#i got some really fucking cool socks now

[chocosvt]

HER | part two.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 22.7k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that! 

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

updates: in terms of a posting schedule, i'm pre sure i'm just gonna post every saturday night ~12am EST (so technically sunday lol). taglist is included in the comment section since tumblr now has limit as to how many peeps are mentioned per post :p

thanks againnnn! 🌟

⇢ part one | part three | part four | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

—MAY 12TH.

Wonwoo was sat on his couch with your laptop glowing in front of him, one hand holding up his chin while the other scrolled slowly through your writing. Finally, you’d let him actually glean your work, and he was quite impressed with your natural skill. He supposed the biggest issue was the choppiness—your sentence structures were much like your racing tangents, and in some areas the writing lacked flow and a smooth continuality. But that sort of ability would just develop on its own as long as you were practicing.

For the most part, Wonwoo was leaving behind small notes and highlighting areas that you could revisit at a later time.

“Okay, I’m going to do a handstand.”

However, as Wonwoo had been combing through your work for the past half-hour, that left you with an apparent boredness which somehow translated into an acrobatics session in his living room.

“I’d really prefer you didn’t,” he answered through the fingers covering his mouth, his eyes trained with focus on the document.

“No, no. I used to be so good at them. Watch.”

Wonwoo was in the midst of typing a note when a small, circular embroidered pillow had suddenly struck the laptop, nearly forcing it shut. It was then that Wonwoo looked up with a long sigh, acknowledging the devious, shining smile that sprung to your face.

“Now that I have your attention—”

Wonwoo titled his head, folded his arms, and propped one foot onto the coffee table, somewhat like an exhausted parent who was being heckled by their child to watch the “special trick” they’d just learned. He was internally praying you actually were good at handstands, because that fragile pottery vase and the antique gold clock sitting on the fire mantel had never looked so breakable until now. A cool breeze slivered in through the open window as your arms began raising above your head, and he heard you inhale steadily.

“Go!” You then shouted, either in motivation or impatience aimed at yourself, loud enough to make Wonwoo flinch.

The next moment, you were basically flipped upside down, your socked feet sticking pointedly in the air while your hands stumbled about on the brown rug for a few seconds, attempting to find their place rooted in the fuzz. Wonwoo pursed his lip, impressed.

“See! Told you!”

“I mean, I never said you couldn’t.”

“Are you amazed?”

He watched with a slight bit of nervousness as you walked a few paces forward with your hands, though he kept his calm composure from the couch and dealt you about three dull claps.

“Cirque de Soleil is asking for you, actually.”

To Wonwoo’s utter relief, you collapsed back onto your feet, probably because the blood was gushing to your head and he’d rather not have you faint squarely on the face in his living room. You then sat on your knees for a moment, rubbing slowly at your scalp.

“I’m almost done,” Wonwoo reaffirmed, moving aside the stitched pillow you’d chucked at him earlier and reopening the laptop.

“Don’t let me rush you.”

He chuckled instantly. “You mean to tell me you’re not bored out of your mind? Why else would you be doing cartwheels.”

Finally, you got up from the rug.

“Um, it was a handstand,” you were hasty to correct him, now sinking into the seat beside Wonwoo on the couch with the circle pillow pulled onto your lap. “I could do a cartwheel, though.”

“Yeah, not in this house you’re not.”

“Not in this house you’re not.”

He merely smirked at your attempt to mimic him by employing a cartoonishly deep tone that you found very amusing, made evident by your prideful giggles close to his ear. Just as Wonwoo scrolled to the end of the document to type his last note, you were piqued with curiosity and leaned over his lap, grabbing at the screen to examine how far he’d come during your hour together.

“So, where are you at anyway?”

Wonwoo pressed himself back into the couch, immediately removing his hands from the keyboard. It felt like at the most random, unpredictable times you would swoop in so close to him, and he never quite knew how to react. Most times he would freeze, become stiff and hardly breathing, run his eyes in all different directions around the room because everything seemed easier when he pretended you didn’t exist.

He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.

“I’m basically done.”

“You are? Okay. Hm… it seems like you made a lotta notes.”

Wonwoo squirmed in his seat as though it were scratching him. You eventually pulled away, but your knee was now resting on the side of his thigh and you were sitting much closer than before—close enough that your shoulder was digging into his and he could sense your full, bright eyes burning a stare at his pink cheek.

“They’re mostly easy fixes…” he mumbled, refusing to look at you, instead scrolling impetuously through the document with jerks of his pointer and middle finger.  

“Well, what do you think of it?”

He paused, still staring at the laptop.

“Of what?”

“Wonwoo, my writing, obviously,” you said with a warm laugh and a soft breath that rushed over his neck in such a pleasurable, lightheaded way. “And look at me,” he heard you ask in a lower, more sincere voice, your fingers then ghosting along his tense jaw in a fleeting, sensitive touch as you guided his head gently in your direction, “I just want to know you’re telling the truth.”

He was accustomed to your eyes being filled with sparks and the readiness to pit the most sharp-tongued comment in history, and so Wonwoo was able to relax ever so slightly upon realizing how your gaze had become increasingly mellow, welcoming even.

“Well, you’re obviously good at it,” he managed to answer the question without his voice trembling, “just some pacing issues, mostly. You’ve got a bit of an issue with run-on sentences and closing up a scene. But you plan a lot, which is nice. I mean, you can only get better.”

An earnest smile picked its way across your face, framing your polished teeth and pushing up the apples of your cheeks. Wonwoo had to look away—sometimes it was too much—you were too much, and he refused to let himself drown beneath your intensity that he found purely terrifying. Your knee proceeded to pull from his thigh and you were now dragging your body off the couch, which meant that Wonwoo could safely exhale the breath he was holding. He wondered if you just wanted to hear the compliment, or if you were legitimately pleased with his praise.

You walked up to his fireplace mantel, examining the items left along the white, sparkling trim he’d spritzed clean of all dust.

“Did you make this?” Came your inquiry, a curious finger pointing toward the round-bottomed, thin-necked red vase.

Wonwoo shook his head.

“No, it was a welcome gift from the landlord.”

“She made it?”

“Yeah,” he hummed. “Didn’t I tell you? She owns the pottery business downstairs. Saskia. She immigrated here like, eighteen years ago, now. From Poland. I thought you might’ve run into her.”

Shaking your head, you turned back to the vase.

“I didn’t see her at all.”

“She was probably in her office.”

“How did she make all these little emblem thingies? Around the base? Like, this one’s got an elephant. This one is a fruit tree.”

Wonwoo squinted at the vase from his place on the couch. He hadn’t really examined it much, apart from when his landlord had thrust it into his hands while she welcomed him to the building. It never held any flowers, either—not even the brilliant ruby coloured poinsettias his ex-girlfriend's mother was supposed to send.

The relationship has disintegrated before it could ever happen.

“Fuck, don’t know. She has a bunch of little tools down there for more detailed work. Maybe a stamp. You’d have to ask her.”

“It’s really pretty.”

His brows furrowed. “Yeah? You like ceramics or something?”

You turned back to him, shrugging.

“I don’t know. I was just saying, it’s pretty.”

“It is. It’s very pretty.”

With a sigh, you climbed back onto the couch.

“Do you think you’re done editing?”

He picked up the laptop and set it down on the coffee table.

“I think so. For the day.”

“Perfect.” You smiled. “I’ll make time to read your notes tomorrow morning, if I can. Seems like there’s about eight-hundred.”

Wonwoo chuckled, “not eight-hundred. Try twenty.”

“Twenty?!” Your eyes bulged in shock as you gripped onto the embroidered pillow hugged back into your lap. “That’s so many!”

“What—twenty is somehow more than eight-hundred? What fucking planet are you living on where numeracy works like that?”

“Wonwoo, I have so much to do tomorrow!” You winced, tossing your head against the couch and slipping down the cushions.

“Okay, like what?”

“… Gosh… no, no. Fuck it. It doesn’t matter.”

“No, tell me. What have you got to do tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to tell.”

“Why not?” He murmured.

“If I talk about, then I’ll want to do it even less.” There was an empty sigh he heard from your chest as your arms curled tight around the pillow. “Besides, it’s squished all into my colour-coded block on the schedule. The pink one. I just—I don’t want to think about it.”

“Fair. I get that.”

“It’s complicated family stuff.”

Wonwoo huffed sympathetically. “I get that even more.”

“… So, we’re still good for Spring Street on Sunday?” You asked, staring up at Wonwoo from your sunken, defeated slump.

He nodded.

“I’ll be there if you are.”

—MAY 14TH.

The Spring Street Fair. It happened every single May, for three days straight, usually Friday to Sunday. In the daytime it was cheerier and more watered down for the children that came hand in hand with their parents, looking to feed the alpacas and ride those nauseating teacups and sob until exhaustion because they accidentally let go of their kitten-shaped balloon. However, at night, the fair had become a beacon for the older, rowdier university crowd.

Wonwoo never went despite all his recent years living in the city, but Vernon had, usually on accounts of “business” which really meant selling drugs for idiotic prices behind the Whirler or the Starship. You wanted to go, but hadn’t told Wonwoo the reason. He opted to assume it was another part of your story—maybe you ran into Mingyu at a similar fair when you were younger, and it was therefore very integral you go Spring Street tonight. It was the exact opposite of what Wonwoo typically appreciated doing on Sundays, and he knew for a fact he’d loathe it, every single part.

“No fuckin’ way!” Vernon’s voice exploded through the crackly static on Wonwoo’s phone as he stood in line for the fair, gazing over top everyone’s heads to gauge the ticket booth. “I can’t believe your loser ass actually crawled outta bed for that.”

Wonwoo scoffed, “yeah, it wasn’t my choice.”

“Then what for?”

“Her. She wanted to go. It’s for the book.”

He was supposed to meet you inside the fair. It was almost ten o’clock at night. The sky was beautifully clear, illuminated with pinpricks of starlight, and the air had once been crisp. Now, Wonwoo was beginning to smell sparked cannabis, and he assumed a likewise scent would follow him all damn night. The horrid, anxious process of standing in the mile long line was made palatable through his conversation with Vernon, who—shockingly—wasn’t even there.

“Ohh, the book, the book. Wait—she’s gonna write her book at the fuckin’ Spring Street Fair? How the fuck does that work?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Wonwoo chuckled. “It’s stuff about the settings, the environment; she uses it to help with her writing.”

“Hm, doesn’t make much sense to me, probably ‘cause I don’t like readin' or writin' or anything with books. But, damn, I’m jealous of you, Glasses. Do y’know how hard I tried to smooth talk my way into that girl’s pants? N’somehow, you can write good—”

“Write well, not good.”

“Oh, fuck you—write well—so she takes you everywhere like a little purse dog. When does that happen to me, yeah?”

The line started slowly pouring forward, and Wonwoo felt himself get dragged along. Probably another five minutes and he would be at the ticket booth, getting one of those neon bracelets circled around his wrist that were nearly impossible to rip off.

“Why didn’t you come?” Wonwoo asked.

Vernon groaned, “got into some bullshit with this guy who’s not payin’ up. I’m handlin’ it, though. If I can manage to get it all sorted, I’ll come later. It’s too fuckin’ easy selling those gummies to the first years, dude. Shit, it could be some Flintstone vitamins and they’re actin’ like Chicken Little. Cracks me the fuck up.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat, smiling. “You’re such a cunt.”

“Hey, hey, you are what you eat, okay? And, when you get inside or whatever, text me where you’re hangin’ so if I do come, I can see you for a bit. Dunno if your girlfriend will approve.”

The air began mottling with a thin, chalky smoke that drifted from somewhere down the crowded string of university students. Again, the line shuffled, and the congestion gradually broke up as more people were allowed into the fair. Wonwoo switched the phone to his other ear, getting his wallet ready.

“Don’t even start.”

“Start what? I said nothin’.” Vernon’s laughter was raspy and obviously laced with a smirk that Wonwoo could hear.

“Don’t be such a prick. She’s not my—”

Suddenly, Wonwoo’s phone began vibrating against his palm, and when he pulled it down an immediate lump conjured in his throat upon reading your name. His heart jolted, and it wasn’t until someone pushed hard on his back to urge him forward that he realized the line was once again ambling closer to the ticket booth.

Vernon sighed, “so, again, tell me where you’ll—”

“Shit—uh, gotta go. Talk to you later.”

A few remnants of Vernon’s miffed, guttural cursing managed to leak through the phone before Wonwoo could press to accept your call. In an instant, his friend was blipped away, and he heard your voice instead. He held back a cough from the astringent, cottonish air.

“Wonwoo, hello. I’m glad you picked up. So, where the hell are you? It’s nearly ten! Did you not get in line early?”

Wonwoo kept the phone secured between his shoulder and ear while he shimmied the coins out from his wallet.

“No, I did, promise. Just about to pay. Where are you?”

“When you get in, just follow the arrows. They're lit up with those blue lightbulbs. They go to the tavern. I’m having some drinks with my friends. Don’t worry. You won’t have to do much socializing.”

“Uh, okay,” Wonwoo answered, internally counting up the money in his hand until he was certain of the amount. “Mingyu’s there?”

“No. He always plays poker with his friends on Sunday.”

An unbeknownst pressure escaped his chest.

“Okay. I’m close to the front. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Sure. Don’t be late!”

“I know. Bye.”

Hanging up the phone, Wonwoo had just enough time to wriggle the device into his back pocket before handing the ticket booth clerk his coins. She dropped the cold change into his hand, then asked to see his wrist, where she proceeded to attach the bracelet with the words Spring Street Fair etched into the orange, plasticky-feeling paper.

Finally, he was let inside.

Blue arrows, blue arrows—that was all Wonwoo kept reiterating in his head like some religious hymn as he followed the glow throughout the fairgrounds, weaving his way between large groups of people that he gleefully didn’t recognize. Eventually, he saw the tavern you were referring to—an outdoor bar with picnic tables set up everywhere, beneath cheap little strings of warm, lambent lights.

Even with his glasses on, Wonwoo was still squinting as he walked between each table, attempting to discern your dolled-up face somewhere amongst the strangers sipping on their large mugs of alcohol, that was until he heard his name being called over the music rumbling from the bar’s horrible speakers. When he looked straight ahead, he saw you cutely waving him over. With each step he took, Wonwoo reminded himself to breathe, to loosen up, to stop clenching his fists so painfully tight as though he were going to split someone’s eyebrow. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Just breathe.

You stood up from the table to welcome him, and he felt your hand settle softly on his lower back. The touch was grounding.

“So, everyone, girls, if I could get your attention for just a moment despite the general impairment going on here—this is the mystery guy whose been helping me write. Wonwoo.”

God—he wanted to puke, all those big, curious, unabashed eyes soaking him in like freshly dipped watercolour to a cloth canvas. There was a cluster of high-pitched voices that repeated his name in a shrill, unison greeting. However, Wonwoo was unable to meet a single girl’s gaze, and so he opted to stare down at a paper plate on the table aligned with cinnamon-sprinkled churros.

Again, he wanted to throw up.

“So, of course, Wonwoo’s been the biggest help with everything,” you said, to which he could sense your nails subtly digging at him through his clothes, most likely a silent urge to say something so he didn’t seem so unprecedentedly stiff and metallic.

He cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah. I’m just proofreading, really.” Wonwoo had to swallow. “Some tips here and there. But, she’s pretty good as is.”

“Is that your actual voice?”

His eyes darted to find who asked the question. She was toward the end of the picnic table, tucking a lock of short, coffee brown hair behind her ear. Before the girl was a gigantic and fluorescent pink drink, the glass resembling the shape of a fish bowl.

“… What do you mean?” Wonwoo replied.

She sat up on her knee, continuing to ogle him with those fixated but glazed chestnut eyes. Her mouth seemed to drag as though it was thawing when she spoke. Wonwoo could tell she was already well inebriated. There was no way that was her first drink.

“Your voice,” she repeated, “it’s so… deep.”

“Well… I don’t know. Puberty.”

His comment elicited some giggles from around the table, to which he could feel the cartilage in his ears burning.

“Wonwoo—” another girl then leaned forward with her head tilted up and a coy, drunk smile flittering on her mouth, “—I think it’s so, so great you’re helping Her write. I actually think it’s the sweetest, ever.” Her lashes were coated in smooth mascara and her eyelids were remarkably glimmery, drenched in an electric shade of blue that he couldn’t stop staring at. “Also, sorry, but you’re like, super gorge.”

“Super what?” He repeated, confused at her wording.

But she didn't seem interested in repeating herself, instead scooping the long and impressively silky black hair off her shoulder to spill down her pale back.

“Okay, okay, okay. We’ve all shared some impetuous conversation and we’ve all swooned over him now. Yippee. Unfortunately, we’ve gotta get going, friends.”

Wonwoo felt your hand land on his shoulder and gently tug him backward, away from the table. You then proceeded to grab the glass left at your seat, chugging the remaining alcohol until there was nothing but a melting block of ice cubes clicking at the bottom. While you wiped your mouth, you began aiming a finger at each girl.

“To make a long story short, that’s Princess, Clara, and Bells. Do you have any comments for them before we go?” The impatience in your tone was bleeding through with sheer apathy.

Wonwoo shrugged. “Uh, nice to meet everyone? I guess.”

“Short and efficient. How perfect. Okay, I’ll see you guys later, I think. Actually—probably not. So can someone eat my churros?”

Your arm curled around Wonwoo’s bicep as though to whisk him away as hurriedly as possible. Everyone left at the table began waving, and Wonwoo couldn’t even bring himself to force a fake, pleasant smile because he was still attempting to understand what all those comments even meant. You walked briskly until the poetic, firefly lights of the tavern were lost long behind in the distance, and when you finally paused, he had not a clue where he was standing—a busy centre with people mingling all around him, the wild whirring of carnival rides and chaotic, blinking hues strobing above his head.

When he looked down at you, he was surprised to see you were already staring back, and he could only hold the eye contact for no more than a few seconds or else his heart would skip a beat.

“Sorry about all that,” you said, rolling your shoulders, “I tried to be somewhat reasonable with my drinking for once. I can’t say the same for Clara and Bells. They guzzle cocktails like apple juice.”

“Bells is… the one with all that sparkly blue eyeshadow?”

“Oh—yeah. She loves sparkles. Glitter. Anything glimmery. She’s been like that ever since I’ve known her. Clara was the one who asked about your voice. She has a thing for guys with deep voices and you unfortunately fit the bill. And I’m sorry that Princess didn’t say anything. She kind of just looks and observes. Also I’m like ninety-eight percent sure she popped something in a porta-potty before we met up so she’s probably in a mental state of star-surfing. Anyway. You don’t have to worry about them, alright? It’s just us for tonight.”

