so fucked up, that he feels like he can’t run fast enough away from his past. “i was just ready for a change.”

“and where did you move from?”

“pittsburgh.”

“did you like it?”

“yeah, until i didn’t.” he sighs. “i’m sorry. i’m not trying to be a hardass.”

shaking your head, you look down at your hands. “no, i’m sorry i’m prying.”

“don’t be. don’t be, really– i’m the asshole. trust me.”

you begin approaching your street. it’s idyllic– framed with trees, sloping hills with various beautiful beach homes surrounding it. the beach is but a stone’s throw away, and he feels a pang of jealousy. he’s certainly not without the funds, but a beachside home was not in the cards for him. “this is me,” you point to the home, and he smiles a little. of course it is. it’s quaint, but charming. there’s a beautiful garden out front and a cat napping in the front window. “thank you again.”

“you’re welcome. and about before, i–”

“nope. no more apologies needed.” you give a reassuring smile. “thank you for the antibiotics. thank you for the drive. and…” you fumble around in your purse for your store business card and a pen, scribbling a string of numbers onto it. “if you ever want a book recommendation…” you pass the card to him. “just let me know.”

staring down at the card, your logo– a cat sleeping on a stack of books– he rubs his thumb on the worn paper where you’ve just written your phone number with the word “cell” ahead of it. he wonders how long it’s been in your bag. if you give these out to just anyone. “i’ll do that.”

with a final smile and a wave, you speed walk towards your house. he watches to make sure you get inside safely. when the door has shut, he leans his forehead onto the steering wheel, a long breath coming from deep in his chest.

twenty feet away, you’re leaning with your back against your front door, your hand on your chest, an identical breath coming out of you.

#michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch x you #michael robinavitch imagine #dr robby x reader #robby x reader #dr robby x you #dr robby imagine #the pitt fanfiction #my writing #peaceful road

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eightmakesonebraincell · 1 year ago

Text

the essence of youth is summers with you

genre: poly!surfers!ateez x fem!reader, childhood best friend!san, sort of college!au, slice of life and coming of age, slow burn, fluff, angst

length: 38.7k

c/w: surfer!ateez (deserves a warning), explicit profanity, hella angst, mentions of alcohol, themes of sexuality and homophobia, arguments, implied toxicity (not the boys), miscommunication, kissing, m x m interactions

synopsis: when you move away from your hometown at the age of six, you discover that summer in namhae takes the form of a skinny, dimpled boy who loves the sea and holding hands– choi san. but as the summers go past and he goes to seoul for college, bringing back new friends each year, you start to develop feelings that run deeper than just friendship. will your summers of youth become ones of love and dreams, or will they end in pain and heartbreak?

a/n: i owe the biggest thank you to yumi @sorryimananti-romantic for making this fic possible and for all the support she's given me in the last three months. this fic has quickly become one that i hold dearly in my heart because of how healing it has been to write, so i hope this is also healing to read ♡

it’s the first day of summer when you move to namhae.

the houses and trees flicker past and eventually peter out into vaster fields, mudflats and stretches of beach as your father drives through the countryside from yeosu to namhae. you idly wonder if summer in namhae will be like what it is back in your hometown.

it isn’t very comfortable wedged between your parents in the middle seat of the mini-truck, especially when some of the roads become unpaved as you arrive closer to the village. but you’re wearing your cute, yellow sundress with bumble bees across the front pocket, which is your big-girl dress, so you can deal with the bumpiness a little longer without complaining. the truck sounds like it’s going to give out as it groans and sputters to a stop in front of what will be your new home.

tentatively, you hop out and look around. it’s a quaint beach house that rests along a modest coastal embankment. when you walk closer to the edge of the port, you see that there’s a stretch of sand that leads to the ocean, and a little further down the coast is another beach house– your new neighbours.

the rattle of your truck must have alerted them to your arrival, because they come out with warm smiles and even warmer greetings. they exchange handshakes and hugs with your parents, then the attention falls to you. there’s a boy who peers out from behind his mother’s legs as she compliments your dress, his round eyes brimming with curiosity at the sight of a potential playmate other than his sister. you cling onto the side of your mother’s dress and the adults share a laugh.

the boy’s mother gently nudges him forward. “go on, sweetie. say hi.”

with another nod of encouragement, the boy shuffles closer to you with an impish grin. you realise he’s shorter than you are. “hi, i’m san. i’m six years old and i like the sea!”

the grip you have on your mother’s dress loosens a little as you mumble shyly in return, “i’m y/n. i’m six and i like the sea too.”

his smile grows impossibly wider, and his eyes and remaining reservations disappear at your words. reaching out, he grabs your hand in a physical declaration of friendship. your other hand falls away from your mother’s dress.

“we’re going to go play at the beach,” he announces, because you’re his friend now and friends play together.

on your first day of summer in namhae, you find that summer takes the form of a skinny, dimpled boy who loves the sea and holding hands.

“sannie!” you skid across the wooden floorboards of his living room in your sock-clad feet, startling his father who is sitting on the couch with a newspaper.

he peers at you from above his glasses with the smile that stays consistently warm, be it from him or his son. he chuckles, “hello, sweetheart, here to play with san again?”

you bow slightly in greeting and nod before you whiz off once more in the direction of san’s room. summer vacation has only just started and you and san have already spent seven summers together, but there are crabs to chase and waves to splash and sandcastles to build so there’s not a day to be wasted.

“choi san!” you holler again, thundering up to his door. you’re about to yank it open when san opens it from the opposite side, excitement already plastered across his face as he starts to yell your name too.

the moment he appears, you hurtle into his chest for a hug that ends up knocking you both off-balance. he stumbles backwards with you in his arms and rebounds off the edge of his bed, sending you both sprawling onto the floor in a fit of laughter. you’ve become familiar with the way his bedroom floor feels from these exact moments, and you’ve also become familiar with the way san’s arms feel around you from being wrapped up in his tight cuddles. you may love the sea, but you love being with san just a little more.

“do you have your bucket?” you ask, still tangled together on the floor in a mess of limbs and untamed hair.

san props himself up on an elbow and reaches behind you to reveal a large, plastic bucket. it’s purple with a white handle and it matches yours; blue with a white handle and still lying on its side from when you dropped it in favour of hugging san.

you sweep up your bucket with a cheeky grin, “race you to the beach!” using san’s chest as leverage to stand up, then pushing him onto his back again by his shoulders for good measure, you take off for the door.

“that’s cheating!” he yells after you.

you sprint with glee back through the living room, barely managing to brake in time to avoid running headfirst into his mother. you greet and farewell her in a single breath before you’re off again, forgoing your sandals when you hear the thundering of san’s footsteps and a warbled bye mum! bye dad! catching up behind you.

the pavement is hot under the bare soles of your feet but soon enough you leap off the sidewalk, bucket clattering in your hand, and the ground turns cool and soft as you run across the sinking sand. san jumps after you with a battlecry of his own and you scream when you feel him right on your tail. he catches up as you near the waves and with a final burst of energy, he grabs your hand and tugs you along with him.

your grip on your bucket is lost once more when you yelp and focus on keeping up instead– san’s only got an inch on you now but why is he so much faster than you? the wet sand starts to grow colder, salty water splashing everywhere the further you sprint. neither of you slow down– not that you could with san dragging you along right into the thick of the crashing waves as he whoops.

you dread the day san will actually be tall enough to pick you up and toss you into the water, but for now, you give him the satisfaction of pretending. you wait for him to bend down a little, then you kick the water right into his face. he splutters indignantly and blinks the sting away until he can see the wide smirk on your face. his tongue pokes his cheek as he gives you a scandalised smile, before he cocks his head and sniggers, “your turn.”

you take that as your cue to run. san dips his bucket into the water, scooping it up full to the brim, then starts chasing you with faux anger that makes you shriek in delight. you yell breathless apologies over your shoulder in between giggles but they all fall upon deaf ears as he continues streaking after you, bucket held high like a madman with an axe.

you end up slowing down because it’s hard to run through water, and you’re met with the icy downpour of water over your head. san laughs triumphantly when you look at him with the ferocity of a soaked kitten. you eye his bucket and weigh up the odds of snatching it out of his hands versus dunking him headfirst underwater through sheer force. realistically, you have no chances of doing either. plus, san knows you too well.

“use your own bucket, you loser,” he banters as he hides his. and yet, he walks back to retrieve your bucket for you before it’s swept out by the waves.

“are you cold?” san asks whilst passing it to you.

there’s vigour and liveliness thrumming through your every vein. “no,” you answer, “‘m not cold.” never with you.

he nods, “let me know if you do get cold, okay? i’ll grab you a jacket or something.”

“my house is literally next to yours. i can get one if i need to,” you chuckle.

“i know, but it’s the principle of it. just shut up and let me have my chivalrous moment.” san sits with the characteristic huffiness of a teenager who thinks he’s all grown up now that he’s in high school. but it’s not very convincing when he immediately starts to shovel sand into his bucket with the enthusiasm of a puppy.

“okay, thank you, sannie. i’ll let you know if i so much as shiver,” you dotingly appease him.

he nods diligently, then pats the sand next to him for you to sit down too. you join him in filling up the buckets with sand so that you two can make your thirty second attempt to build a five-tiered sandcastle pyramid. so far, you’ve only ever gotten to the third layer before it starts to crumble apart.

“what’s wrong?” you ask when san stops packing the sand into his bucket.

you realise he’s distracted by something in the distance and you follow his line of sight to find a lone surfer riding a wave in the horizon. san watches as the man’s body becomes an extension of the ocean– a dancing duet with the rolling waves as he stands steadily on his board with powerful elegance. when the board glides towards the shore, the man spreads his arms like an eagle’s wings and lets himself fall backwards into the sway of the water.

san is suddenly filled with yearning to learn of the sea’s choreography. he declares, “i want to become a surfer.”

“what happened to becoming a dancer?” you raise an eyebrow. because if there’s one thing that san loves just as much as the sea, then it’s dancing.

“becoming a dancer is still my dream. i meant surfing as an interest,” he breathes out. “just look at him. he looks so…free.”

you can see it in the way san’s eyes follow the surfer’s movements and sparkle with wonder– the moment he falls utterly and hopelessly in love. “then try it,” you encourage, “what’s stopping you?”

san tears his gaze away from the ocean to look at you instead. the same, loving gaze stays on his face. “nothing,” he proclaims with a growing smile. “absolutely nothing.”

san has all the summers in the world to surf. and you’ll be there with him for every single one.

you watch as san fixes his surfboard to the top of his black jeep– the last of his luggage to be loaded.

“i don’t get why you’re taking that with you. there’s probably nowhere to even surf in seoul.” you know you sound like a snobby six-year-old and not the eighteen-year-old that you are, but you don’t really care right now. not when san is leaving and you won’t be able to attend college together like you thought you would be.

tugging on the straps once more to check that they’re secure, he chuckles, “doesn’t hurt to take it just in case.” when he sees the forlorn look on your face he adds, “i’ll be back every summer, yeah?”

“it won’t be the same. who am i going to hang out with every day?” you grumble.

san laughs endearingly, “it’s only until i graduate.”

“or you find a job or a girlfriend and then you’ll stay in seoul forever.” you cross your arms defiantly as san steps closer and reaches out to ruffle your hair. where you had stopped growing at fifteen, san is still growing and he now towers almost half a head over you.

“just four years–no job, no girlfriend–and then i’ll be back. i promise.” he opens his arms a little, “now, do i get my goodbye hug or do i need to tickle it out of you instead?”

you huff before uncrossing your arms and sinking into his warm embrace. he folds you into his chest as your arms wrap around his waist. closing your eyes, you memorise the feeling of his back muscles flexing under your hands while he gently rocks you side to side. you soak in his body heat that swaddles your entire being in safety and home. you breathe him in one last time when you bury your face in the crook of his neck, nuzzling the steady pulse that beats there.

“i’ll miss you,” you whisper, because you don’t trust your voice not to crack if you speak any louder.

san presses a soft kiss against your hairline and admits, “i’ll miss you more.”

you bite back the urge to respond with ‘then stay’, cherishing the moment for a little longer instead, before you step away so that he can say his goodbyes to his family. he hugs them one by one; his father, his sister, haneul, and lastly, his mother. she’s discreetly wiping at her tears and you have to look away so that you don’t start crying too. because if you start crying, everything will become blurry, and you can’t afford that when this is the last time you’ll see san until next summer.

you all gather around the driver’s window that’s rolled down to the very bottom when san is finally seated. seeing him buckle his seatbelt ready to leave overwhelms you with a sense of finality and your eyes well up before you can blink the hotness away. san stretches a hand out to thumb away your tears and makes a sad noise, “don’t cry, please? we can call whenever you want.”

you sniffle, “call me when you arrive?”

he nods with that dimpled smile you are already starting to miss. and then just like that, your best friend is gone. you stand outside his house for a stretch of time, even after the outline of his jeep has long since disappeared into the distance. it may be the last week of summer, but it feels like it’s the middle of winter today.

san’s eyes flick upwards to look in the rearview mirror, even though he hasn’t been able to see your reflection the last three times he’s looked. he had tried to appear as collected as he could to avoid making it any harder for you, but now he regrets not holding your hand a little longer; a little tighter. and if san tears up a little as he starts the four-hour drive up to seoul, then that’s between him, the car, and the playlist you made just for him.

you absentmindedly tug on a crease in your bed sheets as you laze on your bed, phone on speaker so you don’t have to hold it. “what was that?” you pull your device closer to your ear. “are you going somewhere?”

there it is again– the beeping sound of a car in reverse. the warning signal stops as san answers vaguely, “home.”

you jolt up into a sitting position, a growing sense of excitement making its way across your face as you dare to ask, “home?”

“yeah, home,” san confirms, and you can hear the smile in his voice this time. “i told you i’d see you soon, didn’t i?”

“i didn’t think you meant in five literal minutes,” you almost trip over your own feet in your hurry to slip some shoes on. “oh my god, is that why you said you couldn’t facetime me?”

you can hear his answer this time– not the scratchy voice that comes from your speaker, no– the smooth deepness of san’s voice close by. and there he is. after almost a year of freezing days, absent dimples and longing calls, choi san is finally back in namhae for the summer.

in quick succession, you notice three things. one, san has returned from seoul with triple the number of surfboards that he left with, strapped to the top of his black jeep. two, said man is now almost a whole head taller than you as he watches you with a smirk and disconnects your call. and three, he’s not alone.

if you think that san is tall, then the two guys that hop out of the jeep after him are even taller. one of them runs a veiny hand through his dark brown locks, which fall back down to softly frame his face. the other turns in your direction after closing his door and you realise you’ve seen him before– both of them, actually.

on top of your spontaneous calls with san, you facetime him every friday afternoon after your own classes have finished. he’s usually in one of the university’s dance studios because, as a dance major at kq university, the studio is basically his second home. san mentions his friends every now and then and they’ll appear behind him to say hello to you or you’ll be able to hear them in the background of the call.

quite frankly, the crusty quality of san’s front camera hardly does them justice because wow. they’re hot. and tall. they’re not letting you forget that fact when the three of them step away from the jeep and closer to where you and san’s family are waiting to welcome them.

san greets his parents with a hug before he gestures to his friends one by one, “yunho, mingi. the friends i was telling you about.”

yunho and mingi thank san’s parents for letting them stay the summer and apologise in advance for the inconvenience. but from the way they’re immediately told that their extended stay is more than welcome and that hopefully the drive down from seoul wasn’t too tiring, you know san’s parents have already adopted the two well-mannered boys as their own sons.

“hey, pipsqueak,” san sidles up to your side whilst his parents fuss over his friends.

you look at him, appalled by the sudden nickname, and even more so as you swat his hand away when he playfully ruffles your hair to tease, “looks like you’ve been busy doing everything but growing.”

“on second thoughts, maybe i don’t really miss you.”

san laughs, the tinkle of the sound like the crisp smell of the ocean during sunrise. he pulls you into him and that’s all it takes for you to melt in his embrace. despite your earlier quip, you’ve missed san terribly. it finally feels like namhae now that his familiar arms are around you again.

the rumble of san’s chest is soothing as he says, “well, i miss you. it’s good to be back home.”

you pull back a little to look up at him and god, he’s gotten so much taller. “it’s good to have you back home, choi san.”

the sound of approaching footsteps breaks your hug apart and you give the two boys a friendly smile as san roughly introduces your names, “but you all already know that, considering you guys basically see each other every week.”

“on top of the fact that san doesn’t shut up about you,” mingi jokes.

san punches him in the arm and mingi amends himself with a laugh, “namhae! he doesn’t shut up about namhae!”

yunho snorts, then offers you a small hug as he properly introduces himself. he leaves enough space between your bodies for the holy spirit to boogie when his arms encircle you, and you honestly find his courtesy extremely endearing.

“are you two also dance majors?” you ask.

“yeah, so we share some classes together,” yunho explains. “mingi and san are in the department of dance performance though, whereas i’m in choreo, so they have all their classes together and i only share the core ones with them.”

“good thing, too,” mingi joins the conversation and rests an arm around the other’s shoulder. “i’ve known him since high school and i was honestly starting to get a little sick of his face.”

he earns himself a jab to the side and he keels over with a dramatic groan. both san and yunho ignore him in favour of stepping back towards the jeep to unload their surfboards. you eye the boards with curiosity, recognising the white deck with the yellow and blue tail to be san’s. the design is simple, but san had used his own money to purchase it as his first transition board after the beginner-level mini malibu his parents had gifted him, so it’s his baby.

“are these all yours?” you question as san rests the tail of his board on the ground.

he shakes his head with a flustered laugh, “the guys brought theirs along too.”

mingi reaches for his board after yunho takes his and your jaw drops to the ground. “you all surf? wait, so you can surf in seoul?!”

“no, you were right. you can’t,” san chortles in embarrassment. “but there are a couple of indoor surfing places that we can go to.”

mingi hikes his surfboard against his hip, “doesn’t beat the real thing, though.”

“nope, which is exactly why we’re crashing. sorry, by the way–we probably should’ve asked you whether we could come,” yunho scratches the back of his neck.

you frown, “of course you can. it’s not like i’m the town head of namhae or anything.”

“but they know we spend our summers together,” san lightly bumps you with the side of his hip.

“oh,” you can feel heat creeping across your cheeks, so you force it away by jumping on the opportunity to tease, “you know what? mingi was right. you don’t shut up about me, do you.”

mingi hollers at the ammunition you have just given him for future use and even yunho slaps his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. it’s amusing to see san flustering so easily now that there’s a new dynamic of friendship between you and the other two boys, and san resorts to giving both of his friends’ asses a good-natured kick in the direction of the beach.

as they lumber off with their boards sniggering, san effortlessly hoists his own board up and sideways and beckons, “let’s go.”

“you know i can’t surf, san.”

he flicks your nose fondly with his free hand, “not to surf, silly. let’s go get our buckets.”

your eyes widen and you stand on your tiptoes with excitement, “buckets?”

“of course,” san waggles his eyebrows up and down with his dual dimples. “we’ve got some serious sandcastle-building to show off.”

half an hour later, all three surfboards are tossed to one side in the wet sand as you share the buckets for an intense showdown between the ‘namhae ninjas’ and the ‘highschool homies’. san had shot down your suggestion to alliterate your team name with the word ‘neighbours’, claiming it was an insult to the bestfriendshipness between you two, but hadn’t been able to come up with a much better alternative himself.

san holds his breath as you upturn another moulded bucket of sand onto the third tier of your sandcastle pyramid. with little surprise, the foundation starts to crumble and triggers a chain reaction that topples it all over. as always, some things just don’t change, even over time.

mingi laughs at your sandy ruins with an awful lot of audacity for someone who had watched yunho build most of their sandcastle, only to then add a little stick at the very top as a finishing touch. he grabs his phone from where he had left it on the safety of his discarded towel and holds up the front camera to take a photo of you all.

where there used to be two sandcastles between two friends, there are now two sandcastles between four. mingi snaps the photo, eternalising the moment. some things do change over time, and sometimes, change is just the beginning of a new chapter.

“which one do you think looks better?”

your mother takes a step back to scrutinise yunho’s pick. “this one,” she points, “the other colour palette clashes too much.”

san nods solemnly in agreement and mingi squints at his own choice from beside. with the seriousness of their expressions, one would think that they’re discussing investment properties. in reality, you’re watching your trio of friends and your mother earnestly matching and colour-coordinating the floral prints of your father’s flowy farming pants to their button-up shirts.

noticing the dubious frown on mingi’s face, your mother nonchalantly skims her fingertips over the pants he’s holding. “this is one of my favourites because it has little leaves on it,” she remarks, before dropping her voice to a whisper so that only mingi can hear her next words. “it matches your shirt. i think you’ll look the best in it.”

he immediately perks up and you can’t help but compare him to a sunflower that thrives the most under a loving hand. it’s incredibly cute and you can also tell that your mother feels the same, if not obvious from the way she has been giving him extra hugs and compliments all summer.

you rejoin the boys after you have all changed into your pants. it takes a lot of self control not to laugh when you see how seriously they are taking their get-up; rubber boots hiked up to their knees over their floral pants, and their straw hats secured snugly with the chin straps. even as disinterested as your father originally was when the trio had first arrived at the beginning of summer, he now lingers behind the sliding glass doors to watch you and san attempt to teach the tall boys how to plant rice seedlings in the paddy field.

yunho grabs a small, prepared bed of seedlings and turns to look at you cheekily. “want to be a rice friend and show me how to plant these?”

you level him with a stare that makes him chuckle and apologise, “sorry, i won’t say that a-grain.”

he looks awfully pleased with himself, so you turn on your heels in pretence to ditch him for mingi instead. you let out an involuntary yelp when yunho prevents your escape by quite literally manhandling you back next to him. he dares to up his charm by using his wide, sparkling eyes on you as he thrusts the seedlings into your hands, like a child waiting for you to open a bag of snacks– how could anybody say no?

you talk him through your demonstration, separating a small cluster of seedlings from the seedbed before transplanting it into the field. once he seems confident, you let him take over. it’s mesmerising to watch yunho’s hands as he deftly carries out each step– the way his long and slender fingers move with coordination and grace. despite it being his first time, he works skillfully like someone with years of experience. you’ve come to realise that yunho’s good at doing things that involve physicality, like dancing, surfing, and now farming.