 “Well, that’s… easy enough.”

“I’m not sure if we should stand here.”

“Hm?”

You then pointed to something behind Wonwoo, and when he turned his head, he felt a gust of wind from the gigantic, spinning ride that resembled a flying saucer in the nighttime sky. It was always beyond him why anyone would choose to strap themselves into a machine that terrifying. It made him sick just watching.

“If I get throw up on my head, I’m killing myself.”

“Okay, so let’s find somewhere else.”

As he began walking away in search of a quieter area, you grabbed onto the back of his clothes. Wonwoo raised his eyebrow.

“We have to hold hands, or have arms linked,” you said.

For some reason, Wonwoo presumed you were joking, and so he tilted his head at you with a questioning smile. But when your serious expression didn’t crack, he realized it wasn’t a joke at all.

“Oh… why?”

“Because—” you then took a step toward him and spoke matter-of-factly, like you were reading a rule book, “—it’s the buddy system. Always have someone at your side, and make sure you’re linked in some way. It’s too easy to get separated in places like this, otherwise. Have you never heard of that before?”

“I have,” Wonwoo answered, adjusting his glasses. “My—um, my hands are a little cold. I don’t have the best circulation.”

The truth was, Wonwoo didn’t want to hold your hand. He didn’t want to link arms with you. He didn’t want you pressed into his side all night. He didn’t want to have the scent of your hair under his nose or feel your ticklish breath against his neck each time you spoke.

But he didn’t have a good enough excuse to fight it.

“Oh my god, who cares,” you retorted. “And I have super sweaty hands. Like, uncomfortably warm. We'll balance out.”

 “Actually?”

“Yes! Is that a problem for you, sweetheart?”

Wonwoo quickly shook his head in response to your condescending tone. You then reached for his hand, which he offered up for your required holding, and chose to ignore the butterflies in the deep pit of his stomach when he realized how perfectly your fingers slotted with his. He followed your lead through the fair until you came outside a small lemonade booth. Wonwoo thought you would drop his hand, but you didn’t, and his knees felt like gelatine.

“I want another drink,” you told him.

He squinted at their options, which didn’t really consist of much. The prices were obviously insane—it was another reason he hated going to fairs. His wallet always got cleaned out.

“You’re going to have to use the washroom a lot.”

“Ugh,” you gritted in response, brushing some hair from your face, “I hate public washrooms. They’re so gross. Completely unsanitary. Awful maintenance. One time I was here and I walked into the washroom by the Mirror Hall and I swear, a freaking rat ran across the floor! I screamed bloody murder. I’d rather squat in the bush and risk getting, like, poison ivy. But the washrooms have mirrors obviously, and I like checking my makeup and stuff. I wish I could check now.”

“Right now? I mean, your makeup looks fine.”

Wonwoo saw your entire face freeze, and then begin to warp, as though he’d just said the most dreadful thing he could think of.

“Fine?” You glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He started stumbling over his words, feeling his chest tighten.

“So, what you’re saying is that I look ugly? That my makeup looks bad? Because if you really thought it was ‘fine’ then you wouldn’t have said it looks ‘fine’ because everyone knows that word is a substitute for passable and passable is just a substitute for ugly!”

He opened his mouth, then instantly closed it.

“So what’s wrong with it? Are my under eyes creasing? Is my contour too dark? Is my lipstick smudged? Did it get on my teeth? Ugh, I knew I should have brought my compact!”

“No, no, no.” Wonwoo squeezed your hand, hoping that he could somehow undo the damage he had no intention of even inflicting in the first place. “Uh—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. You look—” he wasn’t sure he could say the compliment without shivering, but Wonwoo didn’t care in the moment, “—your makeup is beautifully done. There’s no creasing or smudging, there’s none of that."

You kept touching worrisomely at your face. “Are you sure?”           

“I promise.” Wonwoo confirmed, giving your hand another tight, reassuring squeeze that seemed to calm you down.

He had never seen someone switch gears that quickly. You could be perfectly amicable one second, and then break down into near hysteria the next, a slew of anxious thoughts running straight from your brain to your mouth like clockwork.

Wonwoo wondered how Mingyu dealt with such tangents all the time. The trait almost didn’t seem to fit your image.

The line moved forward another step.

“Are you going to drink anything?” You asked after a moment of silence, in a quieter voice. “I want to get the strawberry refresher.”

“Maybe.”

“What will you get?”

“I… don’t know. A regular lemonade?”

“No,” you shook your head, pointing toward the corner of the booth’s menu, “get the pina colada thing. I want to try it, too.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo agreed with a shrug as he retrieved his wallet, not really caring about what he drank. “I’ll pay for it. No worries.”

The longer Wonwoo was at the fair, the less he actually thought about why he was there, until the question leapt into his mind at random while he stood beside you, waiting for a seat on the dauntingly large Farris wheel. He removed the straw from his mouth, swallowing a gulp of his pina colada flavoured drink, and peered down at you. His hand was still interlinked with yours. You had finished the strawberry refresher in about five minutes.

Now, you were texting someone. He didn’t know if it was a friend from earlier or perhaps your boyfriend, but Wonwoo wasn’t a serious sleuth, so he opted to look away despite the natural urge that was pricking him. When you finally tucked the phone back into the small bag slung around your shoulder, Wonwoo lowered the plastic cup from his mouth, making sure to clear his throat.

“So, uh, why are we here, exactly?”

You sniffled. “What do y’mean?”

“Does the fair have anything to do with your writing? Is that why we’re riding the Farris wheel? Oh—speaking of which, I didn’t think to bring the camcorder, in case you wanted any footage.”

“Oh, no,” you said, waving a dismissive hand, “this has nothing to do with my book. We’re palate cleansing.”

“Palate cleansing?” He echoed.

“Yeah. It’s like, doing something different in between a routine, to keep yourself fresh. You always eat breakfast at home but today you skip it and go out for brunch. Y’know, shit like that.”

Wonwoo huffed in amusement. “You could have told me beforehand.”

“Uh, no—” your face scrunched up in clear disagreement, “—I couldn’t, because then you wouldn’t have gone. No offence, but you’re a hermit, Wonwoo. You don’t really like going anywhere or doing anything and you’re definitely one of those people who bores themselves into hating their own life because your stimuli is so limited. That’s why I didn’t tell. Again, no offence.”

“Oh.”

That was all he could string together in response—not even string together, because it was just one boring, monotone sound that basically got carried away in the chilly wind, tinted with the smell of buttery popcorn and weed. It sounded like something that was supposed to sting, but it didn’t really. Maybe he was growing more accustomed to your unprompted judgements on his personal life.

Suddenly Wonwoo had blinked and you two were next in line for the empty cart. The clerk pointed at Wonwoo’s drink.

“You can’t bring that with you,” he said.

Before Wonwoo could think to respond, you had already grabbed the cup from his hand, chucking it straight into the garbage.

“We’re not.”

Pulling on his hand, you guided him into the shaky cart, both of you squishing onto the cold, metal bench. It was quite literally the tamest ride in the entire fair, and yet Wonwoo was still feeling nervous about it—though, that was possibly the fact he was going to be sailed one-hundred feet into the satin black sky, left amongst the stars and the bright, shimmering halo of the moon with you and you alone. He was actually relieved you had tossed his drink, otherwise he might have dropped it due to the trembling in his fingers. It was easier to fiddle with them in order to disguise their shakiness.

“I guess I should have asked if you’re afraid of heights,” you said.

The cart jerked abruptly as the ride began to move and lift you two ever so gradually from the ground. Wonwoo peered over the edge for a brief moment to watch his distance grow from the people below, their jumbled mess of conversations fading in place of quiet.

“Uh, no. I’m okay with heights,” he finally answered.

He saw you glancing down as well, smiling to yourself.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure if he should attempt at conversation or just maintain the stillness between you. Usually, he couldn’t stand it, and the pressure to talk and fill the silence always tended to fail or squander something potentially enjoyable. But he supposed it was typically like that in a situation where two people weren’t the best acquainted—that’s why Wonwoo always quite liked Vernon, despite his rough, nonconformed edges and often vulgar way of speaking.

He was able to carry a conversation so naturally that the quieter moments never felt suffocating, instead falling exactly where they should, like puzzle pieces. But that was harder with you.

Maybe it was because you could be intimidating, unpredictable—Wonwoo was never truly relaxed around you because there was this intangible, looming worry that he needed to have the perfect responses and be the most perfect person. He found that perfect people only hung out with other perfect people and Wonwoo was certainly not that—perfect. You must have seen it by now. He was just as rough as Vernon no doubt, but in a different, hidden way that had to be dug into like an archeologist looking for broken bones.

The Ferris wheel slowed down, coming to a stop. You weren’t at the very top, though the air was notably cooler and much fresher. When he inhaled a long breath, it smelled purely of night and not overpriced, buttery fair food and burning weed. He noted that you stared straight ahead, at the crescent-shaped moon, which mirrored a backward stare with how squarely it sat in front of the ride. For once, Wonwoo wasn’t squirming, wriggling, stressing at the silence. When he spoke, he did it because he genuinely wanted to.

“How was your Saturday?”

“My Saturday?”

“Yeah. I saw the schedule. You had to run a bunch of errands with your mom. Looked like you were pretty keyed up.”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I want to say I was overreacting the day before about how much I was dreading it. But then it fucking happened. And… I, uh… I realized I was exactly right. It was awful. I did get to your notes, though… yeah—I just—I squeezed them in between brunch with my mom’s friend who could talk herself to death and the excruciating car ride to the publisher’s office.”

“Mmhm.” Wonwoo smiled tenderly. “Did they help at all?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, “a lot, actually… thank you.”

“I’m sorry your Saturday went so terribly.”

Huffing in response, you nibbled on your inner check.

“Yeah, well, it is what it is… I already knew it was gonna be a shit show. So, what is it that you write about, anyway? Because you seem like you know a whole lot. Seokmin says you let him read some of your poetry, but it was only like, two excerpts.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Wonwoo recalled the memory of Seokmin picking up his leather notebook when it fell out from his bag one day. He’d pestered him about the contents until Wonwoo succumbed and presented him with some lifeless, impatiently scribbled prose that he’d most likely jerked out on the bus or in between his lectures. Seokmin seemed to treat it like fine, prestigious gold, though Wonwoo knew it was the least personal of his work that he would never let another living soul on the planet breathe—not one scent of the ink or even the paper.

“So, you write poetry?”

“I started writing poetry, haikus and all that easy stuff. I developed the interest a lot more through high school. But I never sat down and tried writing anything like a novel until I... I started uni.”

“Yeah. Deciding to be a math major. I still don’t get it,” you sighed, fidgeting with some rings on your fingers. “But what do you even write about? Like, what’s your inspiration?”

Wonwoo paused, looking down at his knees.

“… Life.”

“Life?” You defeatedly slumped into the seat. “That’s the million dollar answer your intelligent brain chose to erect? It’s just that when I think about it, I’m letting you help me with my writing, but I’ve never even read a little smidgen of yours. How’s that fair?”

The higher the Farris Wheel climbed, the stronger the breeze blew, and Wonwoo could feel its tendrils lashing across his cheeks and parting through his hair. You huddled further into your jacket.

“Well, you took Seokmin’s word for it,” Wonwoo laughed.

Your eyes rolled, but you smiled gently. “I know.”

Suddenly, your hand had reached out, and you were pushing the floppy, black tresses off his forehead. Wonwoo’s fingers dug bluntly into his arms. You then angled yourself in the small cart, looking back at him, sculpting your gaze to each crest in his face.

“Why don’t you ever push your hair back?”

The question hit the dark, cold atmosphere like a sizzling ember and Wonwoo was afraid to even open his mouth because he was certain a dying squeak would come out. You continued to play around with the locks, earthing your fingers deep into its texture and attempting to style it despite the persistent, fluttering breeze.

“Um…”

“If you styled it like this—” you moved in closer, staring with so much focus at your nimble movements, “—yeah, like that. It shows off your forehead, gives you a bit of class. I mean, the wind’s messing it up. You don’t tend to do anything with your hair.”

“No.” Wonwoo swallowed, hard.

“Well, you should. Not all the time, obviously. And I’m not saying you look bad with it down—not at all. But you’ve got nice, smouldering features and they’re so much more… framed… when you show your forehead.” You collapsed back into the seat, and that tingly feeling he experienced when your fingers had been tugging and pulling was disseminating throughout his entire body. “I mean, look at how my friends reacted to you. I should apologize for that again, by the way. O-M-F-G, they see one hot guy, and they lose their grip.”

He nearly choked. “Hot?”

It didn’t sound right. Not at all.

“Well, what the fuck, Wonwoo? You’re not ugly.”

“Did you think that when you first saw me?”

You had folded your leg again as the Farris wheel came to another stop. This time, at the very top, at the centre of the night.

“Did I think what? That you’re not ugly?”

“Never mind,” Wonwoo grimaced, hearing the cart creek as you better positioned yourself to face him. “It’s pathetic like that.”

“No. I didn’t think you were ugly. Did you think I was ugly?”

Wonwoo wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of the question, but he smothered it down because he knew one little laugh might hit your ear the wrong way, and it would be flames, sputtering and spewing. Obviously, he didn’t think you were ugly—he never had, even before he ever spoke to you. But he wasn’t so shallow as to only regard someone’s physical appearance. You were still terrifying.

“I wouldn’t consider anyone ugly... and I wouldn’t ever use it to describe some aesthetically. But—I mean, I think people can become ugly through their personality, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, like, if they’re rotten inside.”

“Mmhm.”

“I agree.”

“What was that word your friend Bells said?”

You shrugged, “which word?”

“She said something like, you’re super… I don’t know… super something.”

“Oh—” you sat up more in the cart, your back pressed against the uncomfortable corner, “—Bells said you were super gorge.”

“Meaning…”

“Meaning super gorgeous.” You made a big show of the rehashed compliment, parroting your friend's tone and swaying your shoulders.

“Oh… really?” Wonwoo shook his head. “I thought she was referring to gorge as in when you gorge yourself, from eating.”

“No,” you giggled at him, “it’s a short form, dumb-dumb.”

“Why make a short form out of that? Is it really that strenuous to say the word gorgeous? It’s only an extra syllable.”

“Okay, well, this isn’t the nineteen-twenties. We don’t all cross our T’s and dot our I’s. It reminds me of how you text.”

He furrowed his brow. “How do I text?”

Your eyes rolled frivolously. “I dunno. Like you’re typing to a business colleague or something. You’re so formal. When I think of you texting, I imagine it’s like someone using a typewriter. And that funny little ding sound it makes whenever you start a new line.”

“Oh.”

“What—no one’s ever told you that before? No way.”

“That I text like I’m using a fucking typewriter? No, actually. I can’t say I’ve heard that.”

“Well, it’s not a big deal. You’re just not very plugged into the internet, I suppose. Which is a good thing. It gives you prestige.”

At that, Wonwoo chuckled. “Does it?”

“Yes,” you smiled, eyes full of starlight, “and—just ignore Bells, okay? She was being kind of weird but that can be fully attributed to those three shots I told her not to take.”

“Hm.”

You continued to stare at him with a plotting smile.

“Hm what? What’s the matter?” The metal of the cart squeaked as you leaned forward, your voice suddenly lathered in mischief. “Did you think she was cute?” He heard your tone drop, and your low, smooth voice breathing hot against his ear. “Did you think about fucking her, Wonwoo?”

“No—what the fuck—not at all.” Quickly, he’d pushed you away and off his shoulder, to which you retreated into the corner with a giggle that should have made his skin crawl, but didn’t.

“Well, how would I know?” You answered, tilting your head and stretching out your arms high into the blackness, as though you were trying to reach for a star. “I never know, because you never look at me. It makes me think you just lied and you do think I’m ugly.”

Wonwoo glanced over the edge of the cart, at the almost nauseating distance between himself and the fairgrounds, covered with miniature, bustling people that seemed like breadcrumbs by comparison to their place in the sky. He didn’t want to sink into this conversation. Besides, how was he supposed to look at you when your fingers were just gliding through his hair and your lips were whispering close enough to brush up against his ear? How was he supposed to act composed? Normal?

“Hey, Wonwoo?” Your fingers snapped.

But he just kept thinking. Like he was cut from a separate cloth than you—the fabric of his universe wasn’t woven with yours and he could ruminate as much as he wanted to and it was impossible to hear your intrusions. Why couldn’t he look at you?

You intimidated him, yes. You scared him, double yes.

He already knew that. It couldn’t just be that.

“Wonwoo? God… you shut down over the simplest things.”

“I don’t know.”

You paused, staring him up and down, perplexed.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know why I can’t look at you.”

There was a lasting silence between you. Wonwoo felt like he might throw up for acknowledging the fact out loud, and his fist tightened in his lap as though to ground himself—to remember where he was and to breathe slowly, because having a panic attack on top of a stupid Ferris Wheel was the last place it should happen. He hadn’t even realized that you’d shifted closer, one leg curled beneath you while you spoke at the side of his head. But he didn’t hear you, couldn’t see you—there was a harsh void inside him that sounded like suctioning air and static. His fingernail was pressing so deeply into the flesh of his pale skin that it was beginning to faintly bleed.

And—all of a sudden—there were these hands cautiously gripping onto his face, pulling him toward you. He kept staring at the movement of your soft lips, focusing on their pronunciation until everything flooded back in one overwhelming whirl and it felt like being slammed by a freight train.

Wonwoo then grabbed onto your bare knee as a crutch. He didn’t mean to. But you didn’t seem to care.

“—everything okay? Wonwoo? Do I need to like, call someone? Because you look like you’re going to be sick.”

He heaved in a gaping breath, feeling how cold the midnight air was in the thinning atmosphere that encompassed him. It was soothing, akin to a hand massaging along his back.

“Wonwoo?” You repeated his name, sounding awfully scared.

Pulling off his glasses, he rubbed at his eyes. He blurrily saw you touch the spot on your knee where his hand had buried into.

“Sorry,” he then coughed through the heartbeat raspy in his throat, bringing the glasses back to his face, “I spaced out.”

“Spaced out?” You echoed. “That wasn’t spacing out.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He thought you fight might it.

“Well…” you sighed, glancing around uncertainly, “are you okay? Is there someone you want to call? I don’t know.”

But you didn’t. Thank God.

“No, I’m—” he stopped, gulping back the words.

“… Yeah?” There was a softer intrigue in your cadence.

Wonwoo looked at you. Fully this time. He looked straight into your eyes that were like a glossy, moonlit ocean, detailed with swirling riptides of surprise and apprehensiveness, but also immense depth that seemed genuinely appreciative of his gesture.

“I’m fine.”

And then he watched you nod, smile, and in return study his cavern eyes with the same intensity and wonder. It was such a peculiar experience, staring at you, understanding a little more of your truth, your gentleness.

He didn’t feel as scared.

—MAY 16TH.

Wonwoo had been standing before the mirror in his washroom for the past half-hour or so, primarily just staring, examining, and pulling at the long, limp fronds of his hair. There was a point in his life when he legitimately put effort into styling it, and all his old hair products were still sitting in the cabinet. Though, his ex-girlfriend had tended to help him with it most days, because he found the strands were just too thick and stubborn to work with.

However, since the Spring Street Fair, Wonwoo hadn’t been able to shake those comments you made—about how nicely his face could be framed and the smouldering nature of his features. He would never think to describe himself that way as it seemed particularly pompous and kind of foolish, but hearing you say it was different. The thing was, Wonwoo had no idea where to start, and attempting to rummage his fingers through his hair just didn’t feel as stimulating or electric compared to your meticulous, sweet touch.

In the midst of opening his cabinet for a comb, Wonwoo heard his phone vibrate. He looked down at the sink, seeing the screen brighten with a text notification from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 12:54 pm ]: hey Glasses

[ Vernon | 12:54 pm ]: Solar Pop at 2?

Wonwoo thought about it for a moment, running his thumb down the spine of the comb to hear the little thwip. And then he sighed in decision, texting back a thumbs up. It’s not like he was working later, and as much as Wonwoo would love to believe that today might be the day he made actual progress on his own story, he knew it was just wishful thinking. In reality he’d waste ample time staring into the document, pondering all the scenes and emotions and nuances he could write rather than moving to write anything at all.

Besides, he hadn’t eaten yet today. The thought of a juicy, sauce-slathered, bun-toasted burger being his first meal prompted the boy’s face to sallow greenly with sickness, but the longer he stood in the washroom, combing and slicking and running styling balm through the black bird’s nest on his head, Wonwoo felt the hunger start to bite like an emaciated, starved dog. He left his apartment knowing he would be somewhat late, but Vernon was always later.

And while Wonwoo sat in one of the booths at Solar Pop, flicking the laminated menu back and forth despite knowing the exact order he was going to place, he thought about sending Vernon another text to ask where the hell he even was. Wonwoo could only sip his slippery glass of coke for so long until the waitress decided he was crazy and had been one-hundred percent stood up.

“Hey, fuck, I’m here.”

2:24 pm—that’s when Vernon finally arrived, sliding himself into the leather bench opposite to Wonwoo while tossing his big, metallic clump of keys onto the table. The boy then proceeded to shimmy off his black jacket, propping his elbows onto the table.

If Vernon ever pulled a tardy stunt like that with you, Wonwoo imagined his friend would probably get stuffed into one of those boxes for sawing people in half. Except it wouldn’t be magic.

“Did you get pulled over or something? Police raid? Traffic stop?” Wonwoo asked, now resting his menu down flat.

Vernon laughed, shaking his head. “Uh, no. Couldn’t find my fuckin’ car keys,” he spoke in a breathless voice. “Sorry ‘bout it.”

“Couldn’t find them?” Wonwoo almost scoffed at the excuse while his friend began scouring his way through the menu. “Dude, they’re the fucking size of a bowling ball. How could you lose them?”

“Okay, okay. Fuckin’ skin me alive, why don’t you?”

“You didn’t come from your place, I’m guessing.”

At that, Vernon began to grin, the metal on his pierced lip glinting underneath a ray of sunlight through the blinds. He was still occupied with choosing which burger he wanted. Wonwoo picked the same choice every time. Vernon always tried something different.

“No, I didn’t,” he rasped, flashing his sharp teeth and flipping the menu over, “but when Maleeha Rabia sends you a text at goddamn one in the morning of her tits, you don’t roll over n’ go to bed like some loser. Besides, my ecstasy was just sittin’ around and I had to use it one way or another. Anyway, doesn’t fuckin’ matter. I think I’ll get the Double Bacon Crunch Burger. Sounds good as hell.”

Finally, Vernon threw the menu down with conviction.

“Jesus Christ—” his copper-burnt eyes then flared open as he looked across the table at his friend, “—who the fuck are you?”

Wonwoo itched his nose. “Um, what?”

Vernon leaned forward, seeming captivated. “Uh, your fuckin’ hair? How’d you get it like that? It’s all brushed over and soft lookin’ and shit. I feel like I shouldn’t be sittin’ with you, Prince Charmin’.”

“I just put some balm in it, combed it around,” he answered, reaching for his drink. “Took me a humiliating amount of time.”

“Well, consider me starstruck. What’s made you do all that?”

Before Wonwoo could answer, the waitress returned to the table with her small notepad and shiny pen. Vernon pitched his order first, and Wonwoo followed, asking for the regular quarter-pounder with a side of hot crinkle-cut fries. Once she whisked the menus away and promised to grab Vernon’s root beer float, Wonwoo realized he still had to answer his friend’s question. He didn’t exactly want to tell the truth, because he knew Vernon would never let him hear the end of it, but Wonwoo also didn’t want to be too dishonest.

“Your face is doin’ that thing.”

“What thing?” Wonwoo answered, swallowing his sip of soda.

Vernon crossed his arms on the table, accenting the canvas of darkly-inked tattoos needled into his skin. He shook his head.

“It’s ‘cause of your little girlyfriend, isn’t it?”

Fuck. Wonwoo should have just opened his mouth straight away and spieled out some quick-witted lie. Now he would be painfully subject to Vernon’s unfiltered teasing. Leaning back in his seat, Wonwoo unearthed a miserable sigh at Vernon’s smirk.

“You’ve gotta drop that bullshit.”

“It’s true,” Vernon pressured.

“No, it’s not.”

As though to interpret Wonwoo’s steadfastness as a challenge, Vernon leaned further over the table, dropping his voice but still smiling devilishly through every word he mimicked between his teeth.

“Oh, Wonwoo, your hair looks so fucking sexy like that. It makes you look so perfect. You’re from my dreams. Please, just fuck me right here, right now so I can push my fingers through it ‘cause it’s so soft and silky and I’m basically in love with you.”

“Shut the fuck up. Please.”

“That was a good impression, though, wasn’t it?”

In the loud space of Wonwoo’s disgusted silence, the waitress placed Vernon’s drink onto the table and ensured the food would be coming soon. Vernon watched her walk away, back into the kitchen.

“Hey,” he then grinned in capitulating fashion, “take a stupid joke, alright? I know she’s not in love with you and she doesn’t wanna suck your dick—she’s got a fuckin’ boyfriend. If it makes you feel any better, I’m just projectin’ ‘cause you know I’m jealous.”

Wonwoo sucked in a sip from his coke, shaking his head.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vernon dismissed, poking his spoon at the near perfect scoop of vanilla ice cream afloat in the frosty mug, “but just so y’know, your mopey ass left me out to dry on Sunday night. Shoved me off the phone, didn’t respond to one of my texts. You’re lucky I even asked you t’hang today. Did she take your phone or something’?”

Shit. When Vernon said it like that, Wonwoo seemed like a terrible friend. Maybe he did deserve a deal of teasing. But at the same time, Wonwoo knew how easy it was for your attitude to flip and he hadn’t been at all interested in starting the night with hostility.

“Okay, fair.” He admitted, rolling up his sleeves.

“And?” Vernon raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“I’m sorry.”

“There you fuckin’ go. That’s all I wanted t’hear, Glasses.”

The truth was, Wonwoo actually quite enjoyed his time with you that night—despite the transient, bickering hiccups and his nearly faltering panic attack, he had fun. Actual fun. Of course, as soon as your ride ended on the Ferris wheel, you’d clutched onto his hand like a snake sinking in its fangs and dragged him throughout the entirety of the fair to find a washroom. Nonetheless, he really loved playing some carnival games with you, like skee ball and the water pistol. He was even able to win you a pink stuffed bear that you had carried close to the chest for the remainder of your time at the fair.

Wonwoo thought he could spend another night like that with you again. Just to get out of his apartment, to feel exhilaration in the pit of his stomach, to laugh until his lungs dried out, to hold your warm, comforting hand in his even when it became too clammy or inconvenient because otherwise you would scold him for letting go.

“Food’s on the way,” Vernon perked up like a child about to be served a slice of birthday cake as the waitress walked over with two full plates, “if you can’t finish yours, I’ll take it.”

“Yeah—how about you focus on chewing and not choking to death first,” Wonwoo sighed, watching his friend’s metaphorical tail wag.

Once she set the food down, inquiring about any refills, and left while flashing her perfected customer service smile, Vernon grabbed the burger with both his hands, taking a gigantic, succulent bite that somehow didn’t singe the roof of his mouth. Wonwoo winced, instead going for his crisped, golden fries.  

“Damn. You’re really that hungry?”

“I’m ravenous,” Vernon mumbled, picking up a few caramelized onions that fell onto his plate. “Dude, I woke up at noon in Maleeha’s bed. She was out cold. Nothin’ in her pantry but some stale fuckin’ Fruit Loops that I may have tried. I’m a grown ass man. I need a meal.”

“I’m glad you’re so proactive," Wonwoo answered, sinking his burning hot fry into the small side-bowl of ketchup.

It took them less than half an hour to clean their plates. Wonwoo tended to eat at a slower pace, with smaller, more savoury bites, while Vernon sloppily devoured his entire burger and gobbled down his fries with the occasional dipping into the root beer float’s ice cream. They scarcely talked in between, too focused on eating and drinking. Wonwoo pushed away his plate when he’d finished and proceeded to wipe off his salty, crumb-speckled fingers with a napkin, meanwhile Vernon took a moment to sink backward into the leather seat, placing a hand over his full, satiated stomach.

“Hey, do y’think they have any Life Savers?” He eventually piped up while sticking a toothpick into his mouth. “I want grape.”

Wonwoo scoffed, tossing the napkin onto his plate and taking out his phone. “Who the fuck likes grape?”

“Me, you smartass,” Vernon answered, turning backward in his seat and scanning the restaurant for any colourful candy bowls.

He couldn’t deny that he was hoping to see a text from you, but there was nothing, and his chest dropped. Wonwoo decided to open the schedule you had made, curious as to what you were even doing today—work until five o’clock, and then you were going out for supper with some friends at Terra Cotta.

He thought about texting you. His thumbs kept hovering above the keyboard in contemplation, even though he knew for certain he wouldn’t text anything. He would just stare and hope.

“Holy shit. Uh, oh my God. Wonwoo. I-I see—”

Vernon had suddenly reached a hand onto the table, slapping the lacquered wood a few times to garner his attention.

“What?” He mumbled in agitation, keeping his focus glued to the phone. “If you see the Life Savers just go up and take some. I swear, they’re not gonna fucking care you’re not twelve years old.”

“No, no, no, dumbass,” Vernon hissed, turning back around in the booth, his honey eyes glistering in oils of dread and panic. “Look, actually look. That’s Mingyu, isn’t it?”

Immediately, Wonwoo clicked off his phone, instead squinting into the distant corner of the restaurant where a notably tall, black-haired boy with tanned, amber skin had emerged from a doorway, standing in a somehow casual but imposing way that only be Mingyu.

It must be Mingyu, and that fact became glaringly obvious when Wonwoo made the unintentional, floundering mistake of staring straight into the boy’s wandering and earthen brown eyes.

“Oh my fuckin’ God, oh my fuckin’ God,” Vernon kept reiterating under his breath, bouncing his knee like an anxious student waiting for their test. “He definitely saw us. Or—he definitely saw you. This is so bad, man. I think he’s gonna rock me.”

“What?” Wonwoo whispered back harshly, attempting to float his gaze away from Mingyu in a casual manner. “For what reason?”

It seemed like Vernon almost wanted to gag at him. “Um—because of what fuckin’ happened between me n’ his girl! At that party? I told you about that shit, didn’t I?” He rasped from across the table, his bottom lip worried between biting teeth. “Dude, what if he tries to pull a fast one? You’re what—like six foot something? You have to help back me up. I can throw a pretty solid punch—even better when I’m shit-faced—but that might not be enough. Lady Liberty’s built like a brick.”

“Okay, you’re acting crazy,” Wonwoo uttered in disbelief. “I doubt he’s going to be anything but physical, especially in a public place. And, you said you didn’t know Her was in a relationship.”

“How the fuck do I know he knows that? Can’t exactly use my infectious charm on someone whose girlfriend I tried to rail.”

Vernon somehow dared to spare another rapid glance over his shoulder, only to shed an entire mould of colour from his complexion.

“He’s coming, he’s—”

“Shut up and relax,” Wonwoo mumbled. “I’m sure it’s nothing big—he’ll say a thing or two and be on his way. God, I’ll handle it.”

For some reason, Wonwoo thought he should be sinking into consternation a lot more than he actually was, but it’s not that his chest wasn’t thumping or his mind wasn’t spinning amuck with worry. It was more so that he was managing the whirlwind, as best he could, as much as he could manage. Mingyu wasn’t a complete stranger, and all their past interactions had been boringly cordial or even forgettable. Nonetheless, Wonwoo would still prefer to avoid the boy because that made his life simpler in the grand scheme of anxiety.

“Hey, Wonwoo,” Mingyu approached the table with a confident, leisurely stride, extending his large hand for Wonwoo to grab, exchanging a dap. “I almost didn’t recognize you for a sec.”

“All good,” Wonwoo answered, attempting a polite grin that felt much more sweltering on the inside than out. “How’ve you been?”

Mingyu shrugged, burying his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants while he gazed at the slitted curtains for a moment, pondering his reply. “Decent. Playing a lot of basketball. I don’t think I’ve seen you since I came to the pharmacy. You still there?”

“Still there.”

“Well, at least I haven’t had to come in for a fuckin’ pregnancy test yet. That’s good I suppose, yeah?” The boy chuckled, then tilting his head a certain way to crack a stiff spot in his neck.

“Aisle five if you ever need it.”

Mingyu responded with a smirk that perhaps lasted a second too long, and these slimming, analyzing eyes—a gaze that Wonwoo felt ripple in his gut. He chose to believe it was nothing dire, or else he would spiral right there on the spot and lose all fine-tuned control.

Meanwhile Vernon had been sitting quietly the entire time, most likely hoping he would remain in the dark, skulking shadows outside Wonwoo’s spotlight. But he must not have been hoping hard enough, because Mingyu proceeded to smile at him, again extending his hand for another dap, which Vernon yielded apprehensively.

“You’re a pretty recognizable guy, unfortunately,” Mingyu acknowledged with a husky laugh—a clear reference to the boy’s identifying tattoos and numerous facial piercings, “I think you deal to at least a third of my friends. It’s Vernon, right?”

“Mmhm. Yes sir.” To Vernon’s luck, he had a well-polished and gleaming smile that made it impossible for him to seem disingenuous, though Wonwoo knew he was wilting inside.

“I’m sorry about Dots.”

“Oh, uh. All good. It is what it is, y’know?”

Mingyu nodded.

“Hey—those tattoos are crazy good. Where’d you get them?”

Vernon looked across his arm. “Thanks. Mostly Liquid Impact—dude there that I call Funfetti ‘cause he eats Funfetti box cake all the time. Uh, but his actual name’s like, Axel or some white-boy shit like that. He’s done a majority of it. The others—man, I don’t know. Half the time I’m off my fuckin’ face and wake up with shit I never remember.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mingyu sniffed, running a hand through his long, shiny onyx locks of hair. “Guess you also don’t remember promising my girlfriend the best sex of her life, right?”

At that, Vernon looked straight to Wonwoo, and Wonwoo returned the enlarged, incinerating stare straight back, reading the split-second terror that swam like flopping fish in Vernon’s eyes. The atmosphere hit the ground with a palpable and ugly shatter.

“Yeah, um—about that—”

Mingyu then balanced backward on his foot for a moment, beginning to chuckle, sway his head, as though to dismiss the entire accusation in the same intense breadth it was mentioned.

“Nah, nah. I’m playing around,” the boy chuckled, rubbing at his nose. “You didn’t know she was taken. No hard feelings, yeah?”

Vernon immediately nodded his agreement, and the tension nailed into his broad shoulder line seemed to melt. “For sure. No hard feelings. I mean, she’s beautiful. Can’t even imagine what it’s like bein’ her boyfriend when you’ve got sluts like me around.”

Mingyu grinned, “no, you’re good. I know she gave you some attitude about it. Bit of a troublemaker herself. But, yeah. Water under the bridge.” The boy’s attention then turned back to Wonwoo, who was more than eager to somehow extinguish the conversation from you as a topic. “I know she’s hangs out with you right now.”

“Oh, yeah,” Wonwoo hummed, “the book thing.”

“She doesn’t like talking to me about it.”

“Well, don’t stress,” he answered, catching the sunlight that blitzed through the curtains and dipped like a gold paintbrush into the boy’s eyes, turning them to warm molasses, “she’ll show you the whole damn thing when it’s over and done with.”

Mingyu huffed, “I thought she’d have dropped it by now.”

“I don’t think she will. She’s pretty committed.”

“Hm.” He nodded simply in response, kissing his teeth.

Vernon folded his arms, leaning back into the leather seat with the toothpick again sitting in his mouth. “You got any plans for the summer, then? Doesn’t your pal always throw a huge party?”

“Yeah, actually. Doing it this year if we can manage. Seungcheol’s parents pretty much spend their entire summer bouncing around all the Great Lakes. We’re gonna do a co-hosting type deal and—shit, since you’re here, this is really good timing.” Mingyu then looked down at Vernon and lowered his gravelly voice. “I know what your main gig is. What about blow? You sell it?”

A slow but gradual, catlike grin trudged the edges of Vernon’s mouth, to which he pulled out his toothpick and set his elbows onto the table. “Look, can’t chop it up here, man. Ask one of your friends for my burner. I can get you to the ski slope, but it costs, obviously.”

“Nah, that’s fine. It’s just—my last plug fell through.”

“Tough.”

“Yeah. Okay, well, I should get going. I’ll follow up with you later. Do you care if Seungcheol knows the number, too?”

“No,” Vernon shrugged, planting the toothpick into the corner of his mouth and flicking it with his tongue, “just don’t go throwin’ it around. I could only get enough for a couple people, anyway.”