“how did you start surfing?” you wonder.

yunho stills momentarily, before he separates another cluster of seedlings and runs his fingers through its green shoots. “i actually started surfing because mingi wanted to try,” his voice is fond. “it’s been four or five years now.”

“that’s really sweet of you.”

he ducks his head bashfully, then asks, “what about you? how come you don’t surf?”

“san roped me into his first few lessons, but i never got the hang of it so i stopped,” you reveal. “i prefer watching, anyway.”

“maybe you just didn’t have a good teacher. i could teach you one day?”

you don’t doubt that he would make a good teacher, but you would most definitely be a terrible student. the shirt and board shorts that leave very little to imagination when he’s soaked, and the water that drips from the ends of his hair down his jawline and neck are distracting enough as they are from a distance.

you chuckle, “you’re going to need a lot longer than just a few days to turn me into a surfer. you guys leave this weekend, don’t you?”

“that’s true,” he hums. “but there’s always next summer…if you’d like that?”

at his words, you suddenly don’t know where to look. the rosiness that starts to colour your cheeks makes a small part of you hope that there is an underlying hint of flirting in his question. before you can answer though, you’re interrupted by san peering over your shoulder to look at yunho’s progress. “of course you’re good at this too.”

you crane your neck to look around san, where you find mingi squatting and planting seedlings in the rows that are within arm’s reach.

“how’s he going?”

san glances back, “he’s, uh–well. he’s trying.”

“my hardest!” mingi yells across the field.

with a laugh, you stand up and slowly make your way towards him, leaving san and yunho to lay down the rules to see who can plant the most seedlings in the next half an hour. because apparently, everything needs to be a competition between them.

the seedlings that mingi has planted don’t look that bad, honestly. they’re a little lopsided, the spacing and height of each seedling a little inconsistent, but for his first time it really isn’t all too bad. you tell him such and squat down beside him. “here, let me show you.”

you gently remove one of the seedlings from the watery mud whilst talking, “they may just be plants, but they’re like people, too. if you treat them with love and care, you can see the same reflected in them.” you neaten the sides of the hole as you add, “you know, it’s kind of like how yunho loves and cares for you.”

having spent all summer with the pair, you notice all the times yunho subtly perks his head up to locate where the other boy is. all the times yunho brings him into conversation or back into the little huddle you’re all standing in. all the times yunho will wait for mingi to say what he wants or thinks before saying the same thing himself.

your fingers ease the seedling into the hole, then you fill it with soil and pat it down firmly to give the shoot the support it needs. “yunho told me he started surfing because you wanted to.”

at your words, mingi nods with a wistful smile; completely different from his characteristic cheerfulness. even the brightest of stars have moments where their twinkle dulls. “i was going through a rough time at home and i wanted something to distract myself…give myself a reason to get out of the house, even if just for a few hours,” he reveals. “sometimes, yunho and i skipped our morning classes and he would take me on long trips to the beach just so that we could surf.”

“i’m glad you had him to help you through that.”

“yeah, he’s helped me a lot,” mingi agrees. “he still does. sannie too.” as he talks, mingi attempts to plant another seedling the way you have shown him, and this time, it stands tall and proud amongst the other shoots beside the one you have planted.

“how are things at home now?” you ask.

he shrugs aloofly, an indirect answer that tells you everything you need to know. his gaze settles on the other half of your little summer quartet, who are now in heated debate over the winner of the planting competition. “both of them knew that i didn’t want to go back to my hometown over summer. that’s why san asked if we wanted to come here with him. thanks for letting us stay this summer, y/n. it’s meant a lot to me.”

your heart breaks a little at his words and you nudge him playfully, “stop treating me like i’m the head of namhae. there’ll always be a place here for the both of you.”

he lets out a laugh, a glimpse of his usual self. “we just know how much summers mean to you and san.”

“and meanings can always change for the better,” you counter with a smile.

mingi feels warm from the very inside. for a moment, only you and him exist in this bubble of comfort as you simply gaze at each other. and it doesn’t go unnoticed. yunho stretches his back with a satisfied exhale at san’s admittance of defeat before glancing at the two of you looking nice and cosy in the exact same corner of the paddy field you were working on half an hour ago.

“have you two just been sitting there this whole time?” yunho narrows his eyes as his words draw san’s attention.

“no?” you flimsily say, at the same time mingi confidently declares, “yes.”

the man beside you is back to his usual antics as he giddily fans the fire by gloating, “what are you going to do about it?”

yunho and san glance at each other and you start rising to your feet at the foreboding of danger. they nod.

that’s all the warning you get before they lunge in your direction. as dorky and harmless as the two of them look in their styled outfit of farming pants and straw hats, they are anything but that as yunho and san take frighteningly large steps through the rice paddy with their long legs. and just as your luck would have it, yunho is the one who is closest to you out of the two predators. you hardly think that it’s a fair chase between the tallest and the shortest.

“yun, we can talk this out like adults,” you try to distract him.

whilst you’re struggling for your life to pull your boots out of the squelching mud as fast as you can, yunho easily moves towards you with a devilish grin. you see his outstretched hands, covered in mud, and you decide right there and then that you’re not above begging.

“don’t come any closer! please, i’m sorry! i’m–” your pleads are cut off when he grabs you by the waist and hauls you over his shoulder.

for a brief second, you almost slip right over him face-first into the mud from the momentum and your life flashes before your eyes. but then yunho’s arms flex as he steadily grips your thighs and readjusts your weight, and you resign your fate to his shoulder and his pretty– but grubby– hands.

you twist your head to the side when a husky screech alerts you to victim number two and you find mingi at the mercy of san’s headlock. he rapidly taps the latter’s forearm, yelling mercy as you all burst out into laughter. very soon, the field turns into a playground of childish liveliness as all intentions of farming are tossed to the wind.

mingi was right in saying that summers mean a lot to you and san. but as you all chase and run away from one another around the muddy field, smearing loving handprints of dirt over each other’s faces and clothes, sounds of happiness loud enough that your parents can hear it from back inside the house, summer takes on a new meaning in the shape of you four.

in hindsight, it makes a lot of sense now why san’s parents had knocked on your door earlier this morning, entrusting you with the spare key to their house and waving goodbye as they drove away in their rented campervan. they had let you know that they would be going on a road trip along the coast this summer so that san and his friends could have the house to themselves.

you hadn’t thought much of it– just excitedly counted down the hours until the reunion of your little quartet. yunho had been texting you updates as he, san and mingi finally made the four-hour trip down to namhae now that they were on summer vacation. one of the last texts you had received had been a picture of mingi in the backseat, head lolling and mouth open in deep slumber, with the caption, ‘gonna need to wake sleeping beauty up soon XD we’ll be there in about twenty’.

this time, you had opted to wait for their arrival by sitting on the embankment outside your houses. your legs had dangled off the ledge as you looked out towards the beach, and at the telltale noise of their arrival, you had excitedly hopped up to your feet, only to be met with a sight that had your steps halting in fluster. and oh, this is why san’s parents had decided to yield the house. because this time, not only have the number of surfboards doubled, but so have the number of cars and boys that are suddenly in front of you.

as san turns off the ignition to his jeep, you’re dazedly swept up into a sandwich of hugs between yunho and mingi as they greet you eagerly. it’s good to see them again in the flesh instead of their measly five-inch-tall selves over facetime, and you’d be a little overwhelmed by their height on either side of you– having forgotten just how tall they really are– if your attention isn’t distracted by the opening doors of the banged-up ute behind san’s jeep.

either seoul has water that’s doped with something, or birds of a feather flock together, because each of the three boys that step out are equally as good-looking. you’d be lying if your heart didn’t skip a beat at the sight of them. you’re a simple girl with hormones weak for eye candy, after all.

yunho slings an arm around you and walks you a little closer as the new faces turn to look at you with friendly smiles. “this is y/n,” yunho introduces. “and these are our friends, jongho and yeosang.”

you notice that he skips over one of the boys, who starts to open his mouth in complaint, but then yunho continues on, “and this short one is hongjoong. we keep him as our mascot.”

hongjoong gives the taller his middle finger with practised ease and counters, “and we keep you as our tall circus freak.”

the way everyone snickers, yunho and hongjoong included, tells you that this is just about as average an interaction can be. after the boys properly greet themselves and pleasantries are exchanged with you, they decide to unload all their luggage so that they can rest for the afternoon. you walk over to the open boot of the black jeep, reaching for the last duffel and hoisting it into your hands.

before you can so much as take two steps, there’s a hand carefully taking the bag from yours. when you tilt your head up, it’s san’s kind eyes that are gazing back at you. “here, let me do it,” he casually tells you and then he walks towards the open doors of his house.

left with the outline of his back, you have a clear view of his shoulders flexing under his white shirt and you wonder when he started to fill out his clothes with muscle. you become conscious of the way you’re subtly ogling at your best friend, so you shake your head and walk over to the back of the ute instead where there are still a few bags left in the open bed.

there’s a small duffel that looks relatively light. as you drag it closer, you quickly realise it’s heavier than it looks. “what the hell is in this? weights?” you mutter to yourself.

there’s a giggle beside you, “sorry, that’s probably yeosang’s bag. he brings his supplements with him everywhere.”

it’s jongho this time, with his gummy smile and crescent eyes, who takes the bag handles out of your hands. he extends a brown paper bag out to you instead. “we can trade. this is much lighter.”

he easily picks up the bag of supplements and then reaches for a second bag to sling over his shoulder. for the amount of adorableness he exudes from his smile and laugh, the strength that he seems to have is on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. as he walks away, there’s the crunch of approaching footsteps and you see that it’s the short boy, hongjoong. he’s only short relative to his friends, because when he comes to stand beside you he’s still easily taller than you.

“maybe you could help me hold this, too.” he’s holding his closed fist out, making it impossible to discern what’s in his hands.

“what is it?” you ask as you open your hand, palm upturned for him to drop whatever he is holding into yours.

except he simply uncurls his fingers and intertwines them with yours, shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. a laugh erupts from your throat, only growing in volume when yeosang appears and interrupts by stepping between the two of you, forcing his friend to let go of your hand.

as yeosang grabs the last suitcase and closes the tailgate, he deadpans to the other, “san’s going to chop your hand off when he sees,” then he slings his free arm around hongjoong and ushers the both of you back into the house.

“it’s okay, i wouldn’t let san do that to you,” you reassure.

hongjoong smirks triumphantly at yeosang, only for you to wipe the expression off his face when you finish, “because that’d be animal abuse.”

“it’s been five minutes and you’ve already picked your side,” he laments dramatically, before nodding. “i see how you play. i like you.”

“it’s a shame i don’t,” you quip back immediately.

“fuck, did i just get rejected?”

yeosang shoves his friend through the doorway, “stop digging yourself a deeper hole.”

you all laugh as you shut the front door behind you to stop the cold of the air conditioner that san has turned on from escaping. you’re definitely starting to see the appeal hongjoong’s friends have in teasing him.

you take the bag of snacks still in your hand to the kitchen and you set it on the counter where san is drinking a glass of water. he’s watching the rest of the boys play ‘scissors, paper, rock’ over room allocations now that all their luggage has been piled up in the living room. he raises an arm and you easily slot yourself into his side and slide an arm around his waist. relaxing into the touch of his hand slowly rubbing up and down your arm, you also watch as the boys grow increasingly rowdy with each emerging winner.

you’ve had the fleeting thought before, but now that you’re seeing all the boys together, you realise just how attractive they all well and truly are. even san, you’re slowly starting to notice, does not lack in the face or body department.

“do you guys have a rule where you have to be attractive to be friends or something?” you ask, only half-jokingly. even though you had directed the question at san, it’s not him who answers you.

“aww, stop. you think we’re attractive?” of course hongjoong would be the one to overhear.

immediately, the feistiness in you appears. “yeah, and i’m wondering why they made an exception for you.”

he takes on the jest easily, “god, you’re obsessed with me.”

“you’re right, i’m a little crazy for dogs,” you shoot back, and you can feel the shake of san’s chuckles from next to you.

“good thing i’d bark for you, then.”

“what the fuck, guys?” mingi interrupts, “get a room.”

at that, san steps forward protectively and shoos his friends away, “hurry up and put your bags in the rooms so we can go surfing.”

yunho and yeosang take their bags towards the small guest room down the hall, whilst the remaining three head for san’s room. you turn to san incredulously, “you’re fitting four people in your room?”

he shakes his head, “of course not. i’m going to sleep in haneul’s room. she’s on a trip with her friends for most of the summer.”

“she can stay at mine when she comes back. until you guys have to go back to seoul,” you suggest.

“oh, that’s right. your parents are in yeosu now, aren’t they?”

you nod. you had told san a couple of weeks ago that your parents had moved back to your grandparent’s house for the meantime. they’re not sure how long they will be staying in your hometown for, but considering the deteriorating health of your grandparents and the fact that you are independent enough to take care of yourself, it’ll likely be for a while.

san doesn’t tell you, but that’s part of the reason why he has brought so many of his friends back this summer. he knows that you’re silently struggling to adjust– even if his parents take care of you like their own daughter– so he hopes that he and his friends can fill in some of the silence, even if just for the summer. he wishes it didn’t just have to be summer.

“do you need to change into something else before we go?” he asks you.

you look down at the t-shirt and shorts that you’re wearing. you don’t mind getting them wet, but you can’t say the same about your underclothes. “yeah, i’ll quickly go and change first.”

he nods and watches as you head towards the door to toe on your sandals. when you pull the door open, he gently calls after you, “it’s good to see you again, pipsqueak. i’ve missed you.”

you smile, “i’ve missed you more.”

even after the door closes behind you, san’s smile stays on his face. “i’ve missed you the most.”

no matter how many times you experience the thrill of getting tossed into the ocean, you still cannot fathom the fact that the once short, skinny boy who used to pretend to pick you up is now tall and strong enough to actually do it.

“you cheater!” you screech when you feel san’s arms snake around your waist from behind, lifting you up off your feet. “you said you’d give me a ten-second head start!”

his gleeful laugh rings in your ears as he ignores your flailing limbs and teases, “i did! your little legs are just too slow.”

you start to feel the coolness of waves splashing your ankles and toes the further san carries you out away from shore and your grip on his forearm tightens in anticipation. with a slight swing, he lets go of your waist and tosses you into the water. the next thing you know when you regain your balance and wipe the water from your face is the sound of san’s yelp as he disappears underwater. jongho grins from above, having leapt onto the older’s back, who in turn has crumpled under the unsuspecting weight.

san emerges with a hulk-like roar absolutely soaked to the bone, his black t-shirt clinging to his torso. the clear outlines of his chest and broad shoulders set off an unfamiliar skip in your heart yet again, and san lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his face– revealing his abs in all of their wonder– does the complete opposite of calming you down.

you're fucked. there's no way you're attracted to san like that. in the form of petty revenge, said man brings his hands down to slap the surface of the water, splashing it right in your face and jongho’s and…yeah, that flutter of butterflies is gone.

san is caught right in the middle of the crossfire as you and jongho splash him, drowning his figure in torrential rain. the sounds of his choked laughter draw the attention of everyone else too, who have no idea why san is the target but are more than willing to join in. but with the plethora of water being splashed and the chaos of hands coming from every possible direction, the three of you end up drowning under the attacks.

hongjoong quickly loses motivation when his arms grow tired from doggy-paddling the water and yunho and yeosang’s attempts also slow down. they snicker at the aftermath– your trio absolutely drenched– and then rapidly skitter away before any of you decide to retaliate in vengeance.

at their cowardice, san bites the bait and goes hollering after them, leaving you with the youngest of your group of friends. jongho beckons towards the shore with his head and you’re momentarily distracted by his wet bangs falling over his forehead and eyebrows.

“up for more surfing?” he grins at you. and if there’s one thing you’ve learnt over the summer, it’s that you would kill for jongho if he asked you with his gummy smile.

jongho is a surprisingly good surfer. as the only one in the group who grew up in seoul with limited exposure to the beach, you can hardly tell that he’s a relative beginner in comparison to the rest of the boys unless you were a surfer yourself.

once they had become their close-knit group and they realised that most of them had a shared love for surfing, they had colloquially formed their own little surfer’s club, knighting jongho as their honorary member. he learnt to surf in indoor centres, during the occasional beach road trips they would make and through the experienced guidance of his friends.

of all six surfboards they had brought to namhae, jongho’s softboard is the one that is the most ideal for you to learn with. true to his words, yunho had attempted to teach you how to surf but on his own board– a shortboard great for experienced surfers to catch steep and aggressive waves, but terribly hard for a beginner to control. jongho had offered his board and so under his and yunho’s careful hands, you had spent your summer practising on the beach before slowly transitioning into the water.

which is where you find yourself now, on your stomach as you slowly paddle out. jongho stands close by and waist-deep in the shallow waters of the spot that he has led you to where the waves are few and calm. just a couple of metres away, yeosang idly straddles his longboard as he watches in support.

“you remember how to push through the waves?” jongho checks and you nod, gripping the rails of the surfboard and straightening your arms to lift your torso upwards.

“yeah, hang on,” he says, moving closer. jongho rests his hand gently on the small of your back to steady your body and you have to focus on what he’s telling you instead of the feeling of his warm hand. he taps the sides of the board a few inches in front of where your grip currently is.

“hold it here, otherwise your centre of gravity is too far back,” he explains as you shift your hands forward. “the board might end up tipping backwards when you go through the wave.”

you retry the movement with the new positioning and jongho nods in satisfaction, removing his hand and stepping back again.

“there’s a wave coming in we could try,” yeosang suggests.

the slight swell of a forming wave starts to appear in the horizon. it doesn’t increase much in size the closer it gets, but as it reaches its peak height, the top breaks and turns into a whitewater wave. yeosang is out a little further and so he demonstrates how to push through first, lifting his torso above the break as his surfboard cuts through the wave.

“okay, ready? hold steady, steady,” jongho encourages, helping you time the movement, “and push up!”

you follow his call and straighten your arms to lift your upper body out of the wave’s trajectory, guiding the nose of your surfboard through at the same time that jongho dives under the wave. although your face still gets splashed with some water and your board trembles slightly in your grasp, you make it through the wave without tipping over.

“i did it!” you yell, shakily sliding yourself further up your board so that you can straddle it.

“you did it!” the boys respond excitedly.

jongho jumps up and down beside your board, prompting yeosang to slide into the water to join your side. you laugh brightly at the sense of achievement and at the sight of the two boys bobbing around you in a merry-go-round of exuberance.

“just a little more practice and you’ll be taking on the monster swells in no time,” yeosang declares. you know he’s exaggerating, but it makes pride bloom in your chest regardless.

somebody calls out your names and you all turn to look. it’s san standing near the waters, gesturing behind him as he yells, “we’re going to walk to the mart to get some ice cream. do you guys want to come?”

“yes!” you shout back, “wait for me!”

ungraciously tumbling off your surfboard in a hurry so that you can pull it back to shore, the boys chuckle at your eagerness. jongho grabs his board from out of your grasp so that he can carry it instead and the boys all trail behind you as you bound past san towards the pile of your belongings on the sand. while you sift through the heap for your sandals, your other hand subconsciously peels your clinging shirt away from your body. you feel the presence of someone coming up behind you and assuming it’s san, you straighten your back with a phone in your hand.

“san, you left your ph–” you start, except it’s yeosang, who bends down to pick up his towel and drapes it around you. it’s warm from the hours it’s spent in the sun and you can’t help the pleasant shiver that runs through your body. yeosang tugs it snugly over your shoulders and then takes the phone from your hand.

“here,” he tosses it to its owner, who falls into step behind you.

san nods his head in thanks and rummages under a towel where your sandals have been hiding before placing your shoes by your feet. “the ground’s pretty hot,” he says as he offers you his forearm to steady yourself with, patiently waiting for you to do up the buckles around your ankle.

“wait, i forgot my wallet,” you tell him once jongho and yeosang rejoin you after putting their surfboards away.

“don’t worry about it,” san reassures, “hongjoong’s buying.”

your ears perk up and he laughs because he knows exactly what you’re thinking. “yes, y/n. bleed him dry and order whatever you want."

"even a double–no, even a triple scoop?" you exclaim scandalously.

san's eyes drip adoration, "yes, even a triple scoop."

you run ahead with a cheer, blabbering jongho’s ear off about how if you get three different flavours and he also gets three different flavours, then you guys get to share six flavours, before yeosang joins in with excited chatter about how you guys can make it nine flavours if he does the same. you catch up with the rest of your friends and somehow, like a devilish cult, you all start to chant, “bleed hongjoong dry! bleed hongjoong dry!”

the oldest jokes that he only offered to pay for yours, not everybody’s, so mingi starts to tell you what he wants so that you can order in his stead, setting off a chain reaction as everyone else places their orders through you. they surround you, happy jostles and raucous snickers as you disappear in the middle of the group.

from behind, as san watches you grow closer and closer with his friends each summer, he can’t help but feel like he’s going to burst from affection and pride. he knows it will be a while until your parents move back to namhae, as is the same for himself until he graduates. but between his group of six– which will hopefully become the full eight next summer– and the group chat that you all made within hours of meeting each other, san is confident that you’ll never feel alone.

“if only wooyoung was here, then we’d have someone to grill the meat properly,” yeosang muses as he watches jongho flip and examine the packaging of the beef. “he’s the best cook out of us.”

“trust him to be a good cook, too,” you comment.

when you had first met yeosang, jongho and hongjoong, they had told you that there were two other friends who weren’t able to make it to namhae with the rest of them this summer. one of them was wooyoung, who naturally became part of the group after attending the same dance club as yunho, mingi and san. wooyoung had then been paired up with jongho during an inter-department project between the department of film & multimedia and the department of drama, growing close to the younger and by extension, to hongjoong, a senior in jongho’s drama society.

their other friend was seonghwa, they had told you; the oldest in their group and also in the year above like hongjoong. however, seonghwa attends a completely different university along with yeosang, the both of them undertaking a degree in education at seoul national university. they share some senior classes together, as yeosang had transferred from a law degree and had some of the credit prerequisites to jump ahead. and since yeosang is a close family friend of wooyoung’s, the three of them gradually became well-acquainted with each other.

it’s a running joke that you don’t need to remember how everybody knows each other– you just need to know that wooyoung is the common factor between them all, the person who decided that all of his friends should be friends with each other. so not only is wooyoung a social butterfly, seemingly charming and witty with good looks– should the boys’ track record stay true– but apparently he’s a good cook too. some people really just have it all.

“what else do we need?” jongho asks, haphazardly placing a few packets of the meat into the shopping cart he’s pushing.

“mingi said it would be good to make smores at the end of the night,” you answer.

last summer, during the final week that mingi, yunho and san were in namhae, you had all decided to have a barbeque feast and then spend the rest of the night huddled around a small campfire on the shores of the beach. it had been one of your favourite memories, simply basking in the peaceful buzz of summer and slowing your lives down just for one night to do nothing. you had suggested turning it into a tradition, and now that the final week of this summer has arrived, you’re all at one of the few grocery stores in namhae to stock up on food, snacks and drinks for the night.

“let’s see if they have marshmallows, then,” jongho makes a move to walk away.

hongjoong suddenly interrupts the conversation, appearing with an empty trolley in front of him. “get in,” he tells you.

yeosang helpfully points out, “that sounds like something a man with a tinted white van would say,” at the same time you question, “are we even allowed to do that?”

he beams, “i like to think that until somebody tells us we’re not allowed to do something, we are allowed to do it.”

“i can think of fifteen different reasons right now why that’s terrible life advice.”

the man simply nudges your side with the end of his trolley and you half-heartedly frown, “i’m really hoping this seonghwa friend is more responsible than you are, seeing as he’s older.”

“i hate to break it to you, but seonghwa’s worse,” jongho grimaces. “maturity ages backwards in this group, unfortunately.”

at jongho’s words, you turn to look for yunho, hoping that as the next oldest down the line he can talk some sense into hongjoong. only you’re met with the sight of the overgrown man pushing his own shopping cart with a very cramped but happy mingi sitting inside.

you sense defeat when hongjoong nudges you once more. “i can’t believe i’m doing this,” you mutter to yourself as he holds it steady for you to climb into. after all, you think, what’s life without breaking a few rules?

except nothing prepares you for the absolute madness that unfolds the moment your bottom touches the cold, metal gridding of the trolley. hongjoong quite literally revs the handlebar with engine sound effects, before charging through the aisle at full speed in an apparent race against yunho and his passenger princess. you hold on to for dear life, thinking that this will be over once you reach the end of the aisle. but both racers show no signs of stopping, instead drifting with sharp cornering into the next aisle as you screech. half of you is terrified, but the other half of you is starting to seek the thrill.

“faster, joong! faster!” you goad when you can see san standing at the end of the frozen section, waving an imaginary chequered flag.

both carts rattle past him in a close match, and as opposed as you were to the idea at first, you argue passionately against the honorary referee and the rival team over who won first place. even jongho and yeosang pick a side and claim that their eyes– from three aisles over– are as trustworthy as VAR playback.

it’s no surprise when the ruckus you’re all making gets a store manager sent your way. but by some saving grace, most likely the begrudging understanding that everyone has done this exact thing at one point or another growing up, the store does not kick you out. they let you finish shopping for the supplies you need, but not without the glares of the retail workers following you and your friends regardless of which aisle you try to duck and disappear behind.

with hushed giggles and not-so-subtle elbows in each other’s sides, your group hurriedly pays and places the multitude of plastic bags back into the trolley. san and jongho take one of the trolleys each and you all walk back to the cars to load the shopping. you would think that a scolding would deter any further misbehaviour, but when you all see the relatively empty parking lot, there’s only shared smiles of deviousness and glints of mischief.

if anyone were to look at the parking lot outside the grocery store that tuesday morning, they would see a group of seven friends, clad in an eyesore disarray of sweatpants, shorts, pajama tops and slippers, pushing each other around in shopping carts like bumper cars with shrieks of joy, circling around the dusty jeep and banged-up ute that has become an enabler of their connection and happiness.

you may all be doing the very things that your older selves will look back on with exasperated smiles and disapproving head shakes in ten years. but in the moment, you are unafraid; uncaring of what others think, because you have your friends by your side. and this, you think to yourself, is the essence of youth and summer.

you wish you were older. because being older means that you’ll have graduated, and being graduated means that you won’t have to fucking study for your fucking exams. you let out a groan and drop your head onto the table, making an audible thump when your forehead misses the thick textbooks and scattered notes, and hits the solid surface instead.

“hey, you need those brain cells,” someone gently chides. haneul stands at the doorway to your bedroom, watching your misery with a fond smile.

“can’t lose what i don’t have,” you mumble back.

“take a break,” she suggests. “do you want me to get you something from the bakery?”

haneul laughs when your head immediately turns to look at her, your left cheek pressed against the table by the cheeky smile that adorns your face. she chuckles again, “got it. i’ll be back.”

you absent-mindedly listen as the lock of your front door clicks shut and then let out a deep sigh at the silence that follows. it’s been a few hours since you first sat down and started studying but it feels like you’ve been reading the same sentence over and over again with no progress. pressing your forehead into the table again, you groan in frustration.

your ringtone goes off and your hand blindly fumbles around for your phone, sliding what you’re relatively sure is the answer button. “yeah?” you say into the receiver.

“someone’s a little grumpy today,” a teasing voice sounds.

“hwa?” you sit up instantly, looking at your phone properly.

it is him, not only blessing you with the deep richness of his voice but also the visual of him in a black tank top as he looks amusedly at the facetime you have answered. “are you still studying?” he asks.

you deflate a little, reminded of why you’ve been creating a crater in your table with your head for the past ten minutes. “mhm,” you hum affirmatively. “except nothing’s going into my brain anymore.”

“sounds like you need a break.”

“that’s exactly what haneul said,” you grumble, although you’re not entirely sure why you’re so opposed to their suggestions to stop studying.

“because we’re right,” he quirks his eyebrow. “what’s haneul doing at yours, anyway?”

“taking advantage of my netflix while i slave away to pass my exams. but she’s forgiven since she’s buying me snacks.”

“then take a break until she gets back and you finish eating. it’ll only be an hour, tops,” seonghwa convinces. “i’ll even set an alarm to let us know when time is up and i’ll keep you company when you study.”

you sag a little into your chair, shoulders relieving of their tension as you concede, which makes him smile sympathetically, “just a few more weeks to go until summer and then you’ll be free.”

“are you taking up summer school again?” you ask.

after san had added you and all the boys into a combined group chat, you had made friends with the two that you didn’t get to meet. you discovered seonghwa hadn’t been able to make the trip to namhae last year because he had chosen to take summer school instead. he had wanted to complete some of his degree requirements earlier in hopes of working part-time during his final year to gain practical experience. wooyoung, on the other hand, had had a portfolio due for his film class that required the majority of his summer if he wanted to complete it in time.

seonghwa grimaces at the memory, “no, not this time. it was a mistake, honestly. i burnt out so fast the first semester back that i didn’t even end up applying for any jobs.” he points a stern finger at you and warns, “don’t ever think about doing summer school.”

“trust me,” you laugh, “i have no intentions of ever doing that.”

you appreciate his advice regardless, because as immature as the other boys had made him out to be, seonghwa really does look out for all of you as the oldest of the group. and more often than not, you find yourself gravitating towards him when you need comfort or reassurance. “does that mean i’ll finally get to meet you?”

seonghwa nods, “woo as well.”

the screen of your phone suddenly splits to make room for an additional video as somebody joins the call. you hear his voice before his video even buffers. speak of the devil.

“oi! why are you all calling without me?” wooyoung complains.

contrary to the roll of your eyes, a smile makes its way across your face as you respond, “we’re literally calling from the group chat. no one’s leaving you out of anything.”

and as if his appearance is some sort of talisman, more of the boys start to join the call one by one. even hongjoong’s profile picture appears, camera off and on mute, wanting to feel included even if he’s in the middle of class. yunho and mingi pop up from behind wooyoung, so you’re guessing they’re busy practising in the studio. you wonder where san is.

someone asks you a question about how your exams are going, but you’re momentarily distracted by the buzzing notification of a text. “hang on,” you mumble, “let me just…reply to this.”

it’s one of your classmates, johnny, asking whether you’re home right now. you had accidentally slept through one of the review lectures earlier in the week and he had offered to give you a copy of his notes. from his text message, it appears he’s close by and able to drop them off now. you reply an affirmative and then click back into the video call, asking, “sorry, what were you saying?”

the drone of shared chatter about exams and the upcoming break fills the silence of your bedroom, like the fluttering breeze of a pleasant spring day. if they were not already so closely correlated to the warm, golden rays and salty spray of the summer ocean, your friends would be spring– the season of fresh air, blooming flowers and thriving vitality.

“someone looks happier. who are you talking to?” haneul emerges in your bedroom having come back from the bakery, holding a pastry box.

you didn’t even realise you were subconsciously smiling. “i’m facetiming the boys.”

she smirks, eyes glinting with mischief as she waggles her eyebrows suggestively and drags out her words, “i see. so who is it that you like? or is it all of them?”

“quit it!” you pretend to shove her. “want to say hi?” you turn the screen of your phone in her direction and there’s a chorus of obedient hi haneul’s as you turn up the volume.

she waves and peers at wooyoung’s video. “where’s the baby brat?”

from somewhere within the call, san yells out indignantly, “stop calling me that!” there’s a slight rustle as he walks closer to take the phone out of wooyoung’s grasp and when you peer to have a look, you can see that he’s sweaty and red-faced from finishing up a routine.

“you still respond to it, so,” haneul shrugs.

she disregards her brother’s continued complaints to drop the box onto your table along with a neatly-stapled stack of handwritten notes. “i bumped into johnny outside and he said this was for you,” she explains as you take it gratefully.

at the mention of a boy’s name, wooyoung shoves his nose towards his front camera. he rapidly asks, “who’s johnny? is he haneul’s boyfriend or what? why’s he giving you something?”

even hongjoong flicks a message into the group chat to ask, ‘who tf is jonny’.

you hold up the paper to show the boys and laugh, “he’s my classmate, guys. and he gave me notes because i missed the lecture.”

wooyoung frowns at your answer, clearly dissatisfied as he complains, “why is he giving you notes. and–what the fuck? did he hand write them? what a pretentious prick.”

you ignore him in favour of opening the pastry box to see what else haneul brought back for you. “how did you know i love these?” you exclaim.

she gives you that same, mischievous look from earlier and as she starts to exit your bedroom to leave you to your call and sweet treat, she vaguely answers, “how do you think?”

from over your phone, the others start to ask what you’ve got in the box, allowing a certain boy to easily slip unnoticed into the background. but it doesn’t take a detective to work out how– or perhaps you should say, who– told haneul about your recent cravings.

because if there’s one person who knows you the best, one person who takes notice of even the littlest of things, then it would be him.

hongjoong lightly slaps your thigh in retaliation as your laughter jostles his head that’s resting on your stomach, which only serves to make you laugh even harder. he lifts his head to grumble, “stop encouraging him, y/n. he’s going to think he’s actually funny or something.”

with a shaky exhale, you wipe a stray tear away, because you don’t think you’ve ever laughed this hard in your entire life. now that you see their whole group dynamic in action with the complete eight of them, it’s like watching a live sitcom.

wooyoung looks at him with a smug expression…then proceeds to yank the older’s sock right off his foot before throwing it into oblivion. hongjoong jolts up and dives for him and they immediately tussle about on the floor of san’s living room. amidst all of the commotion, san sneakily goes for seonghwa’s socks and you’re glad that you had peeled yours off the moment you had walked through the front door because suddenly everyone’s socks are a target.

the successful harvests that are tossed away are immediately snatched up by mingi, who hurls them under the table, behind the couch and on top of the television. you think you can see one dangling off the lights too, but you’re not about to snitch. jongho joins the corner you have taken refuge in and yeosang follows soon after, content to stay far away from the havoc that has quickly turned into wrestling. unfortunately, wooyoung is unable to let the three of you watch the world burn peacefully. he yells at the boys, who choose this to be the time to actually listen to him for once, and you’re all left scrabbling in different directions when they dive for you three.

it’s only the first day of summer and the second hour of officially meeting the boys as their full group of eight, but you can already tell that the next few months are going to be filled with absolute chaos and mayhem. and so the summer that marks san’s third visit back to namhae passes by quickly as you and the eight boys fall into an easy routine. hours turn into days, days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months. summer revolves around each other and there is never a moment spent apart.

you join the boys at dawn every day, clad in only a pair of shorts, a tank top and a light cardigan to shoulder because there’s still a slight nip of the early morning before the sun appears. you watch contentedly as they dance with the ocean on their surfboards– a duet of paddling out into the deeper waters and catching the breaks of the swells back towards shore.

the more you watch them surf, the more you start to realise just how much san has improved. you still recall the day san had fallen in love with the way the surfer used his own body and surfboard as an extension of the ocean, and you still have early memories of san’s lanky limbs flailing as he lost his balance over and over again, trying to replicate the same gracefulness. now, san is not just a dancer– he is the choreographer; the one who controls the ocean under his board.

as the early morning wears on, the serene crash of waves and intermittent squawk of the soaring seagulls are gradually interspersed with the boys’ rings of joy as they become more interested in pushing each other off their boards and splashing each other, rather than surfing itself. the strongest trio easily overpower everyone else and you shake your head fondly when the others don’t learn their lesson regardless of how many times they are suplexed underwater.

when the sun starts to wake up, they join you on the sandy shores, surfboards placed in a rough row so that you can all share them like seats. you lean against whoever is sitting beside you and watch the sunrise until your stomachs start to growl for attention.

greasy takeaway is always the foolproof solution. you share hearty burgers that are too tall to bite into and salty fries that are slathered in dipping sauce, sprawled out on the cool floorboards at san’s or yours, soaking in the refreshing coldness of the air conditioner on high without a care in the world for the electricity bill that is racking up.

afternoons are for the second round of the meal; bingsoo from the cafe, pastries from the nearby bakery or cheap ice cream from the mart. and after all the food, the best way to digest before you go out again at dusk to catch some of the waves is to take a nap.

the giant puppy pile of tangled limbs and human pillows is arguably your favourite part of the day. even if the ends of jongho’s hair tickles your nose and your arm goes a little numb from the way san hugs it and your neck feels cramped from resting on seonghwa’s shoulder, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

sometimes, when you’re all feeling rejuvenated, you’ll clamber into their three cars or happily pack yourselves into two and drive down the coast to one of the other beaches. the drive there is music blasting and scratchy singing at the top of your lungs with the windows rolled down, your flyaway hairs caressing the cheeks of the boys beside you. it’s rest stops to fill up on drinks and dessert– any excuse for more ice cream and a chance to make hongjoong’s wallet cry.

the trip back, on the other hand, is quiet, the designated drivers pressing softly on the pedals and turning with care so as not to jostle the sleeping passengers. you’re all exhausted and passed out against one another, faces pressed against a shoulder or the crown of someone’s head. slow music plays lowly in the background as the streetlights start to turn on like a warm greeting to welcome your group home.

and just as yeosang had once said, wooyoung is a good cook. dinner time becomes a bonding activity– as if every second of summer isn’t already a bonding moment– where you all experiment with different and increasingly complicated recipes. it usually ends up with him and seonghwa actually doing the cooking whilst everyone else eats the ingredients and tries not to accidentally stab someone with the knives, and dinner doesn’t usually actually become dinner until eight or nine o’clock.

but it doesn’t really matter when, half the time, the post-meal conversations turn into a slumber party after time slips away. if you retire early, you’ll sometimes be joined by haneul in your bedroom, who has stayed in namhae this summer. she’ll spill her workplace tea and you’ll gossip about your college peers late until the stars have long started to twinkle in the sky.

there are no scheduled bedtimes, no proper mealtimes, no time limits to complete things nor niggling guilt not to complete things– there is no formal routine. but when spontaneity and carefreeness become the everyday occurrence, that becomes the routine.

and as with any sort of routine comes the familiarity. familiarity finds itself in the way san sing-songs wake up, sleepyhead whenever you accidentally sleep in, and instead of shying under the covers at the sight of him in your bedroom, you whine for five more minutes. familiarity finds itself in the way yunho’s hands hover around the small of your back whenever you’re all walking to the mart for snacks and in the way wooyoung immediately reaches for the flavours he knows you like.

familiarity finds itself in the way you and hongjoong will bare puppy teeth at each other one moment then naturally use the other as a human pillow the next. it’s in the way jongho hides you when san tries to throw you into the water; the way mingi tucks your head into his shoulder when he spins you around in a hug; when seonghwa reminds you to reapply sunscreen whilst dotting the lotion along your cheeks and when yeosang quietly drapes you in his jackets after you get out of the water.

but the thing with familiarity, though, is that it’s easy for it to overshadow other things. rather than realising that there is a shift in dynamic or a change in heart, other growing feelings can be mistaken for familiarity instead. and you don’t understand this until you least expect it.

your hands fumble to catch the bottle of sunscreen that yunho has thrown in your direction before it ends up landing on yeosang’s face. he’s taking a nap on the towel next to you, disputing against everyone else’s remarks that he should take the opportunity to surf considering you’ve all made the two-hour trip to dadaepo beach.

you adjust the small umbrella that he brought along so that it covers his upper body, then uncap the bottle and lather the sunscreen over your arms and legs. it’s when you get to your back that you realise you won’t be able to reach all of your skin. san or seonghwa are usually around to help if you decide to forgo a cropped shirt over your bikini top, but they’re already running far along the shore and you can’t be troubled to yell out for one of them.

you’re starting to wonder whether you can get away with not applying sunscreen on your back if you just make sure you lie on it the whole time when hongjoong spots your plight in the form of a blank stare and squeezed lotion in the palm of your hand.

“your short arms can’t reach your back, can they?”

you imitate his laughter with an exaggerated tone, “who was it that needed my help yesterday putting sunscreen on his back?”

“maybe i just didn’t want you to feel too bad about yourself,” he shrugs and walks over to swipe the glob of sunscreen out of your hands. you roll your eyes, knowing fully well he’s incapable of taking care of you without pretending to cover it up with an insult.

“stop squirming,” he chides. the contrasting cold of the lotion and warmth of his hand sends a shiver down your spine and you try not to dwell on his gentle rubs for too long. he’s meticulous in making sure he doesn’t miss a spot, but he’s also careful and deliberate with his touch around the knotted strings of your top so that you don’t feel uncomfortable. hongjoong and the word ‘uncomfortable’ could never be in the same sentence though. but he doesn’t need to know that.

“there,” he pats your back twice like a mechanic would with the hood of a fucking car to signal that he’s finished his job and then callously walks away.

you decide to let him off the hook and settle down on your stomach to rest your eyes for a bit. yeosang knows what he’s doing, because the combined warmth of the sand beneath your towel and from the overhead rays makes you drowsy almost immediately.

you’re flicking your salt-crusted hair out of your face when a voice interrupts, “hi, i’m sorry to bother you.”

lifting your head up to look, you’re met with the sight of a girl around your age, timidly fiddling with the popsocket on her phone. you sit up and give her a polite smile, “that’s okay. can i help you?”

“um, i was just hoping to ask if he has a girlfriend?”

the boys are all scattered along the length of the beach, save for yeosang next to you, so you’re not entirely sure who the girl is referring to until you follow her finger. she’s pointing in the direction of hongjoong, who’s joined some of the others along the shore.