“All good. Okay—later, guys.”

Mingyu stepped away from the table with a wave and a flash of his pearled, charming smile, nothing but the mild scent of his fresh and expensive-smelling cologne to swirl through the now vacant space. In true espionage fashion, Wonwoo and Vernon both picked open the slots between the restaurant curtains, cautiously observing the boy’s stride into the parking lot and onto the sidewalk, where he at last disappeared into the warm, sunny afternoon.

Heaving a gigantic exhausted breath, Wonwoo took off his glasses and set them in his lap, massaging deep into his eye sockets.

“Y’know, he’s not that fuckin’ bad,” Vernon commented, “I mean, he scares the shit outta me, but that could have gone worse.”

"Jesus Christ—I can’t believe what I just watched.”

His friend laughed, banging his fist excitedly enough on the table to engender the silverware clattering on their plates. “Ha! I know, right? Dude—Seungcheol and Mingyu are the kingpins of that fuckin’ university you go to. They can cough up the big bucks for that shit. Just imagine the distribution pay I'm gonna get with them on my roster—actually, that couldn’t have gone better.”

“And where are you gonna get it?” Wonwoo pressured, at last settling his glasses back on, clarifying Vernon’s smudged, blurry face.

“Well, let me fuck around and work my magic.”

“I don’t want him to use you.”

“Pfft. I don’t give no fucks about being used,” Vernon cackled, wearing a self-indulgent, luminous smile and continuing to play around with the toothpick while he readied his wallet to pay. “You know what you should worry about, Glasses? Sweet talkin’ the fuck outta that dude’s girl and securin' yourself an invite. You probably don’t even need to try sweet talkin’—she obviously likes you.”

“No,” Wonwoo grumbled, “no way.”

“You don’t want to go?”

“Why would I want to go, dumbass? The last time I went to a party, I ran into you. They’re loud and suffocating. I’ll pass.” Wonwoo also pulled out his wallet, taking his card. “Besides, I get the sense Mingyu doesn’t trust me a whole lot. I’m not gonna stir the pot.”

Vernon shook his head. “You stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street. N’yeah, exactly. You met me. I don’t get the fuss.”

“It’s nothing like that," Wonwoo answered in frustration.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a Patron Saint. I just want my Life Saver.”

—MAY 19TH.

Wonwoo was going to your apartment today for the first time, and it had nearly killed him in the process.

His abhorrent sleep schedule hung over his head every single instance he woke up at lunchtime, the entirety of his mornings wasted to weathered heartbreak and its lasting, stained consequences. Needing to be at your apartment for ten had Wonwoo buckling his face into anguished hands the night before, wondering how he was going to pull off such a triumph without wishing for death.  

He did know one thing for certain—the sound of his alarm erupting into its timely, strident beeping made him instantly sick. In fact, the first thing Wonwoo did was half-stumble in complete bleariness out from his bed, dragging a white sheet along by his ankle as he burst into the washroom and hung his head over the toilet like he was sweating through a wicked hangover. But it wasn’t alcohol. It was months of bad, soul-stitched habit festered up in stomach bile and perhaps, a hatred for himself. It was his own fault, in a way.

And yet, when you texted him a half-hour later to reconfirm your address, Wonwoo replied with not the slightest hint that he was feeling pretty fucking terrible. The headache and shudders followed him down the street, onto the bus, and into the lobby of your notably opulent apartment complex. He felt rather incongruous amongst all the marble—the white trim, the clean, untainted air, even the breakfast table with dispensable lemon water and small, fruit-topped pastries that somehow made Wonwoo want to kill himself.

He looked down at his phone.

[ Her | 9:10 am ]: 717 thorton street, unit 61

[ Her | 9:45 am ]: are you almost here? :)

Wonwoo pressed the button to the elevator.

[ Wonwoo | 9:50 am ]: Yes. In the building.

His phone vibrated immediately with a text.

[ Her | 9:50 am ]: I’m so excited

The doors pulled apart. Wonwoo stepped aside for a couple who were leaving the elevator before he entered. Quickly, he clicked the button to close the doors, not wanting to share the space with anyone but himself and the headache throbbing at the forefront of his cranium. He sighed, glancing at his texts again to reply.

[ Wonwoo | 9:51 am ]: Do you have any Tylenol?

[ Her | 9:51 am ]: most def

[ Her | 9:51 am ]: what’s wrong?

[ Wonwoo | 9:52 am ]: Nothing much. Just a headache.

When he didn’t receive an immediate answer, he assumed you had put the phone down to search your medicine cabinet. Getting off the elevator, Wonwoo proceeded to find the correct apartment. He put his fist up to the door, and then, at the last second, stopped.

There it was again—the same melting pot of anxiety and butterflies that had bubbled up when you first visited his place.

He supposed the feelings never truly disappeared each time he would see you, and he was beginning to detest it. Why couldn’t his body just adapt? Get over it? What purpose did it serve to constantly remind him of his unkempt emotions? It was like the idea of you terrified him more than you as an actual person, because in person, he felt comfort, as crazy as it sounded. So why couldn’t his anxiety and security just complete that stupid sliver of a synapse for once?

Knock knock.

After a moment, the handle clicked, and the door to sumptuous unit 61 was pulled open. For the first time, Wonwoo saw your face without any makeup, and it sort of made him stutter in his words—not that he was shocked in abhorrence at the contrast, more so the vulnerability behind it, the fact you felt comfortable enough to shed your compulsion with always presenting a perfect, glamoured face. He was pleased to see you were in a fuzzy pair of pink shorts and a white, thin long-sleeve that were basically pyjamas.

Maybe it was weird to think, but you seemed more human.

“You made good timing. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” Wonwoo answered while stepping inside, toeing off his sneakers next to your plethora of shoes at the doormat.

“I would obviously say tour first, but I have your Tylenol sitting on the counter over here, for your headache. Can you dry swallow or do you need water?”

“Dry swallow?” Wonwoo laughed, following you toward the kitchen area. “Who the fuck dry swallows any sort of pill?”

“I don’t know! Personally, I don’t. But there are some freaks out there who do. I was actually testing you. And you passed.”

“Lucky me,” he sighed.

Taking a seat at one of stools displayed around the large, granite-surface island, Wonwoo waited for you to pour him some water. Obviously, the apartment was spacious, gorgeous—the large, white-fluffed rug in the centre of the living room was definitely suited to you, though he was surprised by the tall, lush potted plants aligned by the window panelling. He didn’t know you had a green thumb.

While placing down the water, you shifted closely into the seat beside him, and Wonwoo could smell the scent of strawberries on your skin. You let your chin press into the hammock made with your hands, watching as he set the pill on his tongue and gulped it down.

“So, is it really bad?”

Wonwoo turned the glass back and forth atop its coaster, deciding on whether or not he should tell the truth. It always tended to sting him when he lied, and so he turned to you, shrugging.

“I felt it when I woke up. But it’s manageable.”

“Oh, I get that sometimes.”

“It’s because of my repulsive sleep schedule, no doubt.”

You smiled at him, adjusting your leg under the island.

“Is that why you prefer afternoons all the time?”

“Pretty much. It’s a horrible habit. I’ll break it somehow, I’m sure. Just a stupid hump to get over. Anyway—” Wonwoo slung the laptop bag off his shoulder and onto the counter, “—your place looks pretty sweet. How are you? What’s the plan for today?”

“Well,” you hummed, slapping an arm down onto the reflective granite, “I’ve wrote some more this week. I’d love for you to proofread it. Maybe we can go out for lunch later, but you’d need to give me time to get ready. I mean, I did shower this morning…”

He watched you pause, and then swallow. "You don’t care, do you?”

“About what?” Wonwoo answered.

“Oh, well—never mind, then.”

“No, what is it? What don’t I care about?”

You started to grin, hiding half your face with a hand that slowly scraped across your cheek, as though to rub off any remaining lethargy from the morning light. Wonwoo waited for you to answer.

“… I look like a mole.”

He at last realized what you meant.

“No, you don’t.”

“I was just feeling lazy. I know, gasp, what an insane word to come from my mouth. But I’m glad you don’t care. I didn’t think you would, but I still wasn’t sure. At least your reaction wasn’t obvious. My chin is breaking out so please don’t stare at it, if you can help it.”

“Oh, well, you know, you look—” that one banished word almost slipped, but Wonwoo smoothly mended the break, “you—you have nothing to worry about. I get breakouts, too. It sucks, but it’s life.”

Your bare, soft face turned cheerful in a fawning smile.

“I know. I guess I'm just not very used to the feeling of people seeing me like this. Did you want to do lunch later?”

Wonwoo leaned back in the small seat, running his hands up his knees, knowing damn well he hadn’t eaten breakfast.

“Uh, I should probably start with like, cereal or something.”

“You didn’t eat?”

“No appetite.”

“I’ll fix you something. Unfortunately, no cereal. But I'll get some the next time Mingyu and I do groceries. So, what do you like best? Toast? Oatmeal? Scrambled eggs and toast? Orange juice? Bagel?”

At the mere mention of orange juice, his fist clenched. Attempting not to dwell so obviously, Wonwoo straightened up and smiled.

“I like toast.”

“That’s good. It’ll be easy on your stomach.”

Wonwoo watched you squeeze off the stool and open the fridge to pull out a plastic bag of bread. He watched you stand on your tiptoes to reach into the highest cupboard and grab a plate. He watched you pop open a jar of fresh raspberry jam and slot the bread into the toaster. He could watch you do anything, it seemed.

Anything at all.

It took Wonwoo about half an hour to eat his raspberry toast and skim through the newest additions to your document. You were getting more into the thick of your relationship with Mingyu—just as you’d warned—but Wonwoo was able to gloss most cloying paragraphs without too much bitterness or personal weight clouding his possible critiques. Wonwoo was still seated at the island, meanwhile you were lying face down on the plump-cushioned couch, an arm dangling off the side. In a morbid way, you looked very much dead if not for the shallow rising and dipping of your back.

“Done, for the most part.”

Your head perked up, and he was relieved to see you hadn’t fallen asleep or suffocated. “When will you add your notes?”

“After lunch. Is that okay?”

“Mmhm.”

“So…” Wonwoo slid down in the chair, reaching out his arms with a gigantic yawn, “you actually snuck into his basketball game?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, letting your chin snuggle into the blanket strewn underneath you, “I was obsessed with him. I couldn’t help it.”

“I wouldn’t expect your first date to be at the nature museum. The way you wrote about the butterfly exhibit was nice, though.”

“It was fun. Mingyu wasn’t the biggest fan, but I had always wanted to go. There was this huge skeleton of a blue whale, and sometimes the museum would play the whale’s ballad—” you flopped onto your back, staring up at the ceiling with a tender, ardent laugh as your fingers twirled the fluffy knots of the throw, “—it used to scare Mingyu so bad. He kept telling me he was gonna leave our date unless we went to another exhibit.”

“The sound can be pretty jarring if you’ve never heard it before, to be fair,” Wonwoo reasoned, now massaging down his legs.

Shoving your body to sit upright on the couch, you poked out your tongue at him, grinning, “don’t defend his loserness.”

He huffed in response, “my bad.”

“Should we do a tour now? I really want to show you my room. And if I keep lying on the couch, I’ll fall asleep.”

“Uh, sure. Do you want me to wash my plate?”

“No, no, it’s fine. Just leave it in the sink.”

After Wonwoo cleaned off the granite island, he came to join you in the living room, the white rug resembling what he imagined a cloud to feel like underneath his socked feet.

A thought had suddenly popped into his head.

“There’s a nature museum here, too.”

You grabbed the blanket, wearing it like a shawl around your shoulders. Wonwoo had never seen you so sleepy before.

“I know.”

“Have you ever gone?”

“No. Not at all. I did ask Mingyu once when we first came here for university. But I think he was still mortified from the whale thing. I dunno. Anyway, is that your round-about way of asking if I ever want to go? Because I would, to help with the story.”

Wonwoo scratched along his collarbone, heated with the itch of being blatantly exposed for his plotting. However, he hadn’t suggested the museum with the intention of employing it as a visual to sharpen up your scene-work. He was hoping to go just for the sake of it—like a palate cleanser, as you had previously mentioned.

But he obviously wasn’t going to articulate that.

“We can plan it more later,” he said.

The tour started in the living room, which Wonwoo had become well acquainted with throughout his half hour of sitting at the kitchen island, occasionally flicking his eyes toward the couch to ensure you were still alive. You explained that the pristine white rug was a housewarming gift from Mingyu’s parents when you first moved into the apartment, and he felt guilty for even stepping on it.

He decided to ask about the plants by the windows.

“Oh, I don’t actually look after those,” you answered, touching at one of the heavy and balmy-looking green leaves from a plant nearly as tall as you, “Seokmin comes over to water them and stuff, gives them special nutrient food—even sprays their leaves with this misty bottle thing. I tried giving them all to him, but he says he’s got no space at his apartment—which is total bull by the way.”

“Maybe he just wants an excuse to see you.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes, “doesn’t everyone?”

Wonwoo bit back a stupid little smile as he followed you into your bedroom—the place you seemed most enthralled for him to finally see. You twirled into the open space and threw the blanket off your shoulders, then whipping your hands into the air akin to a magician who’d just performed the most grandiose magic trick.

“Tada! Bedroom reveal!”

He pushed up his glasses, taking a good, solid look around at everything he could: the prestigious makeup vanity with the drawers left half-open, your dresser, lined with photographs of what he assumed to be friends, family, and Mingyu, the beaded, dangling chandelier, the ajar closet doors that revealed your unsurprising magnitude of outfits—skirts and dresses and professional blazers and lascivious things from threads of lace and silk. He finally looked to your beautiful bed, which you proceeded to flop onto.

“This is my favourite part,” you hummed.

Taking some further steps into the bedroom, Wonwoo began recognizing smaller details, though he couldn’t explain what he was feeling. He always thought a bedroom was such a personal, intimate space, like a treasure chest stuffed with memories and pieces of person’s essence that couldn’t be captured using words alone. To sit on someone’s bed, or sift through their drawers for a pen, or even grab a shirt from their closet—he felt it was all so… sacred. It was the reason he had such a hard time having others in his bedroom.

“The bed is your favourite?” He wondered.

“Yes,” you giggled, a glimmer flashing into your eyes like diamonds in the sun as you climbed onto your knees.

Before Wonwoo knew what was happening, you had clutched a hand into his shirt and jerked him toward the covers. He landed beside you, and his heart thrust with electricity.

“You could have just asked me to sit,” he chuckled, wiping some wrinkles off his shirt and adjusting his glasses.

“Nope.”

“Bed’s comfy.”

“Duh,” you sunk backward, smirking at him, “it’s a bed.”

“Hey, you should have seen the bed I had growing up in Changwon. My older brother and I, we hated it. Shit was like sleeping on a piece of cardboard. It didn’t get better for years.”

Propping your head onto a pillow, you continued to smile prettily at him with those entrancing eyes, and for a second, this piercing fear struck in the core of Wonwoo’s chest that he had just spoke about himself—actually spoke about himself—in a manner that screamed of vulnerability. He felt terror. Why did he do that?

“Hm. I guess I’m just spoiled, with my memory foam and all.”

At least you didn’t push into the topic. You were getting better at that, almost like you could interpret the subtle tweaks in his face or the stiffening of his bones. Wonwoo rested his elbows on his knees.

“Your room’s nice. It smells like you.”

He heard you giggle, “what? Like strawberries?”

Wonwoo pursed his lip, looked down at his fingers. “Yeah…”

For a moment, his eyes lingered unfaithfully on your exposed midriff, down to the fluffy hem of those pink lounge shorts. He squeezed his wrist tight, practically stopping his own blood flow, willing himself not to think anything unhinged that would simmer up to fuel his self-hatred later. The longer your head spent sinking into that plump pillow, the more your lids fluttered with sleep. As he continued to gaze about the room, he spotted the pink stuffed bear that he’d won you at the Spring Street Fair, sitting atop your bedside table.

“You’ve still got that?”

“Hm?” You pushed up onto your elbows, yawning. “Oh, yeah! ‘Course I still have her. It’s a perfect little memento from that night.”

“Well, I did go through a lot of effort to win it.”

“Oh, I’m aware... wanna know what I named her?”

“What?”

“Miss Priss.”

Honestly, Wonwoo was surprised you hadn’t stuffed it into your closet or abandoned the toy in some innocuous corner of your apartment. Instead the bear’s vibrant pink face and slightly lopsided eyes were staring him down, making him rerun Vernon’s words in his head: ‘you stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street.’

Wonwoo immediately shoved the memory aside, letting the implications sizzle up and burn on the hot coals of his brain.

“Hm. Funny.”

You rolled your eyes.

Wonwoo tapped his wrist, thinking.

“So, uh, I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but why don’t you live with Mingyu? I know he stays over some nights.”

Lifting yourself up with one arm, you shrugged, opting to stroke a hand along the blanket to smooth out some crinkles. “I don’t want to move in with anyone unless I’m engaged.”

“Actually?”

“Yeah. I mean, that's what I told my parents, at least. They used to really push for us to have an apartment together. Which makes sense. They freaking love him. I swear, more than me," you laughed, picking at your shirt. "I get it, too. Mingyu and I have pretty much been tied at the hip all these years. But we agreed that we wouldn't live together until things went to the next level. He does keep a lot of his stuff here for when he does stay over, and vice versa. He’s got an extra key and everything, his own nightstand, bathroom stuff.”

“And that’s for certain?”

You tilted your head. “What’s for certain?”

“The engagement thing. Or was it just to shake off your parents?”

“Well… I guess I mean it. Is that weird to you?”

“No,” Wonwoo said. “I personally haven't heard it plenty.”

“Yeah, most people are surprised to learn we don’t live together. I guess we really give off the impression that we're together in most things, if not everything. It's good to get a little space, though."

“Well, I understand it—wanting to have your own space. I mean, I think everyone should try living alone, just once if they have to. You learn more about yourself, I suppose.”

You cracked a smile at him. “What have you learned?”

Wonwoo chuckled, knowing all the things he could never say were tingling right on the tip of his tongue. “Well, I meant in a general sense. I wasn't exactly talking about myself.”

“Ha—you learned how to be a hermit.”

“I'm pretty sure I was always like that.”

“Yeah, but probably not that bad.”

“That bad?” He furrowed his dark brows at you, staring straight into your eyes that twinkled with challenge. “Meaning what?”

“Please, you would not leave that apartment if it wasn’t for your commitment to the book. Maybe for work, some groceries every now and then. Otherwise, your ass is not leaving.”

“Damn. Just call me a loser.”

“Fine,” you huffed, pushing up onto your knees, “loser.”

Wonwoo managed to hold the penetrating, spirited strength of your gaze, and he was proud of himself for doing so, even if his heart felt like it was going to leap into his throat. It was still difficult for him to be routinely engaged in eye contact, but he knew how much you appreciated it—the feeling of being listened to and experiencing someone’s dedication to presenting their full attention.

Since it was getting close to lunch time, Wonwoo figured you might want to start thinking of where to eat. He was getting notably hungry, and having to function off some toast coated thinly in raspberry jam wouldn’t be enough to power him throughout his proofreading. He pulled out his phone, wanting to check the time, and began sliding off your comfortable, warm bed.

“Did you want to—”

“Hey, wait, wait, wait—” Wonwoo felt your hand curl around his bicep in a firm grip and begin to pull him back down, “—before we get up and everything, I want to talk to you about something.”

Oh no.

His stomach writhed.

Wonwoo started praying it wasn’t about his and Vernon’s encounter with Mingyu at Solar Pop—not that anything particularly terrible or concerning had happened—but maybe Mingyu had mentioned something to you. Maybe he didn’t like Wonwoo and thought it was best you stop writing together, stop seeing each other.

His mind started quivering with a steadfast hurricane of awful thought and Wonwoo knew the flushed colour had most likely drained from his face as quickly as a popped balloon.

Your hand remained on his bicep, squeezing it.

“Why do you look so worried, already?” You chuckled in a quiet voice, rubbing his arm until Wonwoo visibly relaxed. “I haven’t even said anything yet. Unless, you think I should be worried, too.”

“No.” Wonwoo shook his head. “Just—never mind.”

“Hm, well, that’s kind of what I want to talk about.”

As your hand drifted off his arm, Wonwoo sat crossed-legged, narrowing his eyes at you in question. “What do you mean?”

The conversation began with a clunk of silence, to which you glanced down at the bed for a moment, clearly biting on your inner cheek in contemplation. Wonwoo desperately wanted you to spit it out. He hated when empty words hung so burdensomely in the air.

“Well… there’s no easy way to bring it up. And I’m not sure you’ll even want to talk about it with me, but I keep noticing it, again and again. I think it’s at least worth it to put it on the table. And, if it’s not my business, you can freely tell me to screw off.”

“Oh… okay.”

And then you were looking at him, not with any sort of accusation or anger or even disappointment. Somehow, Wonwoo knew what you were going to say, and he braced himself for it.

“Do you… do you have anxiety?”

Wonwoo said nothing. He wasn’t sure if it was an issue of not wanting to speak or being unable to.

You breathed out heavily in response.

“Okay, silence, I definitely saw that coming—but, um, I’m not stupid, you know? Your face just gets so pale, and I feel like I can see the heartbeat in your chest… and you always do that thing with your fist. Clenching it. It always looks so painful but you never seem to care and—anyway—I just… I can tell when it happens and it kind of bothers me that you try to like, shrug it off or call it ‘spacing out’ when it’s really clearly not. And, maybe that’s my fault.”

His gaze had shifted to lock with yours.

Again, you weren’t staring at him with any malice or dejection—he’d come to learn that your eyes were actually quite soft most of the time, soft but always glittering, like a handful of silk. Still, Wonwoo couldn’t yet find his words, which must have come across as remarkably shocking for someone who spent their whole life grabbing all the shiny bits of possible vernacular.

You sat up straighter, touching his knee.

“Is it my fault you don’t want to talk about it? Can I at least know that much?” There was an imploring desperation in your face.

Wonwoo at last cleared his throat.

“I don’t talk about it with anyone.”

“Okay, I get that. But, did I make you feel like you couldn’t bring it up? At all?” Your fingers dug a little harder into his knee, though Wonwoo knew you probably hadn’t realized it. “I just—I do want to know, actually. Because sometimes I let myself get in the way of being present for other people. But I care. I honestly do.”

He nodded, cracking his knuckles.

“I mean… I definitely wouldn’t have thought to bring it up with you. I guess I felt like, if I did, what would it accomplish? You might think I’m incapable or… I don’t know.” He shoved his hands underneath his glasses, rubbing at the indents on his nose. “As you can see, I’m not the best at talking about it. I don’t talk about it.”

You folded your legs in similar fashion to Wonwoo.

“Well… um… do you… is there anyone that could, like… I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess, are you coping alright, is what I’m asking. I really don’t mean to overstep. I swear.”

At that, he chuckled quite loudly. Your face twitched in surprise at his reaction, and the hand slipped off his knee.

“It really doesn’t matter. I just deal with it.”

No. He took nothing. He did nothing. Wonwoo just sat and suffered and felt no initiative to help himself. At that point, he really didn’t want to dissect the topic any further. He could sense the slithering under his skin, the way his body physically bristled like a perturbed cat at the thought of having to be any more open than what he'd already shared. The choices he made in his life weren’t important if he was going to end up back in the same slippery trench.

“Oh. Well, I hope you take care of yourself,” you said with a smile, giving his bicep another gentle squeeze. “That’s all.”

—JUNE 2ND.

About two weeks had passed since Wonwoo visited your apartment. Afterward, you had met up four times to continue writing and making small ventures to places that you deemed vital for developing your story. Wonwoo found himself enjoying most trips.

He remembered the ice cream shop. Apparently, it was the date where Mingyu had officially asked you to be his girlfriend. You had gotten their most popular strawberry cheesecake flavour while Wonwoo ordered mint chocolate chip, which was a rather boring but favourite classic of his. No doubt, you sat across from him on their outside patio the entire time, pitting remarks about how awful his choice was in lieu of writing anything down in your document. With every spoonful he ate, Wonwoo had to keep reminding you to stay focused, and eventually, his repetitious ordering worked.

"Did you actually come here to get any writing done or did you just want the ice cream? We're not palate-cleansing are we?"

"Why can't two things be true at once?"

“Can I see your laptop?”

“No—hey! Don’t try to grab it!”

“Why? Because you’ve written fuck all?”

"For your information, I have a bullet-point list going."

"Oh, yeah. A bullet-point list, hm?"

"Yes. It has all my major writing points. Point number one: Mingyu seats me down at the table. He's clearly nervous. We've only been in the shop for a minute or two and he won't stop brushing his hair behind his ears. Point number two: Mingyu grabs our ice cream from the counter. He gives me his flavour, rocky road, by accident, and then we awkwardly laugh and switch. Point number three: I remember thinking his nerves were endearing, and—"

"Okay, okay. I get it."

"Exactly. Let this be a lesson in poor assumption. Don't try to assume anything about me, Wonwoo. It's probably wrong."

And then there had been the journey to Mooney’s Bay, one of the most well-known beaches outside the city—probably because the lake actually looked a clean, salty blue and the soft sand wasn’t littered with drifting pieces of plastic. It had been the first place Wonwoo took his brother when he came to visit from his office in Korea, and the picture they had taken together with their pant legs cuffed up, standing knee deep in the water, was still pinned to the corkboard in Wonwoo’s bedroom. However, Wonwoo hadn’t been back to the beach since, until you dragged him there in an hour-long car ride. He had mostly looked out the window, thinking, as always.

You said that Mooney’s Bay reminded you of a cove from your hometown, a more clandestine one, where you and Mingyu used to splash around in the isolated, iridescent waters at night, laughing into the chilled breeze and coughing up all the liquid splatted into the other’s face. Wonwoo had used the video camera to record some footage of the beach per your request. By evening, most people had packed up their coolers and umbrellas and sun towels, granting him more freedom to film wider, panned shots. He remembered standing at the foam shoreline, feeling the sand squelch wetly under his bare feet, recording you wading further and deeper into the water that reflected like a bleeding, scarlet portrait of stained glass.

“It feels amazing! You should come in!”

“I can’t. It’ll ruin the camcorder.”

“So put it down! In the bag! There’s enough footage.”

“But the sun is setting behind you. It makes for a good shot.”

"So just hurry up! The water is the perfect temperature."

"But—"

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”

"Well, I don't know... I, uh—I can't swim."

"This isn't swimming, this is wading. Just go up to your knees. It's been a hot, long day. I think this will help get the scowl off your face."

“… Fine. At least give me a second to fix my pants.”

The third location, while not his favourite, had been an open bar that was conveniently placed a few streets over from his job at the pharmacy. Wonwoo had went there a number of times with Vernon in the past, usually after he finished a midterm or handed in some grating assignment, though Vernon tended to drink more than his body could sufficiently handle. By the end of the night, Wonwoo would most often find himself being a mediator between his tattooed, foul-mouthed friend and whatever blundering, equally drunk idiot he happened to be arguing with.

It was too much for his anxiety.

Nonetheless, he’d met you there after work despite the churning cauldron of memories that he harboured, unsurprised to find you seated at a small table swarmed with dewy drinks and shots that interested observers had sent over. Wonwoo felt each digging, plying stare that sculpted against his back as he sat beside you—he even choked down one of your retched tequila shots (while not the best idea), hoping it would mellow him out.

You never really explained why the bar was pertinent to your history with Mingyu—or, maybe you had, and Wonwoo was simply one flaming shot past coherent of properly digesting your words. He did, however, remember your entire, almost scientific explanation of why you liked wearing low-cut or heavily revealing tops at the bar, and Wonwoo had listened along as best he could manage, even when that floating sensation started hazing through his mind. At one point, this girl who Wonwoo had never encountered once in his life came up to him with a polite tap on his shoulder and an inquiring smile.

“Hey—sorry to intrude—and this may be a super dumb question, but you are guys together?”

“No, no. Not at all. I’ve got a boyfriend. He’s single.”

“Oh, perfect. I was just—I was sitting over there, in the corner with my friends, if you can see. Anyways—I said something dumb about how you were really good looking, and now I’ve been dared to come up and ask for your number. So, um, yeah…”

“No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“O-Oh. Wait… are you… being serious?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Sorry. This is really fucking embarrassing… uh, I guess I won’t linger then. Bye.”

“… Jeez… had a bit much to drink or something?”

“No—just don’t like giving out my number to strangers.”

“She was cute, though. Probably a fun one-night stand.”

“Then you have sex with her, yeah?”

“Ha! You’re so funny. When’s the last time you even had sex? I mean, you obviously pull. At least, I think you do…”

“I don’t remember. Months and months ago, I guess.”

“Wow! Zero play. I kind of respect it. I could never, though. So… actually, let me guess: you’re the type of person that can’t have sex without attachment? You need to be in love?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just asking.”

“I don’t know.”

“God. You’re so fucking boring, Wonwoo.”

“Because I don’t go out of my way to find some pretty girl to have sex with every week, I’m boring? How does that make sense?”

“No, not that. I mean the fact you never really want to discuss anything about yourself. Honestly, sometimes talking to you is like pulling teeth, y’know? Anyway, move back a little. Backwards cap with the earrings has been staring on and off for the last ten minutes and I want one more free shot before I call it a night.”

The most recent place you had been together was the popular drive-in at Richmond’s Farm. Wonwoo knew that in the autumn months leading up to Halloween, the venue was turned into a haunted carnival with all the typical attractions: pumpkin patches, horror movie screenings, corn mazes, and masked, fake blood-spattered psychopaths chasing people around with a roaring chainsaw.

Seokmin, despite being quite weak-stomached and completely disastrous when it came to anything horror-related, had actually implored Wonwoo to go the year before after hearing the raves about their newest House of Nightmares, although Wonwoo declined in order to study for a test.

Really, there was no test.

Wonwoo just hadn’t been in the mood for losing all his hair and being crammed into pitch black, narrow corridors with a murderer promptly waiting around the corner. He hoped Seokmin wouldn’t ask him again this year—then his excuse would be obvious.

In the spring and summer, however, the farm mostly broadcast screenings at their drive-in theatre behind the maize field, and you had leaped at the opportunity to go because it was the perfect chance to relive one of your favourite dates with Mingyu. By your explanation, he’d taken you to see Crazy, Stupid, Love before you two had departed your hometown for university. But the drive-in obviously wasn’t playing that movie, and so you two had to settle for watching their only available screening, 500 Days of Summer.

Wonwoo hated that movie.

Of course, he hadn’t told you that.

Before the movie had started, Wonwoo helped you throw down a blanket into your trunk alongside some couch pillows that you grabbed from your apartment, creating a makeshift lounge in the rear of the car. Since the screening was late at night—and way past your typical good girl bedtime—you were worried about falling asleep halfway into the movie, though Wonwoo promised he would keep an eye on you to ensure you wouldn’t miss anything important.

Since it was too dark to film anything of quality on the camcorder, Wonwoo left you alone in the blanket-pillow trunk to scribble down any nostalgic, limerent sentiments while he grabbed some snacks. You had told him to get gummy bears, because you hated the way broken pieces of popcorn kernel shells would sliver between your teeth and dig into your gums, neither did you want a soft drink since it would be an abundance of sugar before bed, and it always resulted in a breakout the next morning. He was able to make it back to the car just before the screening started.

He remembered how strange it all seemed, sitting so close to you underneath the blanket, occasionally feeling your elbow dig into his arm or your knee bump his thigh, and the sharp blip it would cause in his pulse. Wonwoo remembered how often you complained about the temperature throughout the movie—first, it’s too hot, now, it’s too cold, you’re too close to me, you’re too far away and I’m cold again, I need the blanket, I don’t want the blanket—Wonwoo hadn’t realized a person’s body temperature could fluctuate that drastically. 

However, the worst part of that night happened about half an hour before the movie ended, just when Wonwoo was beginning to feel relieved about going home. You were getting sleepier by the minute, and Wonwoo could tell from the yawning every now and then, wanting desperately to rub at your eyes but refusing because it would smother the mascara into somewhat concerning, black whorls.

You had nudged his arm, and when he glanced over at your face, exhausted and half-illuminated under the watery, bright cast of light from the screen, you asked him in a quiet, dulcet voice: “is it okay if I rest my head on your shoulder for a few minutes?”

Wonwoo had wanted to say no—of course you can’t, because if you do, I will sit here stiff, and hardly breathing, and listening only to my own heartbeat. It will be the sole thing I’ll think about for the next three days no matter what I do to mask the memory. I’ll keep thinking about it until you burn out in my mind like a star.

But then Wonwoo had agreed instead.

He proceeded to clench his fist upon feeling the weight of your head sink softly to his shoulder. Your legs had been curled up underneath you, and your knees were then pressing flush against his leg. Every breath he inhaled was faintly tainted with the scent of your sweet, fragrant shampoo and it was fucking killing him.

“You’re so tense,” you had whispered in a giggle, “if it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t have to. It’s just because I’m tired.”

“No—” it had come out somewhat like a blurt, and Wonwoo just knew the tips of his ears were tingling red, “—it’s okay. I promise.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure… what?”

“Just wanted to look in your eyes when you said it.”

“Fuck, not that again.”

“I have to know!”

“Okay, that’s fine. Movie’s almost over, anyway. Just don’t fall asleep because then I really won’t know what to do.”

That had been four days ago.

Now, it was almost midnight. Wonwoo was sitting on the roof of his apartment with a messily rolled up blunt in his fingers—the second one he prepared, mostly out of impatience—drawing in a slow and deep breath that ghosted from his lips like wispy fog flowing down a shallow hill. He then coughed twice by his elbow, attempting to clear the stinging prickle that caught against his throat.

“You’re so fucking full of it,” Wonwoo laughed.

“No! I’m not.”

“You did not write thirty pages in a day.”

“Uh—actually, I did! And the fact you don’t believe me is a testament to your own wilted motivation. I am very motivated.”

He smiled at the sound of your voice crackling through his phone, which he’d been holding with the latter hand. Breathing in another hit, Wonwoo pulled at the sides of his black beanie, grinning through the thin cloud that was exhaled in a quick, neat puff.

“Okay, you wrote thirty pages. Didn’t have to fucking drag my career through the mud in doing so. I mean, I guess it’s a hobby.”

“For all I know, you’re the biggest poser that ever posed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I still don’t know what you write about.”

“I told you.”

“No—you fucking didn’t. You said something vague and ambiguous that could have meant literally anything. All I had to go off were some sing-songy praises from Seokmin.”

“I give you pretty good notes, though.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“So I must be decent.”

“I don’t even know why I bothered calling you. I was supposed to be in bed, like, an hour ago. You’re such a distraction.”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo laughed, tapping the warm blunt to knock off a clump of papery ash, “it’s been an hour already?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t know why you called either.”

“To complain about that lady whose makeup I had to do today! She was horrible. God, were you not listening?!”

“No, no, I was. She told you the makeup she wanted, you said it wouldn’t suit her too well, and then she got all pissed off when it looked exactly how you said it would. That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh. Well… I just thought you should know about it.”

“Mmhm.”

Silence followed his velvet, almost teasing hum, but Wonwoo didn’t mind it, and he assumed you didn’t either. Your phone call had been completely out of the blue, only a few minutes after he’d climbed onto the roof and started sparking his lighter. An hour had already passed—Wonwoo couldn’t believe it. Time had never seemed so blurred and insignificant before, like tomorrow didn’t exist at all.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

Wonwoo repositioned the phone in his hand.

“From time to time, yeah.”

“What strain?”

“Northern Lights.”

“I’ve never had that one. I mean, I’m not much of a stoner, and neither is Mingyu. I don’t like the way it feels in my throat—that dry, burning feeling. And I hate the cotton mouth afterward.”

“Shouldn’t be that bad if you’re inhaling it right.”

“Well, maybe you can teach me one day.”

He let the blunt hang from the corner of his mouth for a moment, a very fluttery-feeling smile taking shape. Not wanting you to hear that slight bit of giddiness in his tone, Wonwoo took another hit, holding the smoke in for longer than usual before exhaling.

“Do you, uh… do you still want to go to that museum?”

“Oh—the nature museum?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll have to do some poking around in my schedule. I have this stupid leadership council meeting for SSA that I have to go to.”

“That’s fine. Text me when you figure it out.”

“Okay… gosh, it’s really fucking late.”

“Yeah, you should get some sleep.”

“Are you pushing me off the phone? If anything, I should be the one pushing. You’re not doing anything to fix your terrible sleep schedule. And I certainly don’t want you to ruin mine.”

“That’s what I’m saying—you need to get some sleep.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“How did I say it?”