“the short one?” you clarify, smile fading a little as you shrug, “i’m not too sure, sorry.”

the girl shakes her head, “oh, no. i meant the boy on his left.”

choi san. you now fight to keep the smile on your face friendly when you reply, “not that i know of.”

the girl thanks you excitedly, walking off back to her group of friends who immediately huddle around her to hear your answer. you look away.

you don’t realise you’re staring at san until he turns in the distance and makes eye contact with you. his entire face lights up, eyes disappearing and shadowed dimples revealing themselves under the gleaming sun. wooyoung takes the opportunity whilst san is distracted to swing a handful of limp seaweed straight into san’s face and a laugh escapes you before you can hold it in. your best friend looks more betrayed by your laughter than by wooyoung’s antics.

the younger turns to look at you with pride and when he sees that you’re laughing, he blows you an exaggerated kiss and sends it flying in your direction with a teasing flurry of his hand. yunho charges in from out of absolutely nowhere and pretends to tackle the kiss mid-air, throwing the imaginary show of affection into the sand where hongjoong immediately joins in and stomps on it with his foot, before sending you a flying kiss of his own instead.

chaos ensues and both hongjoong and yunho run for their lives as wooyoung chases them with his deadly seaweed whip. he quickly realises that the taller of the two will be impossible to catch, so he locks in on the easier target and hongjoong screeches in fear.

you can’t help but shake your head adoringly as you continue to watch, eyes landing on san once more when the cat and mouse go tearing past him in a whirlwind of sand. san holds your gaze with a fond smile of his own and you have to remind yourself that it’s normal for the boys to have suitors.

you’re not dating san. you’re not dating hongjoong. you’re not dating any of the boys, and they’re certainly not yours. so then, why does it feel like they are? but most of all, why does your heart feel equally bitter at the thought of someone asking about any of the boys…not just your best friend?

the sight of the tube of aloe vera gel in the fridge– likely placed there by seonghwa– is a welcome sight. you had diligently reapplied sunscreen to your body with the boys’ constant reminders to reapply but you had carelessly forgotten about your face. you’re paying the price of your mistake now and the red skin across the apples of your cheeks and forehead is tight with a constant, dull throb.

grabbing the tube, you walk into the bathroom where hongjoong is currently blow-drying his hair, having callen dibs on the shower after the beach trip.

“hey, lil’ tomato,” he jests before he gets a good look at your face. “woah, that looks worse than it was an hour ago.”

you hum as you peer closer into the mirror, “this is probably the worst sunburn i’ve ever gotten before.”

hongjoong ruffles the back of his hair one last time under the dryer before unplugging it and setting it on the rack. he slips the tube of ointment out of your hands and then turns you by the shoulders to face him. that’s how you find yourself between hongjoong’s front and the porcelain sink, the edge of the countertop digging slightly into your lower back as you watch him squeeze a generous amount of aloe vera onto the tip of his finger.

he murmurs, “hold still.” with a light touch, he tilts your chin up so that he can see the angry skin of your face. the stark contrast between the characteristic roughness of his edges and the tenderness with which he applies the soothing gel on your face right now has you itching to tease him.

“admit it. you like taking care of me, don’t you.”

he rolls his eyes, “and you like being taken care of, don’t you. like when you needed your notes handwritten by johnny.”

ever since that one incident, the boys have never let you hear the end of it. they may not realise it themselves either, but really, they’re just trying to keep low tabs on this…classmate. even if the way they go about it reflects the emotional maturity of somebody half their actual age.

“i admit it’s nice to be taken care of. what about you, huh?” you challenge, poking his side testingly. “you like taking care of me, don’t you?”

you giggle when he squirms and you try it again to elicit another response, until he suddenly grabs your hand by the wrist.

“and so what if i do?” his words come out easily, but unlike the usual cockiness and flirtatiousness that he jokes around with, his tone is low and serious.

you don’t respond because you don’t know what to respond; you’re suddenly walking in uncharted territory– both in regards to his feelings and your own.

when his fingertips brush the area of your cheeks just below your under-eyes, you can’t help the instinctive flutter of your lashes. his eyes stare into yours and you swallow, noticing the way his gaze flickers down to follow the movement. there’s hunger in his pupils and longing in your chest. you don’t move away when he moves closer in.

your eyelids flutter closed once again, except this time in anticipation. his hands still cup your cheek and hold your wrist and when he brings his face down towards yours, you can feel the warmth of his body surrounding and intoxicating you. but as his nose starts to nudge the softness of your cheeks, hongjoong pulls away.

“sorry, i–this was a mistake. i shouldn’t be doing this,” he stutters. and just like that, the moment shatters.

“th–that’s okay,” you awkwardly smile. “this never happened.”

he nods without looking at you, “this never happened.”

you’re glad your face is sunburnt because you’re certain your face would be glowing from the embarrassment and shame you are overwhelmed with. hongjoong turns around before you can say anything else and leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaving you alone.

quickly, you lock the door and then stand there stunned into a stupor. because his…whatever the fuck that was, has given you startling clarity that he is right. you shouldn’t be doing this. you shouldn’t be kissing him when you want san and your six other friends equally as much.

and most of all, it was foolish of you to assume that he actually wanted something more than friendship. if hongjoong, the most flirtatious of them all, doesn’t have any romantic interest in you– or at the very least enough to want to pursue something more– then what makes you think you have a chance with any of the boys? what makes you think that any of them– much less all of them– would want you in the same way that you have now realised you want them?

in a way, your heart feels more at ease now. knowing that your feelings for the boys will be unfruitful one way or another, it’s much easier to ignore the now obvious lurch in your heart whenever they pull you into an easy hug or tell you that you look pretty. it’s easier to repress the longing you have for them when they help you put on sunscreen or surround your house with mischief and laughter.

you can’t tell whether hongjoong is actively avoiding you or whether he is conveniently busy with the other boys, but you suppose time apart right now is good for the both of you. after all, time is supposed to heal everything. and so even as the end of summer approaches and the much anticipated night of the barbeque and campfire tradition arrives, you keep your distance from hongjoong and he keeps his. simply two friends coexisting within the larger group of friends; nothing more, nothing less.

you’re all sitting on a patchwork of picnic blankets and beach towels spread around the small fire that san has constructed, now experienced from having made one three years in a row. haneul shares the towel with you on one side and yunho on your other.

dinner had been greasy meat grilled by wooyoung’s skilled hands paired with cheap alcohol that made you all wince when it went down. it had been finished off with skewered marshmallows– the most vital part of the night, as mingi had fervently reminded everyone.

someone had then suggested a round of ‘truth or dare’, which most definitely did not stop at one round. the flushed cheeks and tipsy slurs not only made the dares increasingly bizarre, but it made everyone daring enough to actually do them. as the night had continued on, the outlandish dares slowly trickled off and more of you picked to answer truth questions. with the mellowing ambience of the campfire and the clearing buzz of alcohol in your systems, it was only a matter of time before the night fizzled into calm.

“mingi,” haneul directs her question at the taller, “ if you were to date one of us excluding me, who would it be?”

his eyes dart from her to you and then to every single one of his friends. “i’d date you all,” he shrugs. “but if i had to pick one person, then probably yunho, since he’s been there for me from day one.”

yunho knocks shoulders with him appreciatively whilst joking, “your parents would love to hear that answer.”

you spot san and wooyoung cringing at the thought and you’re reminded of snippets of a conversation about surfing as a distraction and escape from home.

moving the game on, mingi asks seonghwa when he picks truth, “if you had to pick between love and friendship, which one would it be?”

seonghwa hums for a while, watching the dancing lick of flames. “i think it depends on the situation, because in the end, they’re not that much different from each other. in love there is friendship, and in friendship there is love. it’s impossible to say that one is more important than the other.”

there’s a collective boo as he skirts around the question, but you all understand where he’s coming from. it still doesn’t stop san from retorting, “the whole point is to pick one.”

seonghwa chuckles and downs half a shot to appease the other of his apparent half answer, then tosses the same question at him. “what about you, then?”

much to his disappointment, san actually has an answer.

“i would probably choose love. i think you’re right in saying you can’t separate love and friendship, but the thing that sets a romantic relationship apart is being in love,” he muses. “it’s hard to find friends you love, but it’s even harder to find a friend you fall in love with, so i would probably hold onto that no matter what.”

a few of you subconsciously nod along, words resonating with yourselves. haneul nudges you curiously, “what do you think?”

you relax into her side as you slowly formulate a cohesive answer from your thoughts. “i think i would choose love, too. i’ll admit it’s a much more difficult relationship than friendship and it often requires sacrifices to be made…it can even mean having to let go of somebody completely.”

hongjoong glances at you, guilt pricking at his chest.

“but at the same time,” you continue, “when you love somebody that much, sacrifice becomes something you want to give and are willing to offer to the other person, and you develop a depth of understanding, connection and intimacy strong enough to overcome anything that isn’t always possible with friendship.”

“you and san are both such gross romantics,” haneul pretends to gag.

“yeah, shoot us for it,” you poke her in the side. “wooyoung, truth or dare?”

“since everyone’s picking truth…truth.”

“who’s someone you’re sorry towards or thankful for?”

he whines indignantly, “why are we suddenly getting so personal,” but proceeds to think about his answer seriously. “if i’m honest, i’m sorry towards everyone. i know there are times i fall short as a friend and make mistakes, but you all always forgive me and embrace my imperfections so graciously. sometimes it makes me wonder if i even deserve you guys.”

there are immediate noises of protest and wooyoung smiles, waving away their words of objection because he knows that he’s wrong. it’s just that knowing doesn’t always stop him from feeling a certain way. “and of course, what i’m sorry for goes hand in hand with what i’m thankful for. but i’m also especially thankful for y/n,” he reveals.

your body reacts instantly to his unexpected answer, blood rushing towards your cheeks and ears as he looks at you appreciatively.

“i haven’t known you for as long as most of the other boys, but i’ve seen how happy and vibrant they are whenever they return to seoul or whenever they talk about you. and i can definitely see why, now. you make them happy–you make us happy.”

mingi clears his throat, jumping in to add to the younger’s answer, “when i’m here in namhae with you, with everybody, it feels like home.”

a home that he’s never really had until yunho, san, you, and the rest of the boys came along.

“so thank you for giving me a home here,” mingi looks at you earnestly.

if he were sitting closer, you would reach over and squeeze his hand reassuringly. instead, you tell him, “no matter how many years go by, you’ll always have a home here.”

“and the rest of us?” yunho jokes, lightly slapping your knee where your legs have slowly made their way into his lap over the night.

“you all have a home here,” you amend. because namhae is not the same without san, and namhae is not the same without the rest of your friends, either.

you continue asking each other questions, even after midnight has long ticked past and haneul has retired back to the beach house for some sleep. nobody wants the night to end, because despite already having been attached to each other’s hips all summer, the time you are spending now around the campfire is different. life slows down and the nine of you are the only ones to exist along with the stars and the ocean waves.

“you know what we should do?” wooyoung pipes up when you are all quietly watching the fire. he grins, “we should do that thing where we shout at the ocean.”

“just…straight up scream?” hongjoong frowns.

a smile starts to spread across san’s face as he understands wooyoung’s vision. “no, like our dreams. regrets. confessions,” san elaborates, making a move to stand and brushing the sand off his shorts.

seonghwa questions, “are we really doing this?” and yet he stands up as well.

“when will we ever get a chance to do this again?”

one by one, you all get up on your feet and wander down the beach closer towards the water. it’s silent, save for the crash of waves, while you eye each other and wait for somebody to start it off.

yunho clears his throat, then yells his next words from the very depths of his chest, “i want to become a famous choreographer!”

there are shared giggles at the striking contrast in volume after hours of low, heartfelt conversation, but it’s enough to fill the rest of you with courage and desire to do the same.

“i want my parents to accept that i won’t be a lawyer like they wanted me to be!” yeosang calls out.

mingi takes a huge breath with his entire body, “i hope i’ll win the lottery one day!”

you all break out into laughter, happiness and vigour running high through your veins. it definitely feels a little silly and a little childish, but is that not the charm of living in the prime years of your youth and spending it with your friends?

reservations now completely thrown to the wind, the boys holler and yell both serious and unserious aspirations with their entire soul, cupping the sides of their mouths with their hands to carry their voices further out across the waters. you watch them with deep affection and tenderness and your eyes suddenly start to well up with the intensity of your emotions.

thank you for showing me what love feels like. you can continue to love them as friends, and that is already more than you could ever ask for.

taking a deep inhale of the chill of emerging dawn and blinking away the blur in your eyes, you join the boys and yell your heart out to the ocean. your screams blend together into a symphony of dreams and hopes; the swell of the chorus and the pinnacle of the movie.

and even though you’re all half-delirious from the lack of sleep, hair ruffled and mismatched pajamas wrinkled, it feels like anything and everything is possible in this moment. from here on, it’s the nine of you against the world and whatever it may bring.

you’ve known johnny since you started attending namhae’s provincial college. being from a relatively small cohort and the same degree no less, you share most of your classes together. there’ll be a few times throughout the month that you’ll find yourselves sitting in the seat beside each other and maybe once a semester that you’ll complete a group task together.

he’s easy enough to get along with, conversation sprinkled with terrible jokes and random puns that remind you of yunho’s silly humour. you know for a fact as well that they’re the same height too, which sort of makes you wonder whether being tall has something to do with the way their funny bone develops, considering mingi’s humour is just as questionable.

you and johnny aren’t exactly distant enough to only be classified as classmates, but you’re not exactly close either. so it’s a surprise when, after summer ends and it marks a new semester, johnny asks you out on a coffee date on the weekend. (except the more you think about it afterwards, the more your seemingly random interactions make sense. why he asks for your number even after the group project is over. why he offers to drop off handwritten notes for you. why he sometimes favours sitting with you as opposed to with his own friends.)

initially, you tell him that you’re not interested, any potential awkwardness dissipating the moment he dramatically wails that he’s been rejected, much like hongjoong had when you had first met him. but then a week later, johnny coolly slaps an envelope onto the surface of your lecture table and struts off without looking back. when you open it, you realise it’s a three-page handwritten essay detailing his pros and cons in an attempt to try and win you over.

it reminds you of wooyoung, when he had made a whole presentation on his laptop complete with photographic and videographic evidence to try and convince you that he was the best dancer out of himself, san, yunho and mingi. like your friend, johnny’s efforts are honestly a little too hilarious and a little too endearing to reject for a second time, and it’s not like johnny has done anything to suggest that he’s a creep or murderer. so you let him take you out on the date.

he chooses to go to the small, quaint cafe that’s about a fifteen-minute walk from campus. coincidentally, it’s the one that you and san used to frequent before he moved away to seoul. johnny tells you to try the chocolate hazelnut dacquoise slices, which you do even though you know you prefer the strawberry ones more. the sweet mouthful makes you think of san, always offering you the first bite of his chocolate dacquoise in hopes of converting you to the flavour.

johnny pays for your dessert and drink and you two end up sitting in the cafe long after your plates have been cleared and mugs emptied to their bottoms. it turns out he likes spending time at the beach just as much as you do and he tells you of his summer trip to the maldives for his casual modelling gig. you’re not entirely surprised to learn of his part-time endeavours, considering you’ve never seen him dressed in anything less than loafers, chino shorts and a neatly-pressed button-up shirt. plus, johnny is objectively very attractive with his strong brows, chiselled jawline and dark locks of hair.

he offers to walk you home after your date, shrugging off his white button-up and passing it to you when you exit the cafe. it’s still warm enough in the afternoon to not need the extra layer, but you’re reminded of yeosang’s quiet yet perceptive gestures and it makes you smile nonetheless.

the weekend leads to a second date, followed by more time spent together. he finds reasons to see you throughout the weeks– the sun’s out which means you two should take a walk along the beach; he fell asleep during yesterday’s lecture which means you two should study at the cafe; he has a basketball match on the weekend which means you two should practise shooting hoops together.

and when you’re not physically spending time together, johnny likes to facetime you just so that he can ‘see your pretty face’. the frequency with which he compliments you randomly throughout the call is almost on par with seonghwa, who always sweetly observes when you're wearing a new lip tint or different hairstyle.

johnny’s laugh, be it in person or over video call, never fails to make you laugh with him. it’s boisterous when he doubles over with laughter and his eyes disappear when he chuckles. you can’t help but see jongho’s own adorable giggles in him.

after several months of courting advances, johnny asks to make it official. you say yes, because you have fallen for him.

and so, like the dwindling campfire that had marked the end of summer, you snuff out the remains of the fire in your heart that has been burning for san, hongjoong and the six other boys, leaving the last of the embers to their fate. left alone, they will slowly die out, completely extinguishing the flames and leaving only ashen remnants behind…or the sparks will continue to fight unnoticed; until they rekindle and turn into an uncontainable inferno.

“with all due disrespect, his parents don’t fucking deserve to be parents,” wooyoung spits out.

yunho tucks the blotchy aftermath of mingi’s heartbreak a little tighter into the crook of his own neck, other hand softly tousling the ends of the younger’s hair. the boys have only just managed to settle mingi into one of the beds in their shared dorm rooms after he had shown up at the dance studio barely holding it together by his last thread.

“i don’t think any of us had high hopes for them, considering the things he’s told us about them over the last few years,” seonghwa sighs as he pulls the blanket over mingi’s shoulders.

“but for them to just fucking disown him like that? do they even realise how much it took for him to come clean about us?”

san gently pulls wooyoung away from the bed, lest he wake up the boy in question, and massages his clenched fist open. yeosang sidles up to the pair, “do you think we could go down to namhae a few days earlier this summer?”

“that actually might be possible,” san chews on his bottom lip and takes out his phone to text his parents. “it’ll be a nice surprise for y/n, too.”

“she’s in for a few surprises,” jongho comments before nudging the boy next to him. “hopefully you didn’t scare her off after what you did.”

hongjoong scratches the nape of his neck at the jab, “yeah, i hope i didn’t fuck things up for all of us.”

“you still haven’t talked it out with her?” san looks up from his phone.

hongjoong grimaces, “no, but how could i? she said to pretend that it didn’t happen.”

“and you just took her word for it? god, that’s literally the universal response anyone would automatically give in a situation that’s utterly and mortifyingly embarrassing,” wooyoung throws his arms up into the air. “i wouldn’t be surprised if she says no to us after all.”

“look, i’ll talk to her when we see her again. the semester’s nearly over, anyway.”

san nods, “my parents are fine with us going down a weekend earlier. and i agree with hongjoong on this one–it’s probably something they should talk about in person, not over the phone. let’s just hope we haven’t missed our timing with this.”

there’s only a few more weeks left until summer, minus one week now that they have decided to make the trip down to namhae earlier for mingi’s sake. and regardless of what your answer will be to the question that they’ll ask you– be it yes or no– it still won’t change the fact that everything will be okay once they get to namhae. because everything is okay as long as you are by their side.

there’s a man standing by your side, and it’s not one of them.

it’s strange to see you holding hands with someone that they don’t know. of course, it’s inevitable that you would have your own friends in namhae and from college, and of course it’s inevitable that you would have friends of both genders. but the way you have your fingers interlocked with his looks anything but platonic.

the boys are familiar with the way their own hands feel with yours nestled in theirs; from when you squeeze yourself between two of them and happily swing your intertwined hands back and forth; when a large wave threatens to topple you over and you instinctively reach for them for support; when you’re curled up against them and absentmindedly fiddling with their fingers whilst watching a cheesy summer romcom. but right now, their own hands feel unfamiliar– oddly empty and unable to make up its mind as to whether it wants to relax or tighten into a fist, even more so when you make eye contact with them standing outside san’s house and freeze.

you haven’t told the boys about johnny yet, only that you had news you wanted to tell them in person once they came for the summer. but now that they are here, standing right in front of you and your boyfriend, you suddenly feel a prick of guilt that you hadn’t given them a heads up of some kind.

you slip your hand out of johnny’s grasp under the guise of tidying your hair. if johnny notices, he doesn’t comment on it. instead, he asks, “you know them?” and settles his arm heavily over your shoulders. the action probably looks as territorial as it feels.

“yeah, they’re my closest friends,” you answer louder than you need to, because you feel like you have to defend them– or yourself. “san’s from namhae, too, and the others are from different provinces. they go to college together in seoul.”

“oh,” your boyfriend makes a noise, “it’s them.”

hongjoong feels awfully smug at that comment, because it means that you’ve talked about them before. he feels even more pleased when you slightly step out from under the man’s arm. but then your next words have his expression darkening again.

“i was going to officially introduce him to you guys on your first day…i just wasn’t expecting it to be today,” you gently place your hand on johnny’s forearm. “this is johnny, my boyfriend.”

immediately, the boys recognise his name– how could they forget, when the name has never once left their subconscious since the moment he was mentioned. a fleeting thought enters hongjoong’s mind. if he had not pulled away that night– if he had kissed you instead of being a coward– would it be him standing by your side as your boyfriend right now?

and hongjoong is not alone in his thoughts. wooyoung’s teeth grit together as he wonders how different things may have turned out if only the older or he himself had been bolder with their feelings. if only any of them had plucked up the courage to make the first move. because you dating any of them would automatically put their heart infinitely more at ease than the literal fucking stranger who is standing by your side.

you’re about to tell your boyfriend the names of the eight boys in front of you when he raises an eyebrow at you, “you didn’t tell me your friends were all guys.” his tone isn’t accusatory, per se, but it’s definitely not cordial, either. this side of johnny is completely new to you.

seeing the flustered look on your face irks wooyoung in every way possible so he interrupts, “and why does it matter to you?”

johnny levels him with a look for several seconds before smiling placatingly. “you’ll understand when you get a girlfriend,” he dismisses.

immediately, there’s a palpable spike in tension. “sorry?” wooyoung scoffs.

san sets a firm hand on the back of wooyoung’s neck and you lowly murmur your boyfriend’s name– respectively scruffing the two men. you didn’t know what to expect introducing your friends and boyfriend to each other. but the start of what looks like it has the potential to turn into a fight was definitely not on the list.

in a lame attempt to change the topic, you comment, “you guys are here early this year.”

there’s a beat of silence that’s a split second longer than you deem comfortable and yunho clears his throat, “yeah…things ended up this way.”

the vague comment and pointed look in your boyfriend’s direction tells you that there’s more to it than they are letting you onto right now. you make a mental note to talk to them once johnny leaves…if he ends up leaving. but the heavy weight that is still draped around your shoulder shows no intention of removing itself.

even though your instinct is to run up to the boys and receive all the hugs you have missed, and their instinct is to pull you away from the unfamiliar man and back into the intimacy of their group, the arm around you is a stark reminder to everyone that you’re not single anymore– that there are now boundaries to respect. instead, your friends are left to shuffle awkwardly on the spot with wavering gazes as if they have caught you doing something they weren’t supposed to see.

“do you have classes today?” san dares to ask.

“not today. we were just…out,” you reply. on a date, it goes unsaid.

“well, we’re headed for the beach,” san hates the fact that he even has to ask his next sentence, “do you want to join us?”

looking at johnny, you hate the fact that your immediate answer isn’t to say yes. he glances at you and then answers on your behalf, “we’ll join. it’ll be nice for us to get to know each other, since it seems like we’ll be seeing each other often this summer.”

“not if you don’t show up,” wooyoung mutters under his breath, but he’s not really trying to be quiet about his disdain.

you fake a smile and push your boyfriend towards the entrance to your house. “we’ll get changed and then meet you guys down at the beach.” you don’t wait for an answer before shoving the front door open and shut again in quick succession behind you.

“wait here,” you tell johnny, “i’ll get you a spare pair of shorts,” then you disappear into your bedroom and let out a deep exhale, closing your eyes to clear your head.

you had spent the last few years embracing the changes in your relationship with san. every summer marked a change in your friendship group– a new chapter each year as you rewrote the group dynamics with additional people to love and be loved by.

this summer, like the others, also marks a change and beginning of a new chapter, but now you’re realising that not all chapters in a story will always be happy. instead, some chapters will mark the beginning of the complication.

it feels like an unusual mix between deja vu and an out-of-body experience as san straps the leash of his surfboard around his ankle. his gaze follows your form and he watches silently when you’re picked by the waist and tossed into the ocean. it looks all too familiar– except instead of him being the one who brings the laughter out of your squeals, it’s that annoyingly tall and irritatingly jacked dude that is your boyfriend.

san can’t help the sigh that escapes his lips as he peels his eyes away. if johnny makes you happy, then objectively, san wants nothing more for you. but he cannot help but feel that you are undeserving of anything less than the entire world; something he and his boys are willing to give to you. but life is all about timing and it seems like they’ve missed theirs.

he’s distracted by the sight of you and johnny in his peripheral vision, even as he paddles out into the deeper waters with yunho. the taller is uncharacteristically quiet, his eyes repeatedly flickering back and forth between you and mingi. mingi needed this trip more than any of them combined, but there’s an uneasy feeling in the pit of yunho’s stomach that’s telling him the appearance of your boyfriend is only just the beginning of a rocky summer.

regardless of their combined years of surfing experience, both yunho and san seem to continuously lose their balance on their boards today. and despite the saltiness of the sea water that flows into san’s mouth each time he falls– no longer the graceful choreographer of the sea– there’s a bitter taste on his tongue that he cannot get rid of no matter how many bottles of water he drinks over the rest of the day.

it follows him even when the sweet fragrance of fresh pastries and syrupy drinks permeates the air the moment he walks into the bakery you so adore after your group walks from the beach. san pulls the glass door open for you, wind chime tinkling softly overhead, and he has to resist the urge to let go of the door handle when your boyfriend also walks through without so much as a word or glance of gratitude.

before san walks up to the counter, he instinctively turns around to check your order before he adds it to his own like he has always done. “strawberry dacquoise and grapefruit ade?”

you’re about to nod when johnny steps into place beside you and asserts, “she likes the chocolate ones.”

san keeps his voice as even as he can and refutes, “no, y/n prefers the strawberry ones. i would know, considering we’ve been going to this cafe together since we were twelve.” he emphasises the last word, clearly telling the other that he is the one who has known you since you were young and therefore knows you the best out of anyone, boyfriend be damned.

not backing down, johnny turns to ask, “is that true, babe?”

you swallow uncomfortably, mouth suddenly dry. “i like both,” you evade.

but your lack of denial says more than enough and johnny’s frown deepens almost immediately. at his expression, you rush to amend, “i know you like the chocolate ones more. it makes me happy sharing them with you.”

“you should’ve told me,” johnny fusses. but opposed to disappointment at not having known your preference for strawberry, he seems more displeased at having discovered this fact through your male friend.

san notices how apologetic you start to feel and he absolutely despises how unfamiliar it looks on your face. if this is the type of boyfriend that he is giving you up to, then san is not prepared to let go of you at all.

“or maybe you should’ve noticed,” he shrugs nonchalantly in your boyfriend’s direction before smiling tenderly at you. “i’ll order your food. go find a seat with seong–”

johnny’s voice is heated when he interjects, “no, you won’t. i’ll pay for my girlfriend’s food.”

you’ve never heard him talk with this tone before, much less seen him act this way, but his words suddenly strike you with clarity and reasoning. with a relationship comes adherence to mutual boundaries and expectations, and although san is used to doting on you, the reality now is that johnny currently fulfills that role as your boyfriend.

“it’s alright, san. thank you,” you give your friend a soft smile. “johnny’s got it for me.”

san nods, defeated. your boyfriend gently nudges you in the direction of the tables, “go sit down. i’ll bring our order over when it’s ready.”

on edge, you walk to where some of the boys are already seated and slide in beside seonghwa, who has been watching the entire exchange silently. “y/n,” he starts.

you plaster on a smile, “it’s okay.”

seonghwa studies you carefully for a moment, then appears to make up his mind about something and returns your smile. except anybody can see that it doesn’t reach his eyes. “do you want to swap seats with me? that way you and johnny can sit on the same side.”

grateful for his thoughtfulness, you change seats and sit on his left just as wooyoung joins the table with an iced americano in his hand. he sets it down to drag a spare chair beside him, offhandedly commenting, “why are you even dating him? i don’t get what you see in him.”

he hisses when seonghwa kicks his shin from under the table, shaking his head, and you just give the younger a tight-lipped smile in response. you’re distracted by the buzz of your phone in your pocket. a quick glance downwards tells you that it’s a text from san.

sorry for putting you between your bf and i

you look up in surprise and find that he’s already gazing at you from where he’s waiting at the counter. his eyebrows knit together in apology and you shake your head, mouthing that it’s okay. san has always been the bigger person in any situation– with you, with friends and family, and even with people he doesn’t necessarily see eye to eye with.

your phone buzzes again, twice in succession, but this time the notifications aren’t from him. it’s johnny.

what’s his problem, god wants to get into your pants or sth

your boyfriend continues to tap away at his phone, expression marred with poorly concealed irritation. but he doesn’t seem to be referring to your texting exchange with san– you don’t think he’s even noticed. instead, he’s still hooked on the ordering incident.

slipping the phone back into your pocket and pretending you have not noticed the messages yet, you simply wait for johnny to grab the tray with your pastries and drinks before he slides into the chair next to you. and for the first time since dating, you find yourself comparing your boyfriend not to san, but against him.

it feels like you have spent the last two months treading carefully on eggshells. there are days you spend with both johnny and the boys and it becomes clear to everyone pretty quickly that they’re not warming up to each other. despite your best efforts to bring them closer, there is unmistakable tension that underlies every interaction that they have and don’t have with one another.

then there are the days you spend with just your boyfriend. he doesn’t mention your friends and neither do you, but you notice the way his gaze flickers to your phone whenever it lights up with a notification. like a mutual taboo, he simply continues the conversation after a pause and you don’t point it out.

and then there are the rarer days that you spend with just the eight of your friends, like today– the ones that feel like the old summers that you have started to yearn. and yet, even with the familiar essence of the past, you start to notice them. the subtle differences.

it’s not obvious at first. the casual displays of affection that have extended beyond habitual touches and have just become who they are are still there. but there’s something about the attentiveness with which seonghwa dusts the powdered sugar off of yeosang’s cheeks when he’s eating. or in the naturalness with which wooyoung moulds himself into san’s side when they sit on the couch. something in the way mingi’s entire body relaxes whenever yunho gently thumbs the nape of his neck, and in the softening of hongjoong’s eyes when jongho speaks up in conversation.

maybe it’s because you find yourself no longer a part of their shared love, regardless of how platonic it may be between you and the boys. ultimately, it’s easier to notice things when you’re watching on as what feels like an outsider. and it makes sense that the dynamics of your friendship would change, considering how deeply embedded physical affection is within your group and the fact that you now have a boyfriend, but there’s something more to their interactions– you’re sure of it. you just can’t put your finger on what exactly.

it’s that thought that reminds you of yunho’s words when he and the rest of your friends had turned up a week before the start of summer. “what did you mean about things having ended up this way when you guys came down to namhae early?” you suddenly ask, eyes looking away from the television screen where the round of their game has just ended. “and wasn’t there something else you guys had wanted to tell me about?”

clearly not having expected your questions, yunho blinks as he formulates a response, “yeah, there is. just–maybe talk to mingi first. you’ll probably want to hear it directly from him.”

and hongjoong needs to talk to you first, too, yunho thinks to himself. except, he wonders whether there is even a point to it anymore.

your heart sinks at yunho’s words because you have a feeling it has to do with mingi’s parents. and his parents are never good news. right at that moment, mingi emerges through the doorway after his shower, a towel draped over his shoulders as he uses its ends to roughly dry his hair. he stops in his tracks when he notices you and yunho staring at him.

“i know i’m hot but you don’t have to make it that obvious,” he jokes.

you snort and shake your head, getting up to your feet and walking over to him as yunho watches knowingly. “come sit outside with me for a bit?” you ask mingi.

he agrees, pulling the towel off and tossing it onto the back of a chair to dry. you catch a whiff of san’s shampoo when he moves, the fragrance of cedarwood and bergamot that all the boys end up being scented with each summer filling your nose.

the two of you sit on the embankment just outside san’s house, legs dangling off the edge of the port. you can just barely toe the start of the sand but mingi easily shuffles his feet in it, drawing lazy patterns in your company. after a few minutes of peaceful silence, he nudges you gently albeit playfully, “did you want to ask me something?”

you chuckle at having been exposed and nudge him back in response. he never budges, torso bigger and more muscular than you can move, but it doesn’t stop you from trying and him from laughing endearingly.

“i asked yunho why you guys came down earlier this summer and he said to ask you,” you peer at him, treading carefully with your next words, “is everything okay?”

he takes a breath, exhaling long and slow. “i came out to my parents,” he reveals. “told them i’m bi and…they didn’t take it well.”

mingi doesn’t need to elaborate for you to understand that his parents didn’t just ‘not take it well’. you can only imagine the hell that broke loose. “oh, mingi,” you sigh, eyebrows knitting together with hurt.

“i also told them that i’m dati–”

the sound of the door opening and the call of your name stops mingi from finishing his sentence. it’s yunho with a ringing phone in his hand. “you might want to take this call,” he alerts you.

frowning, you make a stand to reach for your phone, asking, “who is it?”

he glances down awkwardly at the screen that is still on. “your boyfriend.”

you’re just about to slide the answer button when the call disconnects and you see that including the one that has just ended, you have four missed calls.

“oh, shit,” you can’t help the curse that slips out of your mouth. four missed calls is never a good sign from anybody, much less your boyfriend, who has also sent you several texts asking where you are.

seeing the darkening of your expression, yunho misses the girl whose biggest worry was the number of ice cream scoops to scam hongjoong out of. he misses the girl whose smile was brighter than the reflected sun on san’s surfboard. most of all, yunho misses the girl he has fallen in love with.

“y/n, i’m going to be honest with you,” he hesitates slightly. “i don’t think he’s the right one for you.”

you know that yunho’s looking out for you and his heart is in the right place, but it’s not what you want to– or need to hear right now. and perhaps, there’s an inkling of you that already knows. still, you try to keep your voice even when you reply, “i’d know if he’s not.”

you turn to mingi next and shoot him an apologetic look, “i’m sorry but i should probably call him back. we’ll talk later, yeah?”

mingi doesn’t know when later will be and neither do you. but he simply nods and lets you go, watching dejectedly as your form disappears back into your house at the same time san steps out of his. he had been carefully observing from the window the moment yunho had walked out with your incessantly ringing phone in his hand.

“guess he takes priority over us now,” mingi sighs.

san looks at him bittersweetly, “that’s what happens when you find somebody you love. like johnny is her priority, you are my priority and yunho’s. in fact, you’re the priority of five other people as well.” despite the fact that he is shorter, san still reaches up to flick mingi’s nose affectionately as he fondly states, “aren’t you lucky.”

mingi scrunches his nose in retaliation and san diverts the topic, “now come on, are you going to just stand back and let yunho win the game again?”

the younger grins, light returning to his eyes as he cheekily suggests, “you distract him while i cheat?”

“i’m right here,” yunho protests, but he’s shaking his head dotingly. together, he and mingi make their way back into the house, hands finding each other as they pass through the threshold.

san lingers behind and stares at the closed door of your house. for the longest time, you have been one of san’s priorities, if not the priority. over the last few years, the number of his priorities have steadily grown and you now share the top of the list in his heart with seven other boys. your happiness is san’s priority, as is the happiness of the others.

but what happens when interests start to conflict and your boyfriend– and by association, you– becomes a reason for unhappiness amongst the people he cares so dearly for? what happens if there comes a day where he must choose between his priorities and push somebody down the list, or worse…completely out of his heart?

you’re just as troubled when, half an hour after his missed calls and your subsequent response asking to meet up, you and johnny aimlessly wander the streets of the neighbourhood. the air is tense and despite the cry of cicadas, the silence from the lack of conversation is the only sound that you can hear. you can tell that he’s displeased by the fact that you had been with your friends, but you’re not exactly happy with him right now either.

you know an argument’s brewing– one that has been long coming, perhaps since the start of summer. you could have chosen to take the night to cool down, but it will eventually boil over one day, be it him or yourself. better to address it now than wait until it’s too late, and perhaps you can salvage it before it does boil over.

“why did you call me so many times?”

johnny knows you’re not only asking about tonight, and definitely not only about his phone calls. and yet, your tone is not accusatory, only genuinely curious and open to understanding his reasoning and emotions. solely because he feels guilt starting to prick his insides at your question does he make an attempt to reign in his childish jealousy that has reared its head so many times in the last two months.

“i didn’t know where you were,” he halfheartedly answers. “i thought something had happened.”

you both know it’s a lie– a pretty bad one at that. you had texted him just mere hours ago telling him that you would be at san’s. at his excuse, you raise an eyebrow.

“i don’t like the way they look at you,” johnny finally admits, partially showing his true colours. “especially san.”

you had guessed just as much and you can see why he might feel that way, but you want him to see where you’re coming from, too. “we grew up together, johnny. we’re each other’s best friend and he doesn’t like me like that.”

warm breath ghosting over your lips and then disappearing just as fast flits across your memory. “none of them do,” you emphasise. “and i’ve been transparent about hanging out with them when you’re not there, haven’t i? i literally texted you a few hours ago.”

he hesitates, “i was busy playing basketball with my friends. i missed your text and then you didn’t reply or answer my calls…” the way his voice drops off the more he talks is a good indicator that he knows the patheticness of his justification.

“and i was busy with my friends, too,” you reason. “you’re not glued to your phone, and neither am i.”

you continue when he stays silent, “you’re my boyfriend and i understand that it can make you feel uneasy when i hang out with so many guys, but you have to understand that they’re my friends, and my closest ones too. i would appreciate it if you give me more space when i’m with them, but i’ll also try to make sure i’m reachable on my phone so you have a piece of mind.”

you look at him and search his eyes for any indicators that he has more to say. from the way his jaw clenches subtly, you know that he’s disgruntled at best. but to your surprise he does not protest, instead nodding and walking you back to your house. you can’t tell whether the silence this time is slightly better or just as suffocating.

when you reach your front door, the lights are still on in the neighbouring house and you can hear the muted ruckus of laughter. as you unlock your door and pull it open, your boyfriend surprises you once more by calling out, “i love you.”

you learn a lot about a person simply from the things that they say, and sometimes–

“i know,” you reply gently, before shutting the door.

–you learn even more about a person simply from the things that they don’t say.

it’s two weeks after your conversation with johnny when he runs into some of the boys at one of the beachside cafes without your presence.

with autumn just around the corner, you’re spending the day transitioning the rice seedlings, now almost at the height of your thighs, from the wet paddies to the drier fields since your parents aren’t in namhae to do it. only mingi, yunho and jongho are helping you out; you had discovered the hard way last summer that letting all eight of them help you was, in fact, counterproductive when there were more plants being trampled on than safely moved.

and so while the four of you are working in the rice paddy, the remaining boys sit on the cafe terrace that overlooks the beach about a ten-minute drive from your and san’s houses. a hush suddenly falls over their conversation, elbows inconspicuously nudging one another and shoulders tensing when they spot your boyfriend making his way towards the cafe with a small group of his own friends.

a smirk graces johnny’s lips when his gaze falls upon the five of your friends, ignoring the courteous nod of acknowledgement that seonghwa attempts to make on their behalf and instead walking closer onto the cafe’s terrace. it’s not clearly audible, but it’s definitely direct enough for the boys to make out the words when johnny walks past and mutters, “fuckin’ pussies.”

wooyoung immediately reacts. “what the fuck did you just say?” he growls threateningly as seonghwa squeezes his thigh in anticipation of him standing up.

johnny pauses to look at them with faux innocence, “i wasn’t talking to you guys, but i guess if you’re offended–”

it’s hongjoong who rises to his feet first, chair screeching as it slides out from under his knees along the wooden deck. “you say one more fucking word,” he starts, eyes thunderous and fists turning white at his sides.

“and you’ll what,” johnny sneers, “run to my girlfriend crying? ask her to have a little talk with me?��

at the mention of you, both san and wooyoung join hongjoong on their feet. “watch what you say,” san looks at him dangerously. “don’t bring y/n into this.”

the commotion is starting to attract the attention of the staff and other customers in the cafe. seonghwa slowly stands, preparing to step in before it can escalate into something physical as yeosang grips the seat of his chair.

johnny steps closer and scoffs, “that’s bullshit. you guys can’t even take care of your own feelings so you have to hide behind my girlfriend like a bunch of pathetic losers. it makes no fucking sense for her to ask me to leave her alone when she’s with you guys.”

“and i bet it’s never fucking crossed your mind that maybe it’s an issue with something you’re doing–not us,” wooyoung reciprocates with his own bold step closer.

he’s suddenly jerked forward when johnny fists the front of his shirt and instantly everyone moves in towards the two. seonghwa wedges his arms against their chests to prevent wooyoung from getting dragged further forward, though the younger is fiercely standing his ground, teeth bared and eyes murderous. save for yeosang, who comes to stand protectively behind him, the remaining two boys are swept up into the beginnings of a scuffle as johnny’s friends step in as well.

“look at you, all riled up,” johnny goads, ignoring the hands that are trying to keep him subdued. “and she tells me that you don’t all want to fuck her?”

seonghwa inhales sharply as he attempts to overpower both wooyoung and hongjoong, who is now extremely determined to connect his fist with your boyfriend’s face. but to many of their infuriation, the fist doesn’t get a chance to hit its well-deserved target when there’s a firm shout over the commotion.

the cafe manager harshly warns, “we’re going to have to ask you all to leave the premises, otherwise we’re going to call the police.”

“wooyoung! hongjoong!” seonghwa hisses. “it’s not worth the trouble. stop!”

there are a few tense seconds of heaving chests and grinding jaws before johnny lets wooyoung go with a shove and hongjoong begrudgingly and slowly lowers his raised fist.

“you bitches got lucky this time,” johnny glowers. he beckons to his friends with a jerk of his head, still glaring at wooyoung, then kicks a chair out of his way as he leaves the cafe. in the wake of the confrontation, seonghwa turns to look at the manager and creases his eyebrows in apology, bowing multiple times to the other employees and customers too.

the manager nods wryly, “you and your friends are still going to have to leave.”

“we understand,” seonghwa replies, beginning to usher hongjoong and wooyoung towards the exit. “we’re truly sorry.”

as the five of them walk out, his eyes dart around anxiously in case your boyfriend and his friends are still lingering around. muscles taut and on edge, seonghwa makes a decision as the oldest. “let’s go home,” he declares, “we can wait there.”

they pile into the jeep wordlessly and san turns on the ignition, pulling out of the small car park and heading back to his. they’re only a few minutes away when wooyoung breaks the silence, “so who’s gonna tell y/n that her boyfriend’s a fucking asshole and that she needs to break up with his sorry ass?” he fumes. “because if no one’s going to do it, then i’m going to tell her the moment we get home.”

“wooyoung,” seonghwa starts.

“no, don’t wooyoung me,” he snaps. “he’s a fucking pretentious dickhead and she needs to know that. i don’t even care if we don’t ever get to talk about that other thing with her anymore. all i care is that he never gets to show his face in front of her ever again.”

seonghwa rubs his temples in frustration. he argues, “look, i agree with you and i’m not saying we shouldn’t tell y/n. but we need to put our feelings aside and think about this rationally, otherwise we could end up hurting her.”

“i think she’s going to get hurt regardless of how we approach it,” hongjoong snarks as the other levels him with a look.

“the campfire night is only a few days away,” yeosang points out. “maybe we should wait until that’s over…you know how excited she and mingi get about it each year.”

hongjoong protests, “and wait for her to bring johnny along on the day? sorry, but not even seonghwa is going to be able to stop me from sucker-punching him to the ground.”