“Like you were pushing me off the phone!”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. How ‘bout this: I know how important structure is to you, and I am deeply concerned that this late night conversation we’re having may somewhat affect your sleep. And while I’ve thoroughly enjoyed talking to you and hearing your pretty voice through my shitty phone speaker, I think we should both go to bed.”

“That seems fair.”

“Great. So, goodnight then.”

“No! I want to be the first one to say goodnight.”

“Why?”

“Because, I say goodnight, then you say goodnight back, and then I get to be the one who hangs up first. It’s a courtesy thing.”

“Uh, okay then... I’m listening.”

“Goodnight!”

Wonwoo smiled. He smiled so fucking widely and brightly that he could feel the muscles in his face aching.

“Goodnight.”

—JUNE 7TH.

Since the quickest route to the nature museum was about half an hour from Wonwoo’s apartment, he suggested that you stop by around lunch time so that you two could make the walk together. It wasn’t too warm outside—the large smattering of clouds dotted in the sky and the typical city breeze helped to keep the temperature down.

“We’re not allowed to film in the museum,” you said from your seat at his small dinner table, “so don’t bother taking the camcorder, I guess. I’ll just try to soak up everything as best I can.”

Wonwoo was sat across from you, waiting for you to finish the heated-up carton box of creamy mushroom pasta that you’d raided out his freezer. He’d tried his best to eat beforehand as well, but the most he could stomach was some milk and cereal in addition a handful of blueberries. It was still better than his usual routine, which involved skipping any sort of meal post lunchtime.

“If you really needed to, I’m sure you could take a couple pictures,” Wonwoo answered, brushing a hand through his styled, pristine black hair that you had earlier littered with a flustering spiel of compliments. “I doubt the exhibits will be exactly the same, but if it's more so to capture the feeling, then it won’t matter much.”

You patted the corner of your mouth upon finishing the last few noodles left in the box, nodding your head in agreement.

“My journal’s in my bag. It should be fine.”

Wonwoo flipped over his phone to check the time.

“How was the SSA meeting yesterday?”

“Oh—I didn’t go.”

“Really?” Wonwoo asked while settling back in his chair, watching you toss the fork into the carton. “How come?”

“Because, it’s mostly pointless. We always sit there, in front of all those old, crusty men, trying to explain to them how we can improve the campus, the student experience, blah blah. And they act like they’re legitimately consuming our input, using phrases like: ‘oh, we hear you, we understand, we’re gonna try our hardest’—just for them to put, what? Another fucking seating area in the dining hall that no one asked for or cares about? It’s totally ridiculous.”

“Hm, yeah.”

“Anyways, I hate being on it. I hate going. I understand it looks good and whatnot, but it’s a huge waste of my time.”

Wonwoo picked up the pasta box, continuing to hum his agreement while taking it into the kitchen. He dropped the fork into the sink and folded up the cardboard to stuff into his recycling.

“It’s one meeting. A skip won’t kill you, or them.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Mingyu thinks I went, though. So, if you run into him or something and the topic fucking miraculously pops up—just don’t give anything away. It’s a little white lie.”

Coming back to the dining table, Wonwoo snatched up his wallet and shoved it into his back pocket, raising an eyebrow.

“Why wouldn’t you tell him?”

You pushed back in the chair, sighing heavily.

“He really thinks I should stick with it.”

Wonwoo didn’t say anything in response. He simply nodded, not wanting to hover on Mingyu as a conversation piece for too long, and waited for you to shoulder on your purse.

“Okay,” you then smiled, “let’s go look at some nature.”

Despite their boring, lacklustre reputation, Wonwoo had always enjoyed going to museums—art, history, science—he’d even been to a museum that delved into ancient coin minting and the development of currency. He supposed it was his appreciation for learning new information of his own free will, unlike the fast-paced, passion-draining, wringer system that was university. Furthermore, he was surprised that you would share his interest in the matter.

“Why wouldn’t I like museums?” You had stopped just before the acclaimed beetle species wall, aglow behind a glass sheet. “I wrote in my draft that Mingyu and I went to a nature museum, remember?”

“I know. I’m just surprised you have that much of an interest in them. Your life seems so upbeat. I didn’t think you would be into something that most people find fairly dry and anticlimactic.”

“Right.” Twirling back around, you continued walking down the corridor, your eyes tracing the organized arrangement of lustre-shelled beetles. “Because everyone else is too stupid and you’re the true upper echelon who actually possesses the mental capability required to appreciate something as seemingly trivial but totally enriching as…” you then paused at the glass, squinting to read the embossed label below an oblong-shaped beetle with an iridescent green shell, “… as the Chrysochroa Fulgidissima? I don’t know, something like that—also known as the Jewel Beetle. Its species is native to Japan and Korea. It’s a… woodboring beetle?”

“Why would I know?” Wonwoo laughed, coming to stand beside you and look at the plaque settled to the white background behind the display glass. “You’re the one reading it.”

“Ugh—doesn’t matter. I was going somewhere with my speech and now I forget… oh, yeah! So, you think you’re smarter than me?”

Placing a gentle hand on your lower back, Wonwoo urged you to keep walking forward in order to let the people faintly mumbling behind you examine the wall, who seemed much more interested.

“I never said that,” he answered softly.

“Okay—but, do you think you’re smarter?”

“In what sense?”

“Did you take the Frontiers evaluation for calculus?”

“Yes.”

“What’d you score?”

“9.8.”

“Shut the fuck up! No you didn’t.”

Wonwoo merely tapped the black-framed glasses further up his nose, smirking slightly, and began shaking his head while continuing down the exhibit. You hurried after him, remembering to lower your voice to match the collective quietness.

“Prove it,” you whispered.

“Go to prof Bradbrook’s office. My name’s on her wall.”

“I hate you.”

“Why? What did you score?”

“I’m obviously not going to say it now.”

Wonwoo still remembered the day his test score came back—he’d opened the envelope in Miss Bradbrook’s office, and while she sat across from him, practically squirming and jittering with anticipation, Wonwoo had glossed over the paper slip with the smallest, most low effort smile. He knew he was supposed to feel relieved in that moment—overjoyed probably—to realize his notable success and the upstanding conformation he was legitimately good at something. But in truth, he hadn’t really felt anything at all. He sort of just smiled. That was it. That was all he could muster.

And his life had mirrored that moment ever since. In the past, it would come and go. Yet, that day, it just stuck. The only time he ever experienced any glint or sparkle of happiness, it had come from his girlfriend—but even she couldn’t imbue much from him that day.

“Well, that’s not what I expected you to ask.”

You glanced over at him, adjusting the bag on your arm.

“Meaning?”

“There are different types of intelligence. I thought you meant, in a more general sense, am I smarter, or more knowledgeable. To be honest, I can’t say. I mean, I feel like I’ve experienced and seen a whole lot, but that’s just life’s illusion.”

“You won’t really know ‘til you’re on your death bed.”

Wonwoo returned your glance, squinching his brown eyes in a judgemental but innocuous way that gave bloom to his smile.

“Thanks.”

“I can’t help it. Museums make me think of death. I think it’s the really cold, still air. Especially in nature museums where they need to preserve things. Like, look at that fox. It’s a bit ominous.”

On the exhibit to his right, Wonwoo observed another display protected by glass. There was a fox, with a rusty, auburn coloured coat, poised atop a fake precipice of grass. Wonwoo knew what you meant—it was the eyes, like two leaf green beads, so immensely detailed but lifeless to an almost uncomfortable degree.

“I want to see the aquarium exhibit next,” you said, tugging twice at Wonwoo’s sleeve. “I heard it’s really dark in there.”

“Well, we can go take a look.”

“And we can eat afterward? There’s an atrium.”

“Sure.”

Wonwoo let your arm link with his, following the natural flow of museum-goers into the next exhibit, leaving behind the shiny, colourful wall of beetles and the auburn fox in its lonesome enclosure.

The aquarium exhibit was one of the most spacious in the entire museum, placed in a large, dome-topped room, with shadows creeping at every corner. There were some lights—deep, blue lights that rippled and wriggled across the floor, like waves patterned against ocean sand by the sun rays. He didn't know from where, but he could hear water sloshing, a very soft sound that led him to imagine the wet sand squelching under his toes.

You approached another display wall, filled with a school of lemon-yellow and azure coloured fish placed around vibrant, unique corals.

While you busied yourself with reading the informative plaque, Wonwoo spent his time taking a more in-depth inspection around the mystifying exhibit. He noted the stingrays and luminous jellyfish flocking above his head, held on near-invisible little wires that would occasionally glimmer if they twisted the perfect angle.

After a generously long venture throughout the room, reading all the plaques and pointing to different fish behind the glass just to comment, “I think that was in Finding Nemo,” you had wanted to sit down, spotting a bench positioned before an aquarium.

Wonwoo agreed, and you collapsed on the bench together.

There was a period of comfortable silence where you both watched the aquarium, meanwhile the dappling, blue pattern cast to the floor danced and flickered around at your still feet. The atmosphere seemed so vivid that Wonwoo was surprised the next breath he took wasn’t a mouthful of liquid and sea salt, or that his body wasn’t miraculously suspended and floating about in the echoey shadows.

And that’s when Wonwoo decided he liked the aquatic exhibit very much—more than all the others.

He looked down at the hands folded in his lap, specifically at the scarred, ruined cuticle belonging to his right thumb and how it had withstood years of his anxious scratching. Wonwoo then breathed out softly, feeling his heartbeat begin to pick up.

“Want to know something?” He asked.

You stared back at Wonwoo with an intrigued pique of your brow.

“Like what?”

“Well, first of all, we both took creative writing, you know.”

"Uh, okay," you sniffed, "sure."

"No, like, we took the course together. In the fall. Prof T?"

"Really?" You pinned him down in a non-believing stare. "Wait, you're talking about that basement auditorium, right? In Gildan Hall? It always smelt like old computers and dust bunnies?"

"That's the one."

Scoffing out some dry air, you leaned back.

"Woah. I don't think I ever saw you... did you go to each class?"

He nodded a few times. "Almost all. To be fair, I sat more in the back, off to the corner. I wasn't exactly thrusting myself into the limelight."

Folding one leg over your knee, you chuckled. "Sounds like you."

“I have this really specific memory from that class, when that random guy, whoever he was, sat in the seat you always took. Your so called unofficially-assigned-assigned-seat. And I remember that really tense feeling right before you walked in, because we all knew you were gonna chew him out for it. The way you marched straight up to him was already violating enough, and then you basically ruined his whole day.” Looking down at his hands again, Wonwoo smiled at recalling the memory. “You absolutely terrified me. I don’t even think you understand how much I wanted to avoid you.”

He caught your eyes, shimmering like the water-stained floor, with an emotion he couldn’t place.

“Actually?” Was all you said, hardly sounding surprised.

“Yeah.”

Your face began searching around the shadowed, sloshing exhibit for something unseen. He decided to let the silence settle like a thin sheet, instead listening to the tidal pushing and pulling. The soft sounds reminded him of being a child, wandering beaches into the late evening with his older brother during summer vacations, and picking up shells just to hear the ocean speaking inside them.

Aloud, you breathed in, shaking your foot.

“I can’t really remember what was going through my head that day. I know I’d had a fight with Mingyu before going to class, so I was feeling pretty amped up and short-fused. I knew I was going straight to another SSA meeting that I hardly cared about immediately after, and then I would work until the evening. I knew I would have to make dinner when I got home, even though I’d be downright exhausted, and the next morning, I’d have to wake up early to attend some bullshit press, social, interview breakfast thing for my mom’s new lifestyle magazine. Having that idiot sit in my favourite seat was probably just the straw that broke the camel’s back, I guess.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, suddenly experiencing a profound sympathy for you that he never imagined he would feel. “When you give it a bit more perspective, it doesn’t sound so…”

“Completely and utterly bitchy?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to use that word, but, sure.”

You grinned at him through the dusky rippling of auroras that flitted across the exhibit, seeming like you were under the sea—and he was, too, sitting side by side in the somehow peaceful depths of the chaotic whirlpool that had pulled you two together.

“I have a memory.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo returned your grin, “I want to hear it.”

“So, remember earlier how we were talking about the Frontiers evaluation for Bradbrook’s calculus class?”

“Mmhm.”

"So, after all the Frontiers scores came out, I'm not gonna lie—I really thought I had one of the better marks. It's not like I specifically trotted around, throwing out my grade to anyone passing by, but I was parading a little bit to my friends. And then, like, Clara or something, told me that there was this guy who almost got a ten. I asked her who, and she said she didn't know—just that she overheard some of the basketball guys talking about it.

I thought she was lying. I didn't say that, though. But I remember it was on my mind every night. Like, it was itching me so bad. I wanted to know who the fuck was smart enough to get a damn near perfect ten on Frontiers. Some of those problems are ridiculously hard. I started writing nonsense around A-block. They straight up give students problems that serious, esteemed mathematicians can't fucking solve. So, honestly... I was quite jealous of you... despite not even knowing who you were. I can't believe that was you, asshole."

Wonwoo cracked his knuckles, beginning to laugh at that intense but lighthearted glare you were sending his way. Of course, you mellowed everything out with a big smile he felt his heart skip a beat over. You had actually went to bed thinking about him.

Holy fuck.

Maybe not him in physicality. But in spirit.

That was close enough.

"I just did the study guide." He shrugged.

Your knee pushed into his. "Oh, yeah, the study guide. Jeez, why didn't I think of doing that? Let me go kill myself right now."

"Keep tabs on it for next time."

With a roll of the eyes, you laughed almost to scorn him.

“I hate people like you.”

And Wonwoo laughed back. “Meaning?”

“Things come to you so naturally. You don’t have to try.”

“Sure,” Wonwoo agreed, scratching his nose and proceeding to nudge up his glasses, “things like mathematics, numbers, problem solving, taking something whole apart and then looking at its pieces. I guess it does come to me naturally. I can’t complain. But there are also plenty of things that don’t. And… if I could, I’d probably trade all my stupid math and logic and puzzling for what I’m missing.”

You tilted your head, staring intently at Wonwoo through the blue sea between you, almost into his brain, it felt like.

“What are you missing?”

At first, Wonwoo didn’t respond. To answer your question meant an intimate exhumation of the flaws that he’d been willfully ignoring for the past year, if not his entire damn life. It meant at last turning over the round, flat rock that had been sitting at the foot of his wooden porch since childhood, and realizing the bottom was sculpted with the grittiest texture and wet with the thickest dirt. The rock was hiding long-legged spiders and ugly, skittering bugs and it would have probably been better to let the rock sit there, untouched, only facing the warm and comfortable glow of the sun.

Wonwoo didn’t want to turn the rock.

Not at all.

“A plethora of things, I’m sure.”

Squeezing onto your wrist, you smiled at him.

“I think I’m the opposite.”

“How so?”

He watched you inhale a long, slow breath, and then huff it all out through your nose. Wonwoo bumped his knee against yours.

“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

“No, no. It’s not like that…”

Looking up to the glowing aquarium, the dull light reflected back unto your face, and Wonwoo again saw the glisten in your eyes.

“I just feel…” for a moment, your chest stilled, “… I feel like I’m so much of everything that I just blend into nothing. You know, like when a child takes a whole bunch of paints and squirts them all together thinking it’s going to create this beautiful, never-before-seen new colour? But, instead, it’s just greyish-brownish, nothing.”

Your face turned back to him. Wonwoo watched you chew down on your bottom lip, meanwhile your eyes glazed aloof, off to the side, as though you were rummaging through so many different thoughts and experiences that it required your utmost mental focus.

“And—” you swallowed tightly, and it sounded so painfully dry with stinging emotion, “—I just don’t want people to see that I’m so much of nothing. I just find myself covering it all up.”

Were you going to cry? Wonwoo felt himself jolt inwardly with panic. He had never seen you cry and he had therefore never developed the best protocol to tackle such a situation. Some people preferred immediate comfort, others—a reassuring stroke on the back, maybe some uplifting monologue. Or, maybe, they didn’t want to be touched at all. They just desired the simple, thinking silence and all its clarity. He remembered you saying something about it—that you did like to be comforted, but only in very certain circumstances.

First, Wonwoo subtly wiped off his hand against his thigh, and then he took in the softest breath. Through the flickering, midnight blue mirage, Wonwoo reached for your hand. He settled his cold fingers inch by inch under yours, and, with a timid but gentle thumb, Wonwoo caressed in a slow path along your knuckles.

You glanced to him appreciatively, saying nothing, but squeezing his hand in return. He figured he’d done right.

Maybe more things came to him naturally than he thought.

Before leaving the nature museum, you and Wonwoo had stopped at their atrium as promised to get in a quick meal. While you poked a fork into your sad-looking salad, making small scribbles every now and then to the journal at your elbow, Wonwoo ate a grill-pressed sandwich and flicked through his phone. He was surprised to check the time and realize you had spent about three hours there—it felt so much shorter. Wonwoo hated how quickly each moment flew past when he was with you. It was always so bittersweet.

He had wanted to know what exactly you were penciling in the journal, though he never asked, knowing he would probably be proofreading it from your document later. Obviously, you were thinking about that particular date with Mingyu from years back in your life—that was the principal point in going to the museum. However, Wonwoo had chosen to regard it more as hanging out, not caring if that was a particularly delusional or untruthful choice.

After finishing your meals and tossing the plastic remnants into the recycling bins, Wonwoo looked outside the atrium’s towering glass wall to note how cloudy the sky had become. From the bright, eggshell turquoise in the afternoon, to an especially muted grey that seemed brewing and heavy with a downpour. You adjusted the bag over your shoulder and suddenly grimaced at the sight.

“Jeez, is it going to rain?”

“It could,” Wonwoo sighed. “It very possibly could.”

“I swear. I obsessively check the forecast in order to plan all my outfits around it. It never said it would rain!” You then threw the bottle of iced tea you’d been drinking into the garbage with an aggressive slam. “This shirt is a horrible choice. It will be stupidly see-through."

Wonwoo glanced around the atrium.

“There’s lots of empty tables. If we want to sit and wait it out, then I don’t think anyone would get mad. But, I mean, it’s up to you.”

“Why’s it up to me?”

“I don’t know. Just—if you don’t want to get your outfit all soaked. I’m sure if we left now, we could make good distance before it really started raining. I’m not opposed to getting a little wet. But I have no issue with staying here and letting the clouds go over.”

You folded your arms, and your head fell to the side. He’d seen that look before. It was your own patented prelude to disaster.

“I never said I was opposed to getting wet.”

He laughed. “Well, you certainly insinuated it.”

“Do you think I'm some sort of whiny little priss?”