“surely she’s not going to bring him. it’s a day just for us,” yeosang frowns.

san feels their questioning gazes settling on him and he glances in the rearview mirror to confirm his hunch. “i don’t know, probably not?” he answers whilst shrugging, turning into the small street that leads to your house. “but honestly? i think we should wait until after that day to talk to her. i don’t see the point in ruining it for any more of us.”

seonghwa agrees and adds on, “and only one of us should have the conversation with her. san, you’re probably the best person out of us.”

san hums in agreement, slowly braking the car to a stop before he turns in his seat to look at the rest of them. “i’ll find a time to talk to her and in the meantime,” he looks at wooyoung and hongjoong gently, knowing how frustrated they must be feeling, “we wait.”

there’s only a few more days until the campfire– they only need to hold out for a little longer until then. what could possibly go wrong?

“are you sure it’s a good idea to leave hongjoong and y/n to get the snacks together?”

seonghwa tenderly thumbs yeosang’s lips from out of his teeth, where he has been biting the corner of his lips in worry, and answers, “he’s hopeless at buying all the other things and she knows what snacks we like the best.” seonghwa knows hongjoong’s way of being confrontational is stark and direct, but he also has faith in the other that he won’t prematurely bring up your boyfriend and risk hurting you with the conversation.

you make your way down the snack aisles of the grocery store with hongjoong and it feels both familiar and foreign. there are no shopping cart races or invisible finish flags this time– only the two of you and the baskets in his hands as he carries whatever you pluck off the shelves. it’s been a while since you’ve had time alone with hongjoong; not since the incident last summer.

looking down at the shopping baskets, you put another packet of banana crisps in before commenting, “let’s get some sweet things and then that should be enough for the ten of us.”

hongjoong cocks his head, “haneul’s coming?”

“...no,” you look at him carefully, “johnny is.”

“johnny? you’re joking.”

you frown at the sudden coldness in his tone, “he’s my boyfriend, hongjoong.” johnny had been strangely adamant about going today and you had also noticed he seemed to be irritated about something. so quite frankly, you weren’t about to tell him no.

“and he’s also an asshole, you know that? why are you even dating him?”

you know your boyfriend and your friends still aren’t on amicable terms, but you’re honestly getting tired of feeling like you have to justify yourself and your dating life. and considering you have just had a talk with johnny to try and make things better for everyone, you can’t help but feel like you are being pushed into a corner yet again.

“asshole or not, at least he’s honest about his feelings for me,” you retort pointedly.

“oh?” hongjoong scoffs in disbelief, “is that what this is about?”

you challenge him with a glare, “what do you think i’m implying?”

“so i’m the bad guy now? i thought you liked me. since when did you stoop so low as to throw yourself at any guy who makes a move on you?”

your jaw drops. “you know what? what the fuck is your problem?” you shove his chest in anger. “let’s not forget that you were the one who tried to kiss me first and you were the one who also stopped. yeah, i did like you, but at least i’m willing to admit it.”

you step in closer, breathing heavy as you continue heatedly, “what about you? what the fuck have you done that makes you think you have any right to say that my decisions are wrong.”

hongjoong grits his teeth, “you’re making a mistake dating him.”

“yeah, you would know something about mistakes,” you throw back sarcastically. “but then again, you were probably happy to pretend it never happened and forget about it.”

“don’t fucking put words into my mouth,” he warns.

“it seems to be the only way i can get you to talk about us. you have no issues giving me shit about my relationship with my boyfriend, but when it comes to our relationship it’s radio silence for a year.”

hongjoong at least has the decency to look guilty when he declares, “i was going to talk to you about it face to face.”

“whatever, hongjoong. it’s too late,” you brush him off.

you snatch the baskets out his hands and walk away, no longer concerned over what snacks the boys will have for the campfire later tonight. you just want to get away from hongjoong, so you do exactly that. you leave him alone in the aisle to stare at the view of your back walking further away from him. life is all about timing and hongjoong has long missed his.

hours later, mingi scans the room from where he’s perched on a stool at the kitchen island in your house. everyone is either lounging around, preparing the meat and cutlery or setting up the grill and table outside– everyone except for one.

“where’s hongjoong?” he asks nobody in particular. he doesn’t think he’s seen the other since they’ve all come back from the grocery store.

“he’s resting in my room,” san answers. “said he wasn’t feeling too well but he’ll join us later.”

you roll your eyes at the knives you’re counting out, opting to keep your mouth shut. what san doesn’t say either, though, is that he knows something is off– hongjoong was completely fine this morning and you were definitely in higher spirits.

there’s an abrupt knock at your front door and you put the cutlery down, saying, “i’ll get it.” you know it’s probably johnny so you don’t bother squinting through the peephole before pulling the door open and blinking, “you look nice today.”

your boyfriend has styled his hair so that it slicks back from his forehead, parted down the right side of his scalp. he’s dressed in his usual smart casual fit but has chosen to pair it with accessories to accentuate his collarbones and wrists. he shrugs, “wanted to look good.”

you lead him to the open kitchen and immediately, you notice the shift in the air. a few of the boys give a tight-lipped smile in acknowledgement, but the expressions on wooyoung and san, and even yeosang and seonghwa go blank or two shades darker. hongjoong’s uncharacteristic cold feet suddenly makes a lot of sense to san now.

“you invited johnny?” san’s question is eerily monotone. a blunt knife may not be able to cut through rope, but with continuous abrasion and chafing, even the thickest of ropes will eventually sever.

your voice is not entirely friendly when you reply, “yes, san. i invited my boyfriend.”

“and why the fuck did you do that?”

san’s swearing has you reeling in surprise, but it’s quickly replaced by pent-up stress and anger that has been lingering for weeks and exacerbated by your argument with hongjoong mere hours ago. your entire body starts to heat up when san continues to criticise, “we’ve put up with him for long enough, don’t you think? it’s one thing for you to date him of all people, but it’s another thing to bring him to this.”

you laugh bitingly, no longer concerned about trying to deal with this maturely. all you can think about is how san is hurting you and how you want to hurt him back too. “so you can bring whoever the fuck you want each year, but i can’t bring my own boyfriend?” you retort.

the silence is deafening. nobody moves as they try to process the words that have just been thrown at them. yunho’s eyes are wide with confusion more than hurt at how quickly this argument has escalated, and he slowly raises his arms out in front of him, “okay, i think we all need to–”

“whoever the fuck–are we just ‘whoever’ to you?” wooyoung harshly interrupts. “we’ve been trying to look out for you and this is what we fucking get in return?”

you know that you won’t be able to take your words back after you say them, but they slip out anyway as you counter, “i didn’t ask any of you to look out for me.”

yunho’s arms fall limply to his sides and seonghwa looks away. wooyoung’s words are resigned and stony when he stares at you dead in the eye and says, “you know, y/n. we needed this trip this summer…more than anything. but thanks for ruining it for all of us.” then he brushes past your shoulder and slams the front door on his way out.

one by one, the boys follow him out of your house– first yeosang, then seonghwa, neither of them able to look you in the eye. when yunho and jongho hesitantly walk past you as well, they give you a small, apologetic wince.

mingi still stands in the room. he has been quiet throughout the entire argument but his eyes tell a story of a million words. he’s filled with hurt and sorrow if not obvious by the wetness that starts to well in his eyes. “i guess you were just saying it when you told me i have a home here with you in namhae,” he chokes out.

your own eyes grow hot as you shake your head, “mingi, that’s not–”

but he leaves before you can say anything else. turning back towards the interior of your house– now looking far too spacious and vast without one of your friends occupying every available surface– you are left alone with just san and johnny. the heat of the fight is quickly slipping away, instead rushing all towards your eyes, and you call out san’s name. what for, you don’t know, but your cry is timid and desperate.

as much as it pains san to make a decision, mingi needs him– his boys need him, and they are his priority now. right there and then, san discovers for himself his final answer when it comes to choosing between love and friendship. he walks out of your house, turning his back on you.

you jolt awake feeling disorientated. your head feels clouded, eyes blurry from swelling and you’re still in the clothes from last night that you don’t recall falling asleep in. reaching for your phone, you wonder whether it has already ticked past noon for you to have woken up on your own, except you find that its dead. you roll over with a groan and plug your phone into its charger, then haul yourself upwards.

you rinse the stale taste out of your mouth before walking out to the living room and immediately, you’re hit with the memories and intense emotions of last night. there are packets of raw meat still unopened and bottles of soju still littering the table that you hadn’t tidied up. in the aftermath of the argument, you had told johnny to give you some space and to go home. you had then gone straight to your bedroom, covering yourself with the blankets in an attempt to hide yourself from the world and cried out your sorrows until you exhausted yourself to sleep.

you let out a long and heavy sigh, soul still exhausted to the very core, so you turn back towards your bedroom. you’ll clean everything up when you’re feeling a little more confident to face the consequences of last night. sitting on the edge of your bed, you reach for your phone. there are a few texts from johnny that you scroll past when something else catches your eye.

it’s a text from jongho, timestamped for 1:17 am. you and the boys rarely have a reason to message each other individually, preferring to use the group chat since there are no secrets shared. although, you suppose, none of you will be using the group chat for a while…

you tap on jongho’s notification. instantly, your heart drops all the way to the bottom of your stomach and past it. you think your heart is down in the fucking ground, because–

hey, wasn’t sure if you’d want to know or not but i think we’re going back to seoul in the morning

the numbers in the corner of your phone tell you that it’s already eleven thirty, and that’s when you hear it– the noise that had woken you up earlier. the distinct slam of a car boot closing shut. you jolt up to your feet, panic coursing through your veins as blood rushes to your ears and drowns out all rational thoughts. you forgo any shoes and throw your front door open to run outside, uncaring of the grit that digs painfully into the soles of your feet.

a brief flash of relief flickers across jongho’s face at your appearance but you miss it in your frenzy to make sense of what you are seeing. all three of their cars are parked in a line, their surfboards already strapped and secured to the car hoods or in the bed of the ute. the last of their luggage and duffel bags are being loaded and san is locking his front door.

every summer, the boys wait until the last possible second to leave, to the point where you have to forcibly push them towards their cars with fond laughter. it’s only thursday today and summer doesn’t end for another three days, and yet–

“you guys are leaving?” you ask apprehensively.

nobody answers you immediately. the only sound that punctuates the silence is the forceful slam of a door as wooyoung enters the car. hongjoong accidentally makes eye contact with you and his eyes narrow before he opens the door to his ute and also disappears.

jongho clears his throat awkwardly, “yeah, we’re heading back early.”

“oh…” you’re at a loss for words, unsure of how to react to this situation. “drive safe.”

like a parallel of last night, the boys enter their respective cars one by one, jongho giving you a subtle wave. guilt stifles you for the things you have said to the boys and you’re also consumed by hurt from the things they have said to you. but you know for certain that you cannot just let this friendship fall through the cracks like this.

as san makes his way to his jeep, which is parked at the front of the line as the lead driver, you watch carefully for any sign that things are still salvageable for your friendship. a smile, a glance, a nod– anything. but he simply pulls his jeep door open like you are invisible.

you hesitantly ask him, “i’ll see you next summer?”

san is expressionless but he may as well be glaring at you when he replies, “don’t count on it,” and for the second time of your life, he turns his back on you.

as san buckles his seatbelt in, trying his goddamn hardest to pretend he doesn’t see the tears now beginning to fall from your eyes, he tells himself that you’ve made your decision and he’s made his. he has chosen his priorities and will give you up, and yet, still he hopes that one day you’ll realise you deserve better and break up with johnny. san hopes that you’ll come across somebody more than better, even if it cannot be him.

before yunho also gets into the jeep, he pauses in front of you. he fists the sides of his pants to stop himself from reaching out to wipe your tears away. instead, he consoles, “i think we all just need a little bit of time, yeah?”

you nod numbly at his words. you’re forced to take several steps back out of the way after yunho also shuts his door closed and the engines hum to life in succession. unable to do anything, you can only watch helplessly as san’s jeep starts to pull away and the other two cars also follow.

“they’re finally leaving, huh.”

there’s only one person who would have amusement laced into those words. refusing to turn around in your state, you exhale shakily, “not now, johnny.”

“you honestly need better friends. everyone has a stick up their ass in that group,” he comments.

“i said not now,” you warn again, blinking the rest of your tears away when you feel anger creeping up in its stead.

“i should’ve just punched them when i had the chance to.”

you whip around to face him and yell, absolutely appalled, “johnny!”

“what?” he scowls. “they were the ones who started it.”

you grow deathly still. “started what?” you interrogate, and when he doesn’t let up, you step in closer. “johnny?”

“look, i ran into some of them the other day. that little fucker–wooyoung? he was basically asking to be punched. he’s lucky i let him off the hook,” he sneers.

you’ve known wooyoung longer than you have known johnny and you honestly find your boyfriend’s recount hard to believe. yes, wooyoung is hot-headed and rash, but he never reacts unless he has been provoked. or in other cases, his loved ones have been provoked.

“don’t you fucking dare call my friends fuckers,” you growl. is this who your boyfriend truly is? is this the person who your friends have been able to see through all this time?

“are you fucking serious right now?” johnny spits in your face, “you’re defending them? you always take their fucking side even though i’m your boyfriend.”

you spit right back, “and you know what? that was my biggest mistake. i should have never made you my boyfriend.”

johnny’s expression drops entirely. “are you breaking up with me right now?”

“yes, i am.” you confirm. “we’re over.”

you turn on your heel and for once, you are glad that he has shown up at your house, because it means you are a mere ten feet away from shutting your now-ex out of your life. you fumble with the door, vision rapidly blurring, then walk through and close it behind you. slowly, you lean back against the door. with nothing grounding you anymore, the tears escape your eyes once more and you don’t bother trying to hold back your cries.

all too fast, everything has come to a full circle of hurt. johnny turned his back on your friends, your friends turned their backs on you, and you have now turned your back on johnny. your chest shudders and heaves at the realisation, wondering where it all went wrong.

you want to seek out one of the boys for comfort– seonghwa or san– but you only end up dropping to your hands and knees, head dizzy from how hard you begin to sob, when you realise that that’s no longer an option. you all need time apart, both yourself and the boys. you know. but it’s much easier for them because they are going back to seoul together as their group of eight. they still have each other to lean on for comfort, whereas you are left behind to nurse your own wounds by yourself.

in the quiet of your house with the end of summer approaching in namhae, for the first time since meeting san, you are truly alone. it no longer feels like the nine of you against the world and whatever it may bring. instead, it’s you against the world…and the eight of them.

haneul takes all but one look at you before she’s making herself comfortable on your couch, tugging a cushion into her lap and patting the space beside her with a commanding air of authority. her expression tells you that there’s no room for argument, so you sink into the couch next to her.

the bewilderment must be obvious on your face when she asks you to spill what happened with san, because she simply reveals, “san messaged the family chat when he arrived back in seoul. and we all know he would give up surfing before voluntarily leaving namhae early.”

you slouch in on yourself, “we fought.”

as surprising as it is to hear, since she’s never seen you and san argue before, haneul had an inkling that that was the case after her little brother’s vague reasons. she probes, “about what?”

you tell her about everything. how you started dating johnny, how the boys came early for the summer and how you tried to get them on friendly terms. how your friends were constantly telling you to break up with him and how your boyfriend was always unhappy about you spending time with them. you tell her about the near-kiss with hongjoong last summer and the confrontation you had with him this summer. the argument you had with all the boys and the break up with johnny. everything.

haneul’s quiet for a while as she tries to piece together your story and her own thoughts. “did they ever tell you why they were so against you dating him?” she finally questions.

you shake your head and she asks, “then did you try talking to them about it?”

you slowly shake your head again, slightly ashamed by your own answer. you had been so focused on finding fault in the different ways the boys could have expressed their disapproval regarding your boyfriend that you didn’t think of the multiple opportunities you had to work out why those opinions existed in the first place.

“what do you think of it all, then? obviously, you would have broken up with johnny for a reason–or did the criticism from the boys just become too much?

fiddling with the hem of your shirt, you look down at your lap. “he was a decent guy…up until summer and the boys came over. that’s when he started acting differently and,” you pause, trying to find a nicer phrase before giving up and settling on, “became an asshole.”

she nods, waiting as you elaborate, “he became more overbearing and possessive, especially when i was hanging out with them when he wasn’t present. and he was just always so pissed. he was dead serious about getting into a physical fight with wooyoung. and we both know that none of the boys would ever start a fight for no reason, much less a fistfight, so johnny had to be the instigator.”

the way that you are solely picking out the faults of your ex does not go unnoticed by haneul. “y/n,” she stares at you seriously. “are you upset about your break up, or your argument with the boys?”

her question stuns you because it’s quite obviously both, but she stops your reflexive response with the instruction, “think about it before you answer me.”

you close your mouth and look at your lap again to actually process your own thoughts and feelings. what are you thinking and feeling? johnny…you had sort of known already that he would not be a constant in your life for much longer. from the moment you had started comparing him against the other boys, it was already the beginning of the end.

but san and the others? they are and have been the sun to your solar system for years; your providers of vitality, warmth and summer who you cannot live without. there’s a constant, gravitational pull that keeps you all together, except the balance has now been thrown off entirely. you realise what the answer was all along and you quietly admit, “the argument.”

she places a hand over yours, comfortingly stroking your knuckles as she sympathises, “i think so too.”

promptly, you feel your eyes pricking with the sting of tears and in a moment of fragile vulnerability, you plead to haneul in a shaky voice, “what am i going to do without them?”

“come here,” she whispers.

she pulls you into her, your body immediately going slack in her embrace. you cling onto her like a lifeline, afraid that you are going to drown in your cries of anguish. you don’t know how long you stay buried in her chest grieving for the friendships you have lost, but your neck and back are sore with stiffness by the time you calm down. still, she doesn’t let go of you– not until you make the first move to pull away.

haneul continues to stroke your hair, soft shushing noises as she rocks you back and forth with her. when your shuddering breaths have resided and steadied out, she breaks the silence softly, “y/n, i think there’s more to your heartache and regret than just feeling like you’ve lost your closest friends.”

your throat is scratchy when you mumble, “what do you mean?”

“i can’t tell you because that’s something that you’re going to have to work out for yourself. but after you figure out your own feelings, talk to them. communication is the first step to solving any problem, and i think you’ve realised just how much miscommunication could have been avoided leading up to the argument.”

you know she’s right, but your chest shrivels up on itself in fear. “what if they don’t answer my messages or calls? what if they really don’t come back next summer?” what if they hate me forever?

haneul rests her cheek on the crown of her head, “if they take a step back, then why don’t you take two steps forward?”

her words slowly sink in and when they do, you inch out of her embrace. haneul cannot help the smile that adorns her own face in tandem with the one that starts to peek out along your lips. your face is still red and blotchy but there is now a ray of emerging hope as your voice trails off, “you mean…”

“yes, y/n,” haneul nods. you feel goosebumps spreading across your body when she affirms your thoughts.

“go to seoul and talk to them.”

summer passes and autumn comes. the days grow shorter as the nights become longer and the weeks blur into a haze of monochrome darkness. the leaves and flowers fall off the trees, nature gradually stagnating and waning into nonexistence, much like the groupchat you share with the boys that has remained untouched since summer.

in a feverish state of resolution the very same day you had cried in haneul’s arms, you had booked an express bus trip that would take you directly from namhae to seoul. yet, despite telling yourself every weekend that you’ll make the trip, the ticket remains unused. whenever you see your last message to san– a meek question asking if he had arrived back in seoul fine– that continues to stay unread, your courage crumples and you reschedule the date for the following weekend.

the cycle repeats itself well into autumn. that is, until he breaks it.

you’ve spent the last few days thinking about this very moment. there are only a few minutes left until midnight, which will mark the end of jongho’s birthday. you’re unable to count the number of times you have opened his chat, typed out a message, then exited without actually sending it.

currently, the text cursor in jongho’s chat blinks back at you like your own indecisiveness wavering back and forth between messaging him and not. the minute ticks over once more– it’s now or never. you let your thumbs skim across the surface of your phone before you can contemplate any further. it’s a simple message; only reading two lines.

happy birthday jongho how have you been?

really, you mean ‘how have you all been?’ because you cannot care about one of them without also caring about the others.

you lock the screen and toss your phone to the side, pretending you don’t care whether he replies or not, as if your phone is capable of sensing anxiousness and will sabotage his incoming messages– that is, if any come at all. but jongho’s last messages to you had been the ones alerting you that he and the boys would be leaving namhae prematurely. surely an indicator that this friendship isn’t entirely lost.

the lecture slides on your laptop may as well be written in a foreign language as you restlessly eye your phone, wondering if he has seen your messages. you know it will be fruitless to continue studying, so you steel yourself for disappointment and reach for your phone. to your surprise, there’s a reply waiting for you.

thanks y/n, i’ve been good

it’s simple and only five words, but that in itself speaks volumes to your relationship. your heart skips a beat when the messages in his chat shift upwards once more as a new text comes in like an afterthought.

i miss you

really, jongho means ‘we all miss you’ because you can be angry at someone, feel hurt by them, yet still love them all the same.

his confession stuns you frozen, your fingers hovering in place over your keyboard. it fills you with longing for more and hope for what may come, but also fear for what could happen. jongho has taken a small step to meet you halfway and you are absolutely terrified of messing things up once more. with your heart pounding in your chest, you carefully type out your next message, send it and then hold your breath.

can we call?

your fingers repetitively trace the rim of your phone case back and forth as you wait for a reply. there’s a rising swell of panic that continues to grow when nothing comes and you even exit and reopen the app. what you don’t know is that jongho almost trips onto his face in his hurry to untangle his legs from out of his blanket so that he can lock himself in the bathroom to call you without waking the others.

the phone nearly falls out of your grasp when the screen suddenly lights up not with a message but a call. you let it ring for a few seconds to gather your own composure before sliding the button to nervously answer, “hello?”

“hello?” comes jongho’s reply.

your voices overlap as you both simultaneously talk, “can you hear me–” “hi–yes, can you hear me?”

“yeah, i can hear you too, hi,” you breathe out, face breaking out into a smile.

the exchange has jongho letting out a giggle and the sound immediately releases all the tension that has built up in your body. your eyes start to mist over as you let out your own bashful laughter, because it is so much more than just missing the sound of jongho’s happiness. you’re reminded of crashing waves and windswept fringes; heavy surfboards and helping hands– the summer days when everything was happier and simpler. how did everything end up the way it has?

“thank you for replying to my message, jongho,” your voice is unsteady.

he must hear the way your throat threatens to close in on itself, because his voice is warm-hearted when he tells you, “no, thank you for reaching out first.” and as much as he finds it difficult to express himself, his next words spill out easily. “sorry i didn’t do it first…it must have been hard for you all this time.”

and just like that, so comes the first of many owed apologies. it doesn’t matter that you have to be awake in five hours to make it to your first lecture, nor that you don’t have a perfected script for all the things you want to apologise for. and it doesn’t matter that jongho is starting to feel cold sitting on the bathroom floor, nor that he can’t hold you like he wants to do. what does matter is that you’re both talking again.

as the night grows older, the conversation eventually flows away from raw confessions of your hearts to familiar topics of your mundane lives. it feels like the normal phone calls you used to have with the boys, except this time it’s only with jongho.

“what about you? have you been busy?”

you nod, even though he can’t see you over the call, “i’m trying to keep up with classes but it’s hard with all the assignments due soon.”

“yeah, i have another huge film project and it’s taking up all of my time, too,” he exhales, then tentatively asks, “what about…how’re things with johnny?”

it’s strangely exciting to clarify, “we actually broke up a few months ago.”

you can hear jongho’s sharp inhale even from over the phone. the conspiratorial tone of his voice painfully reminds you of wooyoung’s nosiness as jongho asks, “please tell me you broke up with him and not the other way round.”

“yes, i broke up with him,” you chuckle. “he talked shit about you guys the moment you all left, so i dumped him.”

“he deserved it,” he gleefully states.

“only i get to mess with my friends…literally.”

the joke is at the expense of yourself, but it feels uplifting to be able to start laughing about it now that you have started making amends, even if it is only with one person so far. knowing you have somebody on your side makes all the difference in the world.

“it’s actually sort of funny you say that,” jongho muses over the phone. “remember that truth or dare question? the one about choosing between love and friendship?”

you hum in affirmation, “san and i picked love.”

“and look at you, picking us over johnny,” he teases.

huffily, you banter, “picked you guys even though you all left me.”

there’s the tinkle of laughter from over the receiver, but it’s cut short by a faint knock. you hear jongho murmuring to somebody before his voice becomes audible again, “hey, sorry, i need to go now. someone needs to use the bathroom.”

you resist the urge to ask why he’s even there in the first place, but you just tell him that it’s okay, considering how late the time is anyway.

“i’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“yeah, tomorrow,” you affirm. the wide smile on your face makes your cheeks ache as you grip the phone to your ear and wait for him to hang up. you hear the sound of rustling as he stands up and turns the doorknob, then there’s a voice in the background asking, “is that y/n?”

but before you can try to discern who the voice belongs to, the call ends. you don’t let the slight disappointment dampen your spirits though and you fall back to lie on top of your bed. jongho’s last words to you have made you feel like a giddy teenager– tomorrow feels too far away.

but his words before his last words also make you feel like a teenager. only it’s not giddiness but the uncertainty and confusion that comes with adolescence as you try to navigate and understand your own feelings about something. in the face of the situation, had you truly chosen friendship over love contrary to your own expectations?

it makes sense at first to think that’s what has happened, but you’re suddenly reminded of haneul’s words– that there is more to your heartache and regret than just feeling like you have lost your closest friends, and that you need to figure out your own feelings before talking to the boys. if you have stood by your own values and chosen love over friendship, then that means…the heartbreak that you feel is grief not for lost friendship, but loss of your first loves– because you are in love with all of them.

that spark of feelings that had remained for the boys had never become fully extinguished. when you agreed to date johnny, perhaps it was only because he had reminded you of them and you had mistaken the flutters in your stomach for romantic attraction to him. and so, left unattended, that very spark has now flourished into a wildfire that can no longer be controlled, neither can it be contained– it’s time for you to talk to them.

you pick up your phone again and send out a message, this time with no hesitation. it reads, ‘i need your help’.

and the reply is immediate.

anything you need

it’s the first day of winter when you arrive in seoul.

you get off the express bus at the terminal with both hands empty and only the bag on your back; you don’t plan on staying for long so you didn’t bring much with you. immediately, your breath fogs up in the frigid air and you nestle more snugly into the warmth of your coat. there’s a reasonable crowd of people at the terminal, so you crane your neck in search of jongho’s familiar tuft of brown hair, who had offered to pick you up knowing that this was your first time travelling up to seoul.

the last text he had sent told you that he had arrived and was waiting for you at terminal six. as you make your way closer, eyes squinting to discern whether you are seeing things correctly, you think you’re able to make out jongho’s side profile leaning against a brick wall.

except, he’s not alone. your footsteps start to falter because seonghwa is also there. ironically, he’s the one who spots you from afar. he pushes himself away from the wall and turns his body towards you as jongho questions whether he has spotted you.

ever since the night he had overheard the younger on a phone call with you, seonghwa has been aching to make things right with you again. he had been afraid that you would want nothing to do with them anymore and that you would slip away from their fingers just like that. but here you are in seoul, just a mere distance away from him.

seonghwa’s eyes start to water and your expression crumples almost immediately with his when he opens his arms with an offer of an embrace. his feet rush to close the distance when you throw yourself into his chest, the cashmere of his coat rubbing softly against your cheek.

“i’m sorry, hwa” you murmur.

“i know,” he whispers, stroking the back of your head, “me too.”

jongho silently watches with a small smile and allows you both to have your moment of reconciliation with each other. as you breathe in the comfortingly familiar scent of seonghwa’s cologne, you gesture for the other to come closer so that you can pull him into a group hug. and here, surrounded by both of them, despite there being several other things you want to say– poems of apologies and ballads of confessions– for now, this is more than enough.

seonghwa is the first to pull away suddenly as if he has been electrocuted. “hang on, are you and johnny still…” he trails off.

despite the snort of amusement that leaves you, you’re touched by his thoughtfulness to maintain respectful boundaries. “don’t worry, we broke up,” you reassure him, then you jokingly turn to jongho with an incredulous look. “you told him i was coming up to seoul, but didn’t tell him that johnny’s my ex now?”

he rolls his eyes good-naturedly, “that wasn’t in my place to reveal. plus, seonghwa was the one who looked over my shoulder and saw your text asking for my help.”

said man pretends to walk away innocently. you and jongho laugh, trailing after him towards the carpark as you ask, “what was he doing in your dorm anyway?”

“he crashed for the night. our dorm’s close to his workplace.”

when you reach their parked car, seonghwa tugs the passenger door open, but instead of hopping in he gestures for you to go first. you indulge in his chivalry with a chuckle, even more so when he places a hand along the top of the door frame in case you bump into it.

“thanks, hwa,” you say sweetly, shuffling in further when he scoots in after you and leaves jongho alone to sit at the front of the car.

“great, not even ten minutes of making up with each other and i’ve already become the third wheel,” jongho grumbles as he turns the ignition on.

despite the huffiness in his voice, jongho’s heart sings with happiness to see you and seonghwa already getting along like normal. he is willing to be the third wheel– even the ninth wheel– if it means that you and his boys can shine together every day. but for that to happen, it all rests on how the next hour unfolds.

“ready to go?” jongho asks, eyeing you from the rearview mirror.

are you? are you ready to talk to all of the boys at the same time? seonghwa gives your hand a gentle squeeze, and jongho nods at you reassuringly from the front; you’re not going into this alone anymore. you nod, “i’m ready.”

the drive takes less than thirty minutes and before you know it, you’re standing right outside the door to jongho’s shared dorm with wooyoung and hongjoong. jongho swipes and unlocks the door with his access card, however makes no move to push the door open. the fact that neither of the boys say anything to rush you spurs you on with enough determination to enter the dorm. the volume of their chatter increases immediately without the barrier of the door, and you take slow, hesitant steps along the short hallway towards the direction of the sound.

you appreciate when jongho takes the lead to subtly show you where to go but it still feels like you are intruding– which, you technically are, considering two out of three people who live here don’t know that you’re in the dorm right now. rounding the corner of the hallway, you discover that it leads straight to the living room where all of the boys currently are. so it’s fucking awkward when the sight of you emerging completely kills the conversation and a collective hush settles over the room.

you have to fight everything within you not to turn on your heel and just flee, because nothing has prepared you for their initial reaction. you hate the fact that you cannot tell whether the shocked expressions on yunho and yeosang’s faces are ones of delight or displeasure. you hate the way that wooyoung and hongjoong’s bodies tense and become guarded, ready to tell you to leave their dorm. but more than anything, you hate the way that san and mingi cannot even look at you.

“holy shit,” yunho whispers.

that’s enough to set off the others and hongjoong angrily questions, “what the fuck is she doing here?”

wooyoung looks at jongho, “is this why you told everyone to come over?”

you defend, “i was the one who asked jongho for help.”

“i wasn’t talking to you–”

you cut wooyoung off, contrary to your next words, “can you just shut the fuck up for once? i’m not here to start another fight. just–hear me out, please. i’ll leave as soon as i say what i need to.”

he glares at you and everybody holds their breath as they steel themselves for another full-blown argument. but wooyoung does as you ask and folds his arms angrily. nobody speaks, waiting for you to talk as you finally put your bag down and sit a safe distance away.

you close your eyes and take a breath to compose yourself. you refuse to let yourself cry this time. you’ve done plenty of that in the last few months and you have finally come to terms with your own feelings. “i…i’m sorry,” you start.

somebody scoffs, but you ignore it and let the words from your heart take over. “i’m sorry for being such an asshole over the summer–for letting my ex get in between us and for ignoring all the times you told me he wasn’t a good guy. i shouldn’t have assumed that you were all okay with me bringing him along whenever we hung out and i should have asked before inviting him to the campfire. that was something special for us and it was selfish of me to do that.

“in particular, i’m sorry for how that night went down. i know it doesn’t excuse what i did, but i had an argument with hongjoong earlier that day and i was feeling strung tight. i wish i had handled the situation better when i felt confronted about bringing johnny along, and i acknowledge that the words i said can’t be taken back, even if i didn’t mean them.”

nobody needs reminding of the words that you are referring to, because it has sat just as heavily in their hearts as it has your own. the sight of mingi ducking his head down even further has your heart clenching painfully.

even if he isn’t looking, you apologise to him directly, “mingi, i’m sorry we never got to finish our talk. i know that you were going through a hard time and that that trip was meant to be something healing for you–for all of you. namhae was meant to be an escape, but it probably didn’t feel that way…because of me. i mean it when i say you’ll always have a home in namhae and i hope that one day, you’ll be able to trust me on that. in fact, i hope that you all know that namhae is not the same without either one of you boys.”

you hesitate, because not even jongho knows about what you’re going to say next. you avert your gaze to focus on the carpet just in front of you so that you don’t have to see their expressions. “it’s taken this fight–almost losing all of you–and breaking up with my ex to realise just how stupid and blind i am to my own feelings. i always thought i would be happy with just being friends…but you are all so, so much more to me than just friends and ‘whoever’. i think i’m in love with all of you and i know it’s unconventional, but…i guess love has no limits.

“but i’m also going to be honest. i’m still hurt by the things some of you said or did. it hurt that some of you criticised my decisions without thinking about how that might have made me feel. and i know it wasn’t your intention to, but i felt like i was being backed into a corner multiple times when you kept repeating the same things over and over again about my ex without any real constructiveness to your words.

“i don’t expect you to apologise right now, nor accept my apology, and i don’t expect any of you to respond to my confession. i want you all to have enough time to work out your own feelings…if you want to. if you find it in your heart to forgive me and if you want to apologise, pursue friendship again or…maybe something more, then come to namhae and tell me in person.”

there’s half a year left until summer, and as much as things can change in six months, you also hope that this gives you and the boys time to work out what you all truly want from one another– be it friendship or love. nobody moves or says anything, trying to process everything you have said so you decide to leave them to it, having done your part. you make a move to stand and sling your bag onto your back.

“you’re leaving already? where are you going?” yeosang abruptly asks, standing as well.

“back to namhae,” you explain. “i booked a return ticket for the same day.”

san frowns and for the first time since you arrived, he looks at you. “you came all the way here…just to talk to us for half an hour?”

you give him a bittersweet smile, “that’s how important this is to me–how important you all are to me.”

he looks away, unable to hold your gaze. you turn to jongho to ask if he is still happy to drop you back off at the terminal, who nods and begins to pull on his puffer jacket.

“wait,” yeosang calls out. he skitters off down the corridor, socked feet pattering against the floor as he grabs something from his bedroom and hurries back in front of you. “here.”

he has a thick scarf that he holds out for you to take, but as you start to reach for it, he changes his mind. you hold your breath as yeosang carefully reaches over your head to drape the scarf around you. with tender hands, he wraps it around your neck before securing it with a knot. he continues to fiddle with the ends of the scarf and you’re starting to wonder why he is hesitating when he looks at you shyly and mumbles something under his breath. before you can make a noise of confusion, he darts off once again back into his room. seonghwa cannot help but smile fondly, because even if he is unable to hear what the other said either, he knows what yeosang means purely by his actions.

you’re accompanied out of the door by jongho minutes later, carrying a plastic bag of snacks and drinks from their dorm that seonghwa has rushed to put together for you to have on your way back. when you’re in the car, you also find a pair of black gloves in the pocket of your coat. you have no idea who put it there, but the sentiment of one of the boys trying to ensure you are not cold is enough to fill your entire body with warmth.

you may have arrived in seoul with both hands empty and only the bag on your back, but you leave seoul with their quiet acts of apologies and forgiveness on your hands, neck, and in the plastic bag sitting on your lap as your bus pulls away back to namhae.

a lot can change in six months, but a lot can also stay the same. it all balances on the peak of the fulcrum, waiting to teeter either way as summer arrives.

you’ve kept in touch with jongho and seonghwa, so you haven’t been left in the dark anxiously wondering whether they will be returning to namhae or not. but even with their arrival, the uncertainty remains as to which way the scale has– or will tip.

so you don’t walk out to greet them when you hear the resounding slam of shutting doors and the low hum of exchanged conversation, because you don't know whether the other boys want to see you or not. plus, there’s something embarrassing about seeing them for the first time after apologising, much less confessing to them without any certainty as to their feelings, and much much less to eight people at once. you’re doing a pretty good job at hiding and pretending you are completely oblivious to their arrival in namhae.

that is, until mingi knocks on your door. mingi feels like he’s fourteen again, knocking on yunho’s door and crossing his fingers hoping to god that it’s his friend who opens it and not his parents, because mingi feels embarrassed asking them every day if yunho can come out to play. this time, though, mingi’s nervous because it’s you and he’s nervous because six months is a long time where feelings can change. he hopes that yours are still the same.

you’re greeted by a shock of platinum white hair when you open your door and you realise it’s mingi with freshly bleached hair. it looks good– a little too good– and you have to force yourself to peel your eyes away. except your eyes travel down involuntarily to the contrasting black of his tank top, which is at least two sizes too large and dips down dangerously to reveal the shadows of his chest. you’re down bad, and it’s only been ten seconds since you’ve laid eyes on him since seoul.

mingi is looking at you amusedly when you finally lock eyes with him and he seems to stand a little straighter with confidence. he beckons with a gentle tilt of his head, “come surf with us?”

the casualness of his invite throws you off and you wonder if you’ve somehow missed the memo that he’s forgiven you. “you’re all okay with me coming?” you blink confusedly.

“the others can speak for themselves,” he puts it plainly, but then smiles, “i want you to come, though. it’s not the same without you. plus,” his voice mellows out earnestly, “someone’s gotta welcome me home, don’t you think?”

home. home is where the heart is, and for mingi, regardless of the arguments and fights, his heart will always be with the boys and you. because in anger, hurt and love, there is always forgiveness, and mingi has forgiven you.

shyly, you return his smile, “i’ll go get changed, then?”

“is that an invite inside?” mingi leans against the doorframe with faux coyness that manages to make the rounds of your cheeks heat up. you shove him back lightly with a laugh, trying to ignore the firmness of his chest under your touch.

he grins boyishly, utterly pleased with himself, but steps back so you can close the door. “take your time,” he reassures. “i’ll wait for you.”

and he does, just so that you don’t have to walk alone to join the rest of the group. even after you have thrown on a swimsuit and slathered yourself with sunscreen as best as you can, mingi is still outside and yunho has also joined him– you know because you can hear them talking as you search for your house keys in the hallway.

“what if it’s too late?” yunho asks.

“you don’t know that, not until you try,” mingi replies. “here, a kiss for good luck.”

you have no idea what the context for this conversation is, but it suddenly strikes you that apart from mingi, you’ve never discussed sexual orientation with the boys. you may have asked them to consider you romantically, but you can’t say for sure if they even like girls. from what you know, none of them have dated before, and now you’re suddenly wondering whether any of the boys are dating within the group. mingi and yunho are certainly a possibility.

but regardless, you realise this is probably not something you should be discovering by overhearing a conversation, so you deliberately drop your keys to alert them of your presence and wait a couple more seconds before you open your front door.

for the second time of the day, you’re absolutely floored. yunho has dyed his hair an ash grey and it falls over his forehead and down the nape of his neck in messy locks. there must have been a fucking enticing buy-one-get-one-free deal, because he’s also wearing a black tank top much like mingi’s, except his is form-fitting and putting every damned muscle of his upper body on glorified display.

not that you’re complaining. but it’s also very distracting when you’re trying to focus on what mingi is saying as you all make your way down the beach towards the shore, their surfboards hiked against their hips.

“you guys go ahead, i think jongho’s calling for me,” mingi suddenly announces before darting off.

you’re left alone with yunho, and from the back of jongho’s head who most definitely doesn’t even know you three have joined the group, mingi’s plan to slip away has succeeded.

“um,” yunho hesitantly starts, “do you want to try paddling out on my board? i’ll stay close.”

the last time you had attempted anything on his shortboard, you had flipped over and swallowed several mouthfuls of salt water. although you’re not particularly keen on repeating the experience, some things don’t need to be spelt out– the reason for his offer. only one foot is needed to push a bicycle into motion, but two feet are needed to keep it in motion. so you nod and let him drag his surfboard towards the shallow waters for you.

as you trail beside him, seonghwa and jongho greet you enthusiastically on their own boards out in the horizon. yeosang waves too from further down the shore and you lose some of the tension in your shoulders when you know that the intention behind his scarf was not misinterpreted. only san and wooyoung do not directly acknowledge your presence, but unbeknownst to you, the younger is carefully observing your interactions with the others.

“here,” yunho says, garnering your attention.

he holds the surfboard steady in the water, waiting for you to lie on top. his hands stay even after you gingerly shift and balance your weight onto your front. with his guidance, you slowly paddle out past the rush of whitewater waves. yunho is barely waist-deep in the water so he easily manoeuvres you and the board as you try to recall the familiar motion of paddling against incoming swells. but both of you know that you’re not really trying to paddle and he’s not really watching for mistakes.

eventually, you languidly let the waters caress your body as you still, letting the slight waves gently rock your surfboard. one of yunho’s arms have shifted over your back to support the opposite side of the surfboard and your body tingles whenever his forearm brushes over you. his other hand rests near your own, your fingers grazing together whenever the board dances over a swell.

it is within the serenity and solitude of the ocean, and the warmth and proximity of each other’s presence that the conversation happens. yunho apologises and you forgive. it occurs as simply as that, because actions speak louder than words and you have already shared a library of novels with your bodies.

from afar, wooyoung’s internal debate continues to teeter on its fulcrum as he watches the moment you share with yunho. wooyoung may be fast to talk, but he is also keen to observe. he sees the glow of relief and happiness returning to the faces of the boys. what he said to you summers ago still stands true– you make the boys happy and it’s obvious they make you happy too. and all wooyoung has ever wanted is to protect the smile of his loved ones, including you.

the radiance of the smile you give when yunho pretends to flip your surfboard over reminds wooyoung of his failure to do just that. in his blindness for the others, he had sacrificed your smile. the scale teeters over the fulcrum and he follows the momentum of his heart to wade out into the waters where you two still are, his apology ready to spill out.

and so you discover that a lot can change in six months, but a lot can also change in one day. with each relationship that stitches back together, rips now reinforced and sturdier than before, namhae almost feels the same again– summer almost feels the same again. you may still have the two hardest conversations left to be resolved, but if more time is what they need, then you are willing to wait for san and–

yunho and wooyoung scramble to steady your surfboard before you actually tip over when you suddenly move to kneel, head whipping around to confirm your fears. you hadn’t initially noticed as the boys had been scattered, intermittently ducking back into the house, but your heart sinks as you count the number of heads again. you’re unable to fight off the dread in your voice when you dare to ask, “where’s hongjoong?”

yunho’s eyes don’t meet yours and wooyoung’s mouth thins out tightly before he cautiously answers you, “he didn’t come.”

san likes to think that he’s patient. ever since he was young, his father had made sure to raise him to wait. wait for elders to eat before picking up his own chopsticks; wait for others to walk through the door before he enters; wait for others to choose their preference before he picks his. and san likes to think that he has diligently applied this principle to his relationships too. wait to understand someone before criticising; wait for his own anger to subside before talking; wait to reflect on his own wrongs before expecting an apology.

but right now, san is impatient. he catches glimpses of the sweet messages you send jongho and seonghwa and the joyous cackles you share with wooyoung when you prank yeosang. he notices the way yunho and mingi are attached to your hips, and san wants all of that and more. he wants to tell you he’s forgiven you and that he’s sorry too; he wants to cup your cheeks and thumb away the phantom tears he caused; he wants to love you.

but his body is acting as if it’s an entirely separate entity from his heart. he’s unable to approach you, even as he watches everyone else do what he wants to and it frustrates him to no end. and it’s as if the gods themselves also became impatient with his pathetic attempts– or lack thereof– because they drop the perfect opportunity right in front of him.

a quick look at his phone tells san that he’s been tossing on the couch for the last two hours. sleep fails to take over, so he hauls himself up and pads softly towards the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. he stares out of the window above the sink, where he can just see the stretch of beach towards the right. the moon shines brightly tonight and the rays decorate the sand and sea foam with dreamy tranquillity.

there’s a quiet rustle above the stillness of the night. when san turns around, his heart immediately clenches at the sight. you’re sleepily rubbing the bleariness out of your eye as you shuffle your way into the kitchen. there’s a stray tuft of hair that san wants to reach out and smooth down for you, but he opts to grip his glass of water tighter.

you startle, not having expected someone to be awake and most definitely not san. you had stayed over late into the night watching a movie marathon with the boys, and despite your protests, they had convinced you to crash in haneul’s room. tension doesn’t exist between you and the boys anymore, only awkwardness with san and…avoidance with hongjoong.