"I think you named your bear Miss Priss."

"I think you're a smart ass. Take that smirk off your face. Now."

Wonwoo wanted to sigh, but he didn’t. He then thought about trying to tenderly explain his way out of it with his smooth words. As much as he would think he’d figured you out, there was still a part of him that was very confused by you and how to adjust to your behaviour.

This time, he decided he would do nothing.

“Okay. Let’s go, then.”

He reached out his hand for you to grab.

“As if,” you scoffed, walking around him toward the exit doorway, into the museum garden, “not after you just insulted me.”

Wonwoo could do nothing but laugh in response, because he had caught that faint smile on your face as you passed him, and the sweet beading in your eyes. He simply followed you out the doors.

During the walk back to his apartment, it had yet to rain at all, not even a typical, humid summer drizzle or the smallest bit of spitting. Maybe it was just way more cloudy than usual, or it was a concerning spread of city smog tainting the sky. It’s not like he wanted it to rain, anyway, though more so for your sake than his.

About a little more than halfway through the walk, however, you came to an abrupt stop outside a flower shop, and Wonwoo watched you lift a doubtful hand to your cheek and wipe something off it. Before you could say anything, Wonwoo felt a big, cold, wet drop smack just above his eyebrow and begin leaking down. He used the sleeve of his shirt to clean it up, only to experience another fat droplet strike a second later, right onto his glasses.

“You can’t be serious…” he heard you mumble.

Making the mistake of looking up, more and more droplets fell swiftly from the daunting, dark grey blanket strewn across the entire skylight. They began painting all over the sidewalk, the roadway, shaking down into the brilliant purple and white petunia pots outside the florist shop. And Wonwoo froze for a moment, because he honestly hadn’t expected to be caught in the rain, let alone the downpour it was unfortunately shaping up to be.

“Ow!” You winced sharply. “One just fucking hit my eyeball!”

“Shit—let’s hurry.” Wonwoo hid his phone. “My apartment’s only like, ten minutes away, less if we run really fast.”

“Run?!” You gawked at him. “I don’t run!”

“No, you fucking sashay, I get it.” In a matter of seconds, those intermittent raindrops had evolved into an unrelenting, bathing barrage. Wonwoo could feel his clothes beginning to dampen, and his glasses were streaming with water. He slapped his hand onto yours, jerking you forward despite your stiltedness. “And I’m so sorry but you’re going to have to sacrifice one part of your pretty fucking princess routine for just five minutes so we can get back to my place.”

“My pretty fucking wha—!”

Once Wonwoo’s fingers were clasped tight with yours, he started to run, and whether it was voluntary or not, you ran along with him, shouting something that he couldn’t quite hear over the rain that bounced in loud splatters against the sidewalk and the adrenaline echoing in his own ears. He could hardly see through the downpour, but he’d walked that path so many times that it almost wasn’t necessary. At one point, he’d stepped onto the street prematurely, and he heard the loud, startled honk from a car.

“Jesus Christ, Wonwoo!” You half-laughed, half-coughed, clutching onto his slippery hand even tighter, “I’d ideally like to live!”

“We’re almost there!” He chuckled back.

“I think I’m going to lose my fucking shoe!”

“I’ll buy you a new pair!”

Wonwoo didn’t stop, and you didn’t either. He was soaked to his bones, with thick, drizzling fronds of hair plastered to his forehead and the glasses nearly slipping from his nose—the scent of earthy but ashen rain all around him—and still Wonwoo kept running, a very blithe smile permanent to his mouth despite all his discomfort.

Upon reaching the entryway to the pottery shop, Wonwoo almost skidded completely past it since the sidewalk was so slick and pouring like an angry river. You slammed into his back, and it was then that your hands unintentionally separated. Instead, he felt your fingers flesh into the sopping cloth covering his shoulders.

“Be careful on the steps!” He shouted overtop a reverberating crack of thunder that shook from behind the grey sleet sky.

“If I slip, I’m pulling you down with me!”

Wonwoo was pleased to hear the equally bright smile that bled into your words, meanwhile your fingertips dug even deeper into his muscle. Once inside the shop, a gust of wind proceeded to blow the door shut, and all Wonwoo heard was hard rain against the glass.

—END OF PART TWO.

[sinsandsweetness]

“consequences” - part 4 of PICK YOUR POISON - (a dads best friends love story)

part 1, 2, and 3

pairing- (Rick x fem!reader)

warnings- 18+ content, age gap, smut, needy + desperate reader, sneaky sex, almost getting caught, unprotected p in v, light choking, mutual pining, cream pie, poorly proofread. wc 3.9k

notes- i know this took forever, so thank you all for the patience. i rewrote this like three or four times because i just wasn’t as happy with it as i am with the first three parts. i’m pretty happy with it now but I feel it isn’t as playful as the first three. regardless, please tell me what you think:) comments and reblogs are always incredibly appreciated and your feedback means a lot to me <3 enjoy!

3 weeks.

That’s how long it took you to break him. Since that day up in your room, during the barbecue. When he was insistent on showing you how much better he could take care of you than anyone else could. 3 weeks from then is when you finally broke him. And who’d have thought it’d be in your own home, with your dad passed out on the main floor. Unaware of the downright filth happening upstairs in your bedroom. Filth that if he ever found out, would send him into cardiac arrest. Though you’re always careful, and to you, the risk is definitely worth the reward.

But it’s not like you haven’t had a couple close calls. Stolen kisses and flirty glances can’t go unnoticed forever. Your father hasn’t ever said anything. Even when he can see Rick’s hands on your waist, lingering a minute too long. Or the way you always sit right next to him. Pressed up as close as humanly possible. Practically in his lap. Well... sometimes actually in his lap. Your father’s not stupid. But, he’s also not exactly the most confrontational man. And he’s never actually caught you. There’s been no real confirmation of his suspicions. Until today that is.

After a long day of work at your dads construction site, Rick arrives at your house before any of the others. Freshly showered with a case of beer. It’s just you and him in the kitchen. Making small talk as he tries to pretend there isn’t a band of tension pulling the two of you closer and closer with every meaningless question.

“Didn’t know you were coming over,” you say, chopping up some vegetables on a cutting board. Glancing up at Rick who can’t seem to look you in the eyes. Distracted by the tiny little outfit you have on. A skirt, despite the brisk weather. A tight, fitted long sleeve that’s pushing your breasts together in the most enticing way possible. No bra. Clearly. And then there’s the best part. The part he keeps glancing down at while licking his lips and taking in a deep breath. Your thigh highs. White knit thigh high socks that make him want to pin you up against the counter and fuck you then and there.

“I uh- your dad told us to come for some drinks,” he looks up at you again, this time you’re leaning against the island, brushing your hands together to dry them off.

“So… where’s my dad then?” You ask, stepping even closer to the man. Too close, you realize at the hitch of his breath.

It’s been a really long 3 weeks.

“Uh- I imagine he got sidetracked. I know Maggie was looking for him. Probably caught up in conversation.”

“And Shane? Daryl?”

“On their way.”

“Hmm.” You hum. You’re right in front of him now. You can smell his cologne and the shampoo he uses. Damp curls forming at the base of his neck. Casual black jeans on, and a simple grey tee shirt. He places the case of beer right next to you on the counter, stepping in close so he’s pressed up against you. Trapped between his warm body and the cool marble.

You stay like that for a moment. Both of your minds going back to the night last week that you snuck out. To what happened in that truck. But more importantly what didn’t happen. What you’ve been praying would happen for weeks.

Finally he leans in, pressing a sweet little kiss to the corner of your lips before dipping lower. Breathing in your perfume.

“Missed you,” he admits into your neck. The warmth of his breath sends little pinpricks down your arms.

You breath in a quiet gasp when he kisses your neck. Warm, soft lips making their way down to your collarbone. His hands on either side of your waist, planting you against the counter.

God, you want him so bad it hurts.

Your hand goes to the back of his neck, pulling him up so his lips are forced against yours. Kissing him with the same fervor and necessity that had been building all month. Since that very first kiss in your dads garage. Since that day at the barbecue when Rick took you upstairs and showed you how much better he is at making your legs shake than Shane. Since the pool party, the day you were a complete tease and they all knew it. When Rick decided to take you down to the pool shed and teach you a lesson. You had no idea fingers could even feel that good. But Rick’s do. Everything Rick does, feels good to you.

And then, there was the night last week. The one that both of you have been thinking about every hour since.

You’d snuck out your bedroom window just to see him. To go for a drive and park on the side of the road. You kissed him til your lips were swollen and your panties were soaking through.

You know he’s wanted you from the very start. When he first met your dad and started coming over. Well before you’d ever kissed him. Showed interest in him. But that night, it hit him. How much he wants you to himself. How much he loves being alone with you. Just you. But no matter how tempted he may have seemed, he still refused to break the agreement. He still wouldn’t fuck you.

Yet.

“Rick-“ you gasp against his lips as he pulls you up onto the counter, your legs immediately wrapping around his waist. Skirt riding up to expose your lacy panties. You can feel him against you. How badly he wants you. How hard he is for you. How hard he’s been every night since the night you snuck out to see him. Touching himself to the thought of you, wishing he’d just fucked you then, on the side of the highway in the dead of night. Just you and him and the stars acting as the only witnesses to your risky little love affair.

“Want you,” you say against his lips, his hand starting to gently wrap around the front of your throat. His other arm pulls you in by the waist so you’re completely flush with his chest.

“Want you so bad,”

But before he can mumble a response into your mouth, both of you hear the garage door open. You both freeze. Eyes going wide, you slide off the counter, immediately pulling your skirt back to an appropriate length. Rick rubs a hand over his face, turning the other direction. Giving you a moment of privacy to get yourself situated and to deal with the tent in the front of his jeans.

Your father walks in first.

You can't even look at him. Blush so very apparent on your pretty face as you look down at the cutting board, pretending to be occupied with the assortment of vegetables. Daryl and Shane head straight for the fridge. Only giving you a smirk of acknowledgment as their gaze is darting in between you and Rick.

Your father notices. The way you won’t look him in the eye. The way Rick is nervously running a hand through his hair and how his eyes keep darting over to you. He sees it. He’s not stupid. But for whatever reason, he doesn’t say anything. He just stalks over and slaps Rick on the back with a, “thanks man, really needed this after the week we’ve had.”

Rick nods in agreement, taking a sip of the bottle your father just handed him. Rick looks over at you. Something unspoken behind his eyes that you can’t quite make out. Yeah, it’s been a long week indeed.

You don’t stay downstairs long. When Shane and your father start getting all loud and rowdy in the living room, the empty bottles of their fifth beers being knocked over onto the hardwood as their play fight begins, that’s when you decide to head upstairs with a quick wave, “g’night.” Rick is the only one who catches it. Nodding back at you as you climbed the stairs. Watching you sway your hips with every step. Skirt so short that the bottom of your ass cheeks are on full display.

You try sleeping. But every time you close your eyes you see Rick. That night in his truck. Straddling his waist and unbuckling his belt. The way he kissed you so deep. Filled with so much lust. So much need. You’d never felt that before. And even though he told you exactly how bad he wanted you, he didn’t have to. You could feel it. With every touch. Every kiss. That’s why it surprised you when you tried to go all the way and he still wanted to stop you.

“Not like this. I can’t- I'm… we’re not doin’ it like this.”

“Why?” You were out of breath, still trying at his belt but his hand came down to stop you, firmly calling your name. Grabbing your full attention to his stormy blues.

“We’re on the side of the road for christs sake. It should be- fuck. We should be at home in a real bed. Not sneaking around in some beater pickup in the middle of nowhere-”

“Rick-”

“No.”

“This is perfect.” You tried to assure him.

He sighed and pulled your forehead against his, catching your lips before mumbling, “You’re perfect.”

“I want this. I want you.”

“I know. And you have no idea how badly I want this too. But I can’t. I just- we can’t.”

He still made you come. Regardless of the fact that he wouldn’t fuck you. He wasn’t going to let you go home without a proper orgasm.

But you needed more. Needed him.

And now, laying in bed, reliving the scene in your head with your hands trailing down to your panties, you’re soaking right through. Your stomach doing backflips at the memory of his hands roaming your body in the dark.

With a frustrated groan, you sit up. Fuck. A cold shower is what you really need.

You get up and open your bedroom door, immediately met with the sight of Rick on the top step of the stairs. He’s got his index pressed to his lips when he sees you. Telling you to be quiet. Hush.

He’s smiling behind his hand. Dropping it as he reaches your bedroom door. He brings his arm up to the doorway, leaning on it. Other hand sporting a half empty bottle of beer. You wonder how many he’s had.

“They’re all passed out on the couch aren’t they?” You ask, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorway. Arms only inches from his chest.

“How’d you guess?”

“Well… it’s quiet, for one,” you turn around and head to your bed, sitting down and waiting for him to follow.

He does.

“And two… you’re here.” You say.

“I am.”

He sits down. A quiet moment passes and he takes another swig of beer before placing the bottle on your nightstand.

“Y’know, if you really don’t wanna sleep with me, you should probably stop inviting yourself into my bedroom. It’s sending some pretty mixed signals.”

He chuckles at your comment. “Mixed signals huh?” His hand goes to your leg, tracing the band of your thigh highs. You’re no longer wearing your skirt. Just panties, socks and an ex-boyfriend's baggy tee shirt.

“Yeah,”

“I was thinkin’ the same thing about you, sweetheart,” his hand makes its way up your thigh. His palm is rough against your smooth skin, the attention sending a jolt straight between your legs.

“How so?”

“Shane? Daryl?” He says it like it’s obvious. You fooling around with the other best friends.

“That’s different.” You look up at him now, the tiniest scowl on your face.

“How so?” His tone is soft but it’s clear he’s mocking you.

You open your mouth to respond but something stops you. Deep breath. You’re looking at his lips now. And he knows it.

“I wanted you, y’know. They’re fun and all but…“ you swallow. You need Rick. From the very start it’s been pretty obvious that you like him best. Always sitting next to him, as close as you can get. There’s just something different about Rick. The way he makes you feel. The way he was so quick to claim you. How he’s possessive and attentive and so insanely infatuated by you. It’s just… different. You can’t explain it.

“But what?” His nose is nearly touching yours at this point. One hand on your thigh and the other one reaching for your face. Thumb running across your jaw as you lean in.

You’re voice is quiet when you finally speak.

“I want you.”

He lips graze yours and you have a feeling that he heard you this time. Like, really fucking heard you. Not just the words leaving your mouth, but everything else that you’re trying to say. The way your heart is beating fast and you’re breathing is all shallowed. How he can see every nervous little tic that goes through you as he leans in to kiss you.

So he gives in. Reluctantly of course. If asking, “you sure about this?,” while peeling your panties down your legs is considered reluctant. Or worriedly whispering that “we could get caught,” while tossing your shirt across the room and leaning down to suckle at your breasts, nipping and sucking a few little love bites where no one else will see but him. Because that’s so very reluctant of him.

His hands are wrapped around your waist as he kisses down your stomach. Soft lips making their way down between your legs, propping one of your legs up and kissing your inner thigh. He takes his time, biting your leg and dragging his teeth down your sensitive skin. The action makes you whine, hands going straight to his curls.

“Rick just- c’mon,”

“Why don’t you just lay back and look pretty, huh?”

“Rick-” you’re on fire. Need pulsing through your bloodstream with every touch. His hands are holding your hips to the mattress, preventing them from squirming around. The featherlight kisses he’s peppering over your clit are bordering on the side of torture. You know he’s just trying to take his time. To savour the feeling and drag it on. Make it last and make it special. But he doesn’t realize how badly you need him to push your knees to your chest and fuck you til you’re a moaning mess.

“Rick.” You tug on his hair, trying to get him to just fuck you already. You’ve been waiting over a month for this. And judging by the arousal dripping onto your pink, cotton sheets, you definitely don’t need the foreplay.

“Maybe you’d get what you want if you used your manners a little more. Ever thought of that?” He looks up at you. And despite his words, he follows the hand urging him to come up and kiss your lips. To replace his shoulders with his hips in between your legs.

“Please,” you breath out. If manners is all he wants, then you’re a lucky girl. You’d tell him whatever he wants to hear if it mean he’ll fuck you. “Please, please, just fuck me, just-”

“God, you’re such a brat,” he cuts you off with a kiss, you’re legs instinctively wrapping around his clothed torso. And the feeling of his denim against your bare clit isn’t helping your incredibly desperate situation.

You reach for his belt mid kiss and you can tell that his instincts are telling him to stop you. To tell you that you’re dad’s downstairs and that it’s wrong. But with his forehead pressed against yours, warm breath fanning over your lips he dips down to kiss your neck. He doesn’t stop you. He lets you unbuckle his belt and push his jeans down, enough to reach his cock, standing tall and eager. You tug on his tee shirt and he helps you take it off, throwing it onto the pile of both your clothes building on your floor. You pull him in close with your legs, knitted socks all soft against his bare back, almost locking him into place. Your hands are on his jaw, pulling him in as you bite his bottom lip, gently dragging it out and earning a groan. At the same time, he lines himself up with your aching cunt. He enters you slowly with a muffled moan. A gasp leaves your lips at the stretch. He’s much bigger than anyone you’ve been with. In length and in girth.

Once every thick inch is completely inside of you, he can tell that you need a minute. Your breath is caught in your throat as you adjust to his size.

Well, no going back now.

“You okay?” He asks in between kisses. Keeping his hips still as you get used to the feeling.

You nod, “Just- go slow, ok?”

You can’t help the moan that’s crawling up your throat when he does as you say. Slow, intentional movements in and out. Fuck he’s big. But fuck, does it ever feel good.

“You feel so good,” you tell him. You need to tell him. To let him know how much you love it. How much you needed it. Needed him. “Please don’t ever stop.”

His breathing is heavy. Pushing down the groans and sounds you so desperately wish he would let you hear. He’s trying so hard not to come. You’re so wet. So warm. So tight around his cock and so fucking pretty laying there underneath him. Moaning all sorts of praise.

“You’re so big,”

“Rick, yes.”

“Right there, please.”

“Feels so good,”

And your words add fuel to the fire burning inside of him. The way you’re holding onto his neck, legs locked behind his back. Lips parted in the long awaited bliss of being filled right up. Taking him so well. And he makes sure to tell you it, too.

“That’s it, baby. Doin’ so good,” he kisses you again, “taking me so well.”

There’s a lot of hands. Grabbing at arms, necks, hair, faces. Whatever either of you can reach as he snaps his hips against yours. He’s done going slow. His pace is making your back arch off the bed and guttural, almost pornographic noises start to pour from your lips. Swollen and rosy and constantly catching his with every opportunity.

“Shhhh-“ Rick brings a hand up to your face. Forehead still pressed agains yours as he covers your mouth. “Gonna wake em’ up if you keep making so much noise.”

That’s not the only reason he needs you to shut up. It’s true, but it’s not the only reason.

He can’t take it. Well, at least he doesn’t think he can.

When he pulls out, your eyes go wide. No. Don’t stop. Why the hell is he stopping?

“What- oh.” your head falls back to the pillow at the feeling of his tongue on your clit. His fingers already knuckle deep and curling upwards to hit your sweet spot. Those fucking sounds you’re making are driving him crazy. But at least he knows he can last a little longer this way. Maybe make you come before he fucks you again. A little less pressure to perform when you’re already dumb from his fingers. From his tongue. From the way he’s sucking on your clit and pushing up on your thigh, fingers driving into you so hard you could scream.

You have to cover your own mouth. You know you’re being too noisy. And you also know the last thing either of you want is for your father to wake up to the sound of his daughter getting finger fucked by his best friend. By his friend who’s at least 15 years older than you. The one he’s been suspicious of for a few weeks now, over analyzing the way he looks at you. The way he listens to you. The way he brings you up and asks what you’re up to. All of it. And then earlier. The flushed faces of guilt and embarrassment when he got home in the middle of your moment.

You don’t need any kind of interruption. Anything that might put off the thing you’ve been pining for so badly for so long. But you definitely don’t need the interruption to come hurling up the stairs, drunk and careless and ready to fight.

So you bite your lip til it bleeds. A hot wave of pleasure erupts from your core, and spreads through you like a wildfire. Fuck. Those damn fingers.

Before you can even catch your breath, while your muscles are still twitching from your orgasm, his forearms find their way to either side of your face and he pushes inside of you once again.

“Ohmygod,”

You’re soaking. Both of you can hear it. The sounds of your slick, wet cunt perfectly taking every single thrust. So wet. And all for him.

“Ohmygod,” you repeat, nails raking down his back as he lifts your leg over his shoulder, deepening the angle to something otherworldly. Heaven or paradise or whatever utopia you can think up, couldn’t even compare. Not to this. Not to him. The way his cock kisses your cervix with every snap of his hips. The way his hands are roaming over your body. Trying to touch every square inch he can. The way he’s whispering all that dirty praise, telling you how good you feel. How wet you are for him. How fucking perfect you are. For him. The way he kisses the leg propped up on his shoulder, leaning back to admire what a mess he’s made out of his best friends daughter. So pretty and perfect. All flushed and glowing with a thin sheen of sweat coating your chest. Eyes glossed over in complete and utter ecstasy.

Nothing can compare.

“Rick, I- I-” your voice keeps catching in your throat.

“What? What is it?”

“Rick I- uh,” Ricks thumb runs over your bottom lip, dragging it out.

“I’m gonna come.” Your voice is hushed but your words don’t go unnoticed. Your grip tightens on his shoulders as his long fingers make their way down your body, pushing down on your lower stomach. It’s an intense pressure, sweet and comforting and so fucking enraptured that it brings tears to your eyes.

“God, you’re so pretty. Come for me, baby. Come all over my cock. ” He coaxes it out of you. Sultry moans leave your lips as you both reach your climax. Locking your leg around his waist as he fills you with his seed. Dipping down to press a passionate kiss to your mouth. Tongue tracing your own as his hips stutter to a stop. Heavy breathing with your chests pressed together. Thigh muscles straining from the angle but you can’t find it in you to care. Too overwhelmed by such an incredible high.

He whispers your name against your lips.

“Yeah?” You’re out of breath, doe eyes glancing up at him like he’s some kind of god.

“You are so fucking perfect.”

You know that while he means it, it’s not what he really wants to say. As if it might scare you off if he speaks the truth. If he tells you what he’s really thinking. It won’t. But he doesn’t know that.

Slowly, he pulls out of you. You can’t help but wince at the loss of contact. Leaned back on his knees, Rick tucks himself back into his jeans, forgetting all about his belt at the hypnotic sight of his cum dripping out of you. Both of you too caught up in the moment to think about a condom. And too blissed out now to find it in yourselves to care. His fingers trace through the warm liquid. You find yourself flinching at the sensitivity when he brushes over your clit.

“I’ll uh- I’ll grab a washcloth. Just- stay here, ok?”

You smile up at him. So predictably sweet and caring and clearly starting to overthink as he comes down from his high. Mind racing with “what if’s” and the overwhelming fear that you might regret it. Regret him.

But you don’t.

“Wait,” you grab his arm as he starts to stand up, heading for the bathroom to clean you up. To take care of you.

“Can we go again?”

A flash of surprise and then a wave of relief washes over his face as he sits back down.

“Jesus, kid.” He smiles and settles back in between your legs.

Right where he belongs.

-

taglist- @rickswh0r3 @elnyrae @catt-leya @miinbun @murder-jacket @ankhmutes @grimesthinker @eternalrose81 @cl0wnb0yyy @whatthefuuuck @olive3oil @taylormarieee @imyourbratzdoll @fanngirl19 @spidermonkey2423 @belaballs @virtualreader @darylsdix0nn @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @cavillsgirl105 @movidita @flomrpus @summergirl37

(crossed out means I couldn’t tag)

[ningvory]

I KNOW YOURE GETTING A SHIT TON OF REQS NOW AND IM SO SORRY TO ADD THIS BUT...

noncon with g!p ning2 would be so cool fr

like so apologetic too like "im so sorry i just couldn't help myself" while just continuing what she was doing to reader kcilwajvnw

pairings: perv!gp!ningning x f!reader

warnings: noncon, pussy eating, squirting, cum eating, blacking out, pussy whipped ning, somnophilia, not proofread😭

thinking abt ningyi being the quiet girl in your class and was shocked when you decided to sit next to her because you’re just so stunning!? great personality, good grades, and drop dead gorgeous!! you think she’s cool so you become friends with her.

ningyi would definitely check you out countless of times. oogling at your tits and how your thighs looked in your thigh high socks, it always caused her to have a boner but she couldn’t help it :((

whenever you guys would have to walk up a flight of steps, ningyi would always walk behind you to see up your skirt. revealing your pretty pink panties to her.

you two would have a project in your class so you decided to invite ning to your dorm so you guys to work on it. you decided to wear something comfortable so you wore a almost too little crop top with some random shorts that do nothing to cover you up.

when ning finally came and got situated, she couldn’t help but stare at your tits, you weren’t wearing a bra so your nipples were showing, causing her mouth to water because she was fantasizing about how she wanted to suck em and fuck em so bad :((

you guys would finish so late you just told her to stay the night, it was the weekend anyway. you would tell her that she can sleep in your room with you because you didn’t really mind! she would be so stiff beside you, trying her best to hide her raging boner, she felt herself leaking in her boxers :((

she would wait for you to sleep to finally help herself, tapped your shoulder just to make sure. she remembered that you were a little bit of a deep sleeper so if she needed anything she didn’t have to ask, she definitely used that to her advantage! ning would straddle your tummy, head in the crook of your neck taking in your scent because you smelled soo good! she lower herself down to your legs, taking off your shorts and panties. she began to kitten lick your cunt, letting lost in how good you taste. she immediately froze when she felt you stir, poor baby was scared of getting caught :((

when she felt that you stopped moving she decided to finally help herself, she took off her shorts and boxers, rock hard dick against her tummy. she aligned herself with you cunt and pushed in, when she started she really couldn’t stop! she felt like she was in heaven, you milking her dry. her head flew back and she was pounding into your cunt, her moans drowned out your quiet whimpers until she felt you stir.

“n-ning??” you spoke out groggily, letting out unintentional moans because your cunny was getting pounded into.

“i’m so sorry, y/n!! i really am! i couldn’t help it!!” apologizes and moans would spill outta her mouth, she really was sorry but your cunt was squeezing her so well :((

ning would have to pin you to the bed because you were crying for her to stop bullying your cunt but she couldn’t help it! mumbling apologies and apologies until she’s stuffed you up :((

she would eat her seed right out of you, diving into your overstimulated cunt. eyes rolling back and hips humping the bed because of the mixture of her cum and your cunt on her tongue! she would have to keep your legs open because you were trying to close them around her head, she would have you squirting all over her face until you blacked out on her! <33

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

How You Turn My Word; Chapter 2

The day continues, and this time you find yourself in an entire new world... a world called The Underground.

Character; Lilia Vanrouge

Content; Gender-neutral reader, more shenanigans, reader isn't happy

Content Warning; Intoxication (Lilia), swearing

Word Count; 2.7 K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

Don't put my work into AI; I'll make sure you end up in the Bog of Eternal Stench.

Lilia’s night was not going according to plan and he was mentally cursing himself over it.

Thing Lilia did not plan for #1; he got lost. To be fair though, many a thing had drastically changed since the last time he romped around the mortal realm. A few hundred years would do that though. Humans now seemed to live in tall metal boxes rather than the humble cottages of ages past. 

Thing Lilia did not plan for #2; a red flower deceiving him and containing something akin to liquor. So he was flying around lost while under the influence, which only worsened his situation. (Lilia did not know it, but the red flower was in fact a hummingbird feeder with sugar water which had been left out in the sun for too long and had fermented. Make sure to change your hummingbird feeder often on hot days so you don’t cause a nectar-loving friend to fly while wasted) 

Thing Lilia did not plan for #3; getting himself stuff in one of those tall metal boxes, and he was now stuck inside some cursed metal labyrinth. At least it was not iron or silver, as it did not burn, apparently, humans no longer fortified their abodes with those metals. Perhaps the times have changed for the better?

But Lilia finally escaped the infernal metal labyrinth, perhaps luck was finally on his side tonight after all! He bumped around a few corners. My my, what a small hovel. Perhaps things have not changed all that much from the last time I was here… But Lilia was rudely pulled from his thoughts when something swatted him clean out of the air. And the culprit? A rather rotund grey cat with large blue eyes, which was now carrying Lilia into its lair, most likely to play with him for a bit before deciding that it had had it’s fun and ultimately put him out of his misery.

His night went from a jolly and somewhat embarrassing tale he would regale about at the local tavern, to a bedtime story parents would tell their children about the dangers of going places that you really shouldn’t. Should he get out of this sticky situation Lilia would not live this incident down. 

The cat placed Lilia in a collection of socks and then sauntered off, calling out at the top of its lungs. Great, it's getting company for supper, and I’m the appetizer. How lovely. But Lilia knew he would have a better chance of getting out of this situation if he stayed calm and waited for an opportunity to escape. Even while tipsy, he could keep his cool.

And the feline was back and yanked Lilia out of the sock hole. Cracking open his one eye he saw that the cat did not come back with its hungry friends, but rather, a human. That was both good news and bad news. Good news; he most likely was not going to be eaten tonight! Yippee! Bad news; the last time he was in bat-form in a human’s abode, he was chased around with a torch, which he really did not want to go through again. So his best course of action was to play dead in this situation.

When the human left the room though, he took his chance and took flight once again, trying to find a way out. The cat was trying to catch him again, but Lilia knew of its tricks this time and dodged every swipe it sent his way.

But he was pulled out of his thoughts when the human screeched at the cat, “YOU CAUGHT A FUCKING BAT?!” 

Oh yeah, they did not sound happy, not at all, but it seemed to be directed more at their feline companion rather than him.

As he was busy flapping around, trying to find an escape but to no avail, he also heard the human whispering to him. “Don’t fly towards my head, bat. I’m just trying to get you back outside. You’re a nice bat, right? Nice bat, nice bat.”

Were he not preoccupied and in a better state of mind, Lilia would have been amused by this. Currently, though he was occupied with trying not to be eaten and finding a way out of this cursed place. He was not in a laughing mood. All Lilia wanted to do was get back home, pass out in his bed but he would also be happy with his sofa as well, and pretend that this was nothing more than a bad dream after a night spent tavern hopping. Dealing with a horrid hangover would be better than this… and he was most likely going to have one of those anyways. Tonight really wasn’t Lilia’s night, not at all.

Then the human grabbed the cat, and Lilia was finally left alone. The window was open, but he didn’t know that, as his mind was too preoccupied with you know, not dying, that he hadn’t noticed that the human had opened it for him. So where did Lilia go? Well, he went back into the metal labyrinth (air duct), and fumbled around until he tired himself out. It wasn’t the most ideal of spots to crash for the night, but it was better than going back and possibly being eaten, Lilia would rather avoid that. So this was going to be his bed for the night, a lonely quiet corner of the air duct system, where he could hopefully wake up sober tomorrow. But he yearned for his warm quilts that awaited for him back at home, back in Faerie, or as some call it, the Underground.

Lilia wasn’t even supposed to be in the mortal realm in the first place, but curiosity had won him over, and he even ignored the travel advisory that was in place. Some crow fae had travelled there about a century or so ago and had yet to return back, hence a travel advisory. But yet here he was in the mortal realm, tiny, drunk, and utterly lost. His bad decisions could be looked into further detail once he got some shut-eye. So he wrapped himself in his wings and passed out in the corner of the air vent. Hopefully, when he woke up he could turn this disastrous day around.

…

Upon waking up, Lilia groaned — or rather, in this case, squeaked — and stretched his wings out. So the wretched metal maze and last night's fiasco was not some liquor-hazed dream; how lovely. Utterly delightful.

At least the strange maze echoed sound quite well, so he knew what exits to avoid. Not that one, he could hear a dog barking, and the feline encounter was enough for him. No, not that one either, he could hear children screaming.

Finally, he came to an opening, there was some quiet chatter, but it was far enough away where Lilia felt comfortable enough to explore this potential escape route. 

Why does this look familiar? AM I BACK IN THE BUILDING?! Yes, yes he was. At least there was no sign of the ca–

“Mrp?” Speak of the devil.

The cat got out of its den and lept at Lilia, who dodged the attack, and the cat pushed some books off a desk. The cat was also screaming at him, and causing an all-around ruckus. Lilia managed to outmaneuver the feline, but soon a brand new human came into the scene.

The new human took one look at Lilia and backpedalled out of the room. But the human had just created another escape route for him, and Lilia flew, well, like a bat straight out of hell for it. Too bad the next room contained two more humans, including the one he had encountered from last night… maybe they would be nice again and spare him for trespassing on their small abode?

In the midst of the chaos, the human from last night knocked him out of the air with a broom. Okay, that hurt little Beastie. But that swing and the crash landing into a table caused Lilia to shift back into his human form, which also caused sparkles to happen. Did humans still think magic was evil? Well, he was about to find out.

Everyone remained silent, and after the sheer noise of the chaos, it was deafening, even the cat was quiet. And Lilia stared at the human that had knocked him out of the air, you. And you were staring straight back at him, looking utterly baffled. Well, this is awkward… I think I have overstayed my welcome… 

Lilia snapped his fingers, and he started to disappear into sparkles yet again, this time going home since he wasn’t able to use his magic when stuck in bat form. And it was happening without a pinch, but you seemed to trip on thin air and crash landed on his feet, disappearing with him; a stowaway coming to Faerie. 

… Well this is no good now, is it?

…

…

…

 When the green sparkles subsided, you found yourself sitting in some sort of bog, and the water had made it into your mouth by some twist of fate. While you were busy spitting the bog water out of your mouth, the stranger was standing by the bank, dry, without any sulfuric-tasting water in his mouth, and looking better for wear.

Pulling yourself out of the bog water — eugh, you smelled like eggs now, great — you pointed an accusatory finger at him, water dripping from the end. “Where,” you spat out some extra bog water from your mouth, “am I? And why does it reak of eggs?!” You would have looked and sounded more imposing, but you were sopping wet, covered in mud, and spitting out coughs trying to get the bad taste out of your mouth; which wasn’t really commanding any sort of respect.

The stranger, Lilia, snorted before letting out a cough, trying to hide his amusement very poorly. He waved his hand, green sparkles surrounded you and you were now dry, still covered in mud, but dry. “Faerie, although some call it the Underground.”

You opened your mouth, but he wagged his finger at you. “And before you blame me for bringing you here, you have no one to blame for this but yourself!” Despite the cheeriness, there was something cold and off putting in his eyes, like he was calculating something. But that moment passed, and the almost annoying cheerful facade came back in full. “As for the smell? That so happens to be The Bog of Eternal Stench!”

“Like eternal eternal?” You really didn’t need to smell like rotten eggs for the rest of your days.

The stranger just chuckled, “Fret not, Beastie, I decided to return the favour, since your feline friend decided not to eat me. But it is indeed ‘eternal eternal’ if you don’t have the means to get rid of it.”

Beastie? “Uh, okay.” not the most eloquent of things to say, but really, could anyone blame you? You just fell through some kind of portal, magic(?) was real, and oh yeah, so were fae/faeries or whatever the hell they called themselves. So ‘Uh, okay’ was perfectly fine in this situation.

Mr. Sparkles — if he was going to call you Beastie, he deserved a dumb nickname — just gave you a smile, exposing the barest hint of his fangs; despite his small frame, he was still dangerous, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. It was as if he was assessing you, to see if you would be worth the trouble to help. You didn’t know if either option would be good by the way his magenta eyes twinkled with mischief.

He let out a huff and started walking away, and you followed. “I wouldn’t recommend following me, Beastie,” he hummed, and you tripped over a rock, vines keeping you to the moss. “The court would not take kindly to you.” 

You glared at him and tried ripping the vines off of your feet, but they didn’t budge. “And why should I listen to you?” 

Mr. Sparkles booped you on the nose, “Well, it would ensure that you made it out of here alive, which I believe you would find beneficial and all.” 

Obnoxious prick. But he did have a point, you would rather make it back home alive rather than fucking around and finding out (aka dying). “So what? Are you going to just leave me here? No welcome brochure? Thanks.” 

You were being sarcastic, since it was either sarcasm or having a full-on existential crisis, since hey, magic wasn’t real in your world! Dimension? Galaxy? Where the fuck was this place?! How the hell did you end up here?!

“Hmm good point…” he snapped his fingers and there was now a book sitting in your lap. “This should suffice, do be warned though, Beastie, I may call on you later to return the favour. For now though,” he started to turn into green sparkles, “toodaloo!~” And he turned into a bat, flying off into the sunset, leaving you alone at the edge of the swamp with the only things to your name being the clothes on your back and a book in your lap.

How to Survive the Underground; For Humans! … Did