“couldn’t sleep?” you murmur, voice unguarded and still thick with sleep.

san shakes his head, “you?”

“got thirsty,” you explain, grabbing a glass from under the counter.

he hums at your answer and then it grows silent again. it’s only after you drowsily blink at him that he realises why you’re not making a move to get water– he’s still standing in front of the sink. san starts to step out of the way but thinks better of it. reaching out to grab your glass, he fills it up with water and then returns it to you.

“thanks, sannie.”

it doesn’t register in your head that the nickname has slipped out. for him, though, it echoes and ricochets in the very caverns of his ribcage. hesitantly, he mutters, “you’re welcome, pipsqueak.”

it tugs a smile out of your lips. “haven’t heard that in a while,” you muse. “kind of miss it.”

and i miss you. san is impatient, and he finally decides that he cannot take it anymore. “i’m sorry, y/n,” he whispers. “i know how badly i hurt you.”

the haze in your eyes immediately fades away at his words and he takes it as a good sign to continue. “i’ll be honest. i hated that the person next to you as your boyfriend wasn’t one of us–wasn’t me, because it didn’t look like he was making you happy at all. and that day you were out working in the field? some of us actually ran into johnny.”

you acknowledge sadly, “seonghwa told me what happened. i’m sorry he was like that.”

“that’s not on you to apologise,” san refutes. “i was the one who asked the boys to keep it from you until we could properly talk after the campfire night, but along with everything that had led up to that point, all my frustrations accumulated without even realising it.”

“i guess that makes the two of us, then. there were arguments you and i both weren’t aware of, and we ended up being the last straw for each other,” you chuckle wryly.

his voice wavers, “i’m meant to be the one person who is always there for you, but i made it feel like you were pitted against the eight of us instead and i’m so sorry for doing that. it should never have been me against you, nor us boys against you. it should have been all nine of us against the problem.”

you can’t help but take the opportunity to tease lightly, “are you calling my ex the problem?”

“exactly that,” he deadpans. “we all did.”

you nod, “thank you for trying to let me know, even when i didn’t listen.”

“no, i’m sorry we didn’t explain ourselves more clearly–or earlier.”

“but you have now, and i understand,” you reassure.

he nods gratefully before hesitating, “there’s something else behind all this that i can’t tell you yet, not without the others here. but when things are…okay with hongjoong again, that’s when we’ll tell you.”

something about his promise tells you that it has to do with the other part of the conversation everyone has been skirting around so far– your confession. faint memories of the interactions observed between the boys last summer and the brief exchange you overheard between yunho and mingi flicker across your mind.

perhaps you should steel yourself for rejection. you don’t dwell on it, though. this may have been the first time your friendship with san had been so close to shattering, but you know that it will take more than the entire universe to completely break you apart; you still trust him– because before it was the nine of you, it was you and san against the world.

“then are we okay now?” you ask, needing the confirmation.

“yeah,” he smiles breathlessly, “more than okay.”

the caverns of san’s dimples– the ones you love so much– shyly peek out to greet you in the faint glow of the moonlight coming in from the window. he reaches out silently and you understand immediately. you intertwine your fingers together.

san wants to ask you to go to bed with him. not to do anything sexual, but to simply hold you against his chest; trace the curve of your nose; wake up to your sleepy smile in the morning. but he can’t, not yet. not until you’ve worked things out with hongjoong, and not until you’ve had a talk together– all nine of you.

he settles for tugging you in the direction of haneul’s bedroom, hand never letting go of yours as he softly ushers, “let me tuck you back into bed.”

and so fifteen years after your first day of summer in namhae, you find that summer still takes the form of a sweet, dimpled boy who loves the sea and holding hands.

your instinctive reaction is to shut the door in hongjoong’s face.

when seonghwa had texted you asking you to open your front door, you had been expecting said man for obvious reasons. so when you pull the door open and see kim fucking hongjoong at your doorstep in fucking namhae instead, of course you slam the door shut. because why the fuck is he here?

“oh shit,” you curse, when it registers in your brain.

hongjoong is here and you’ve just shut the door in his face. if you had even an ounce of collectedness in you, you would realise that the boys’ initial and very much candid reaction of shock to seeing you randomly show up at their dorm in seoul is suddenly very relatable. you yank the door open again.

“sure, why don’t you just go ahead and punch me in the fucking face too,” hongjoong scowls.

immediately, you furrow your eyebrows, “well, if you’re offering…”

“oh, fuck off,” he raises his middle finger at you.

you raise both middle fingers in retaliation, “yeah, back into my house that you’re standing in front of.”

“for god’s sake–kim hongjoong!” seonghwa hisses in exasperation, head poking out of san’s door as he eavesdrops to make sure this exact thing doesn’t happen. “you’re here to apologise!”

hongjoong appears rightfully berated, then he looks at anything but you as he huffs, “can i come in?”

“depends,” you cross your arms defiantly. “are you going to try and kick me out?”

despite the prickliness of the conversation, it almost feels right in a sense. as if there’s no real heat behind your words and you two are back to the easy banter you used to have– before your near-kiss with him. this time, though, seonghwa hisses your name in frustration.

“geez! okay!” you fluster as you step back and open the door wider, letting hongjoong in and away from the prying ears of the older.

you sit tentatively on your couch and he mirrors you, scratching the back of his neck as he perches himself on the edge. it’s awkward and tense when it becomes apparent to the both of you that you’re alone. “i didn’t think you would come,” you break the silence.

he hums softly, “me neither.”

you don’t know how to respond so you don’t, allowing the quiet to settle over your living room once more. eventually, hongjong opens his mouth quietly, “i was–am ashamed of myself.”

you’ve been there before– on the other side of the conversation as the one doing the apologising. you know how difficult it is to be honest about your own emotions, particularly the negative ones, so you wait patiently for him to find the right words.

“i’ve been ashamed ever since the night i tried to kiss you. i was a coward and i did nothing to change it. i only ended up hurting you and i’ve regretted it every single day. i think about why i didn’t talk to you afterwards, why i said those things about you and your ex…why i didn’t just kiss you.”

you can’t help but inhale sharply at his confession, because that can only mean one thing.

hongjoong gathers the courage to look at you as he admits, “i did like you. i still do. but i was an idiot and thought that i was doing the best thing for everybody. i shouldn’t have made that choice for you nor tried to have a say in your love life. i was jealous and i know now how toxic i was being, which is why i was so stubborn about not coming to namhae because i didn’t think my apology would be good enough. so i’m sorry for all the things i said and did, but i’m also sorry that it took me this long to talk to you.”

he looks so uncharacteristically unsure of himself as he timidly asks, “will you forgive me?”

there’s not a moment of hesitation before you’re closing the gap between the two of you on the couch so that you can wrap your arms around him. and in a rare display of vulnerability, he tucks his face into the crook of your neck. you comfort, “i forgive you. there are a lot of things i’m ashamed of doing too. but we all make mistakes and that’s what helps us to grow.”

“you still like me?” he mumbles into your neck.

you laugh at the ticklish feeling, “very much so, hongjoong.” because in forgiveness there is love, and you have years of owed love to show the boys.

only when your sides become cramped and your necks become stiff do you finally pull away from each other. as you make eye contact with him though, you’re suddenly reminded of his confession. you know that you will need to have another talk with hongjoong about it, and you still don’t know where the other boys stand in terms of pursuing something romantic with you, but that will be for later. right now, you are content and at peace– the nine of you against the world once more.

“let’s go find the rest of the boys?” you ask.

he grins, holding a hand out to pull you up with him as he answers, “let’s go.”

just as hongjoong puts on his shoes by the doorway, he distractedly questions, “why are these here?”

you frown and follow his line of sight, settling on the top of the cabinet in your hallway where a pair of gloves sit– the ones you had discovered in your coat on your way back to namhae. “you know who they belong to?”

“yeah,” he nods, absentmindedly touching them before walking out the door. “i bought them last year, but they were too big so i gave them to san.”

it was san who hid them in your coat.

you numbly follow his steps outside where the boys have gathered in waiting and are sitting side by side on the embankment, facing the ocean. they are simply living in the moment, basking in the golden rays of sunlight and the warm touch of the person by their side– an arm around a waist; a head on a shoulder. you almost don’t want to disturb them, but you know the seven of them are not complete. not without hongjoong, and not without you.

and as your gaze meets san who smiles at the both of you, his chest swelling with relief, pride and love, you realise that san had bared his heart out to you long before you even knew.

once you fall back into routine with them, it starts to become obvious. the way the boys naturally gravitate towards one another with doting gazes and lingering touches; the casual use of a pet name or flirtatious joke; the shifts in dynamic you had noticed before that seem to extend beyond friendship. it starts to make sense when you realise that that’s exactly the reason– no longer are their relationships purely based on platonic love, but romantic love.

it’s why yunho knocks his forehead against mingi’s just to see him smile, and why san pretends to grumble when wooyoung kisses his cheeks, only to give the younger a proper kiss mere seconds later. it’s why jongho never lets yeosang carry his own surfboard even if he’s just as strong, and it’s why seonghwa and hongjoong like to disappear into the shower together.

but the longer you mull over these interactions for, the more you realise that they don’t seem to be simply ‘paired off’. you notice how jongho refuses to be cuddled but will nestle against seonghwa when he’s tired, and how yunho and yeosang seek out each other’s company before bedtime. you notice how wooyoung squeezes hongjoong’s ass underwater to make him yelp, and how san and mingi are content to just sit together on their surfboards on the sand.

rather than a question of who is with who, it becomes a question of who isn’t with who, and this time, you also find yourself mixed into the equation. but it confuses you whenever they treat you the same and you find yourself holding back despite your feelings, because it’s much harder to tell what kind of love they’re giving you when you yourself yearn for the intimate type.

san notices the change in your demeanour, as small as it may be, and decides it’s time for the talk. so here the nine of you sit on the beach that stretches in front of your houses. the sand is still warm from the sun even as it starts to dip towards the horizon of the sea. yeosang’s jacket lays over your bare legs and a slight breeze tugs delicately at your clothes.

“okay, so who’s telling her?” yunho elbows wooyoung as soon as the words leave the latter’s lips.

“what? how else are we meant to start the conversation?” wooyoung complains before mocking, “the reason i have gathered you all here today–”

rolling your eyes, you cut to the chase, “are you all dating each other?”

wooyoung chokes on his own words and everybody else looks at you with wide eyes.

“how’d you know?” yeosang startles.

seonghwa agrees, “i didn’t think we were that obvious,” but when you simply raise an eyebrow in response, he’s quick to amend, “okay, maybe we were.”

san eyes the others to see if anyone wants to step in and lead the conversation, but when nobody does, he speaks up to explain, “we’ve been dating each other for just over a year now–so before last summer. it took a bit of time to work everything out, establish boundaries and communicate what we wanted from one another, but we’re happy like this.”

“once our relationship had settled down a little, that’s when i came out to my parents,” mingi adds, “which didn’t go down well. we wanted to tell you last summer too, but…other things happened and it all fell through before we could talk about it.”

yeosang meekly scratches the back of his neck as he says, “it’s long overdue, but we’re telling you now.”

the chuckle that comes out of you is light and carefree. “i’m happy for you guys,” you affirm sincerely. “i don’t think there’s anybody else who is more perfect for you guys than each other.”

you truly do. you’re thankful that they have one another and you finally understand how hard it must’ve been for san during your argument to pick a side. his boys were and are his priority and you cannot fault him for putting them first. but then you’re reminded of hongjoong and his confession. are the others aware of his feelings?

said man has the audacity to frown at you in confusion. “why does it sound like you’re just wishing us well?”

“am i not allowed to do that as your friend?” you mirror his expression.

“god,” hongjoong exhales. “do you think we’re telling you this just to reject you?”

“of all people to say that–rub it in my face, why don’t you,” you grumble.

he starts to grasp the situation as he looks at the rest of the boys, “wait, did nobody fucking confess to her apart from me?”

the explosion of responses to his question is immediate.

“you confessed–” “–i thought we agreed to confess together–” “–trust you to cut in line! that’s not fair!”

your eyes dart wildly from side to side, unsure of who to focus on as they all start to passionately talk over one another. at one point, someone tries to chuck a handful of sand in hongjoong’s direction, but it scatters innocuously before it can even get close.

“hold the fuck up,” you yell over the commotion. “confess what?”

“how did you figure out that we’re in a polyamorous relationship but not that the feelings extend to you as well?” yeosang judges you.

“i didn’t want to project my own feelings and misconstrue anything. plus, none of you have actually mentioned liking or dating girls before, so i just…”

“assumed we didn’t have feelings for you,” seonghwa concludes as you laugh awkwardly.

wooyoung deadpans, “we may have wanted to punch your ex in the face for his shitty-ass personality because we were your friends, but we were also jealous as fuck.”

“all of you?” you ask in disbelief.

“all of us. some of us were just better at hiding it,” mingi looks pointedly at the boy sitting on his left.

“you’re one to talk about hiding your feelings,” hongjoong counters before turning to you to expose, “mingi wouldn’t shut up about you after he met you.”

mingi immediately shoves him backwards into the sand.

“look,” jongho cuts in, “what we’re trying to say is that we’ve all liked you for a while now, and if you still feel the same way about us, then we’d like to take our relationship with you to the next step.”

how many times have you wanted this moment– for all of them to return your confession. but now that it’s actually becoming a reality, it’s honestly a little daunting. “you’re all serious about this?”

a lot will change over the next year. most of you will join hongjoong and seonghwa as postgraduates and start full-time work. san will move back to namhae, but whether the others will follow or stay in seoul is unknown. there are a lot of uncertainties regarding the future and the relationship will only work if everyone is serious about making it work.

yunho answers on everyone’s behalf, “we’re very serious.”

you take a moment to look at all of them one by one, only to find the same promise within their gazes– that even if things become difficult, they want to face it with you by their side.

it feels right when san is the one to officially ask the question, “y/n, will you be our girlfriend?”

like san once said, it’s hard to find friends you love, but it’s even harder to find a friend you fall in love with, and you’ve been blessed with not only one, but eight of these people. between friendship and love, you already know from experience what you will decide– so you make your choice.

“i forgot, are hongjoong and wooyoung coming down this weekend?” san pokes his head in through the doorway.

you eye him from the mirror, face void of expression to reply, “don’t count on it.”

san’s pout is immediate and you laugh, shuffling over to console your boyfriend from where you had been getting ready in your shared bathroom. he grumbles, “you’re never going to let me hear the end of that, are you?” but he can’t hide the way his lips pull upwards the moment you press a chaste kiss against his cheek in apology.

“hongjoong said that there were a couple of delays with filming, so he and wooyoung can’t step away just yet. but they’ll come back next saturday if they can wrap things up by then.”

as you talk, san takes the halter straps out of your grasp so that he can help secure your top around your neck. “it’s so hard to align everyone’s schedules together. i miss the long holiday breaks we got in college,” you absently complain, body relaxing under the ministrations of san’s hands as he gently squeezes the nape of your neck.

“me too, love,” another voice joins the conversation. seonghwa walks up to tenderly ruffle san’s hair and nuzzles your temple with his nose. “but we have to work hard to pay off this house and to spoil you with whatever you want.”

seonghwa has grown out his hair and has kept it long since, and you love running your fingers through his silken waves before he goes to work every morning. he always looks so soft and cosy with his round glasses and fluffy sweaters that you know his school kids adore just as much as you do. but right now, his face bare of makeup and hair pulled back into a messy updo, wearing nothing but a pair of board shorts to show off his upper build, he looks the complete opposite of what you’re used to seeing and you feel your stomach doing flips in response.

you lean into both of their touches as you giggle, “we could have bought a smaller house. nobody sleeps in their own bedroom anyway.”

“well can you really blame us for being madly in love,” seonghwa grins, stealing a kiss from you that only serves to elicit more giggling.

“that’s true. your beds are always warmer than mine,” you agree.

“exactly. now come on, are you ready to go?”

the three of you walk downstairs to the living room, where the rest of the boys are waiting around in various mismatches of shirts, tank tops or only shorts. after two weeks of attempting to keep everybody’s clothes separate once you’d all moved in together, they had simply given up and made their wardrobes communal.

as you drop a spare bottle of sunscreen into your tote bag, a pair of arms snake themselves around your waist. you turn around, sweet smile ready to greet whoever it is. your jaw drops, “wooyoung?”

his eyes sparkle with mischief, even more so when your eyes grow even wider at the sight of hongjoong perched on the edge of the couch in the background and you exclaim, “hongjoong? i thought you two weren’t coming until next week?”

wooyoung takes the opportunity of your dazed compliance to pull you into a bone-crushing hug. “we caught up with the schedule,” he exclaims happily. “you should’ve seen hongjoong though. director kim made sure to work us hard.”

you playfully wriggle yourself out of the vice-like hug you’re in to bound over to the older, who automatically opens his arms to welcome you. you slot easily between his legs and his hands rub the sides of your back fondly as he looks up to ask, “did you miss me?”

forgoing an answer, you lean down to kiss him. wooyoung immediately complains, “why didn’t i get a kiss?” so san pulls him in for one to appease him. you’d never be able to leave the house otherwise, because then everyone would start demanding your kisses. and considering that it has been a few long months since you last had quality time with all eight of them at the same time, there would be too many wanted kisses to count.

one thing you had all agreed on prior to buying a house in namhae was to ensure it had a beach front, just like your and san’s old home. so it doesn’t take long to carry your surfboards– save for you; the boys like it when you use theirs– and towels down to the shore.

you close your eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of salt and subtle feeling of ocean spray on your skin. it’s a bittersweet emotion, knowing that it’s already the last day of summer, but only today have the nine of you been able to align your schedules this year. it makes you appreciate these fleeting moments of rest though, and you learn to find rest in each other too.

some of the boys start slipping off their tops, dropping them onto the sand to keep them dry as they surf. you’ve found that the greatest perk of dating them is that you’re allowed to openly and unashamedly ogle at them. the rigid shadows of their muscles reveal the discipline and hard work they put into maintaining their bodies despite their busy jobs.

san had also been monitoring his protein intake leading up to his recent dance showcase, so it’s very hard to look at the expanse of his broad chest and prominent dip of abs down his hips without feeling a rush of heat in your lower stomach. if the boys know that you offer to help them reapply sunscreen just to get a little handsy with them, then nobody says anything. (they offer to help you reapply your sunscreen as well.)

you’re content to just lie down on your towel and watch the boys, yeosang in his usual place by your side as he presses lazy kisses to your shoulder and traces the names of his lovers onto the skin of your stomach. mingi starts dragging his surfboard into the water, but when wooyoung attempts to push him in instead– and fails miserably– all thoughts of surfing are quickly forgotten. it becomes an absolute shitshow when hongjoong gets mistaken for the culprit and mingi picks him up.

“it wasn’t me!” the older shrieks, but mingi has no ears for reasoning and prepares to drop him into the water. unwilling to go down by himself, hongjoong grips mingi’s neck at the last second and successfully drags him underwater with his weight. as wooyoung runs away absolutely delighted by the outcome, his trajectory unfortunately runs into jongho, who cuts off his cackles with a giggle, a simple shove sideways and a resultant splash.

not even bystanders can catch a break, and seonghwa screams for mercy as san and yunho suddenly grab his arms and legs. they sway him from side to side before letting him go with the momentum of the last swing to fling him into the ocean. everyone erupts into a united clamour of glee at the dunking of the eldest and you find yourself shaking your head at their unchanging antics.

you don’t think you can ever get tired of watching their radiant smiles of happiness and shared touches of sun-kissed skin, nor can you ever get tired of hearing their tinkling chimes of laughter and rowdy shouts of mischief. you may all grow older and there may not be as much time or luxury to simply bask in the joys of summer any longer; these golden hours that you are living in right now may forever remain as your sole memories when you reflect back on the essence of your youth.

on this day– the last day of summer in namhae– you find that summer takes the form of shared ice cream with sticky kisses, long showers with warm touches, and hushed pillow talk with synchronous heartbeats. but it doesn’t matter to you, not anymore.

the seasons will change and the years will pass, but so long as you are with your boys, every day will be summer.

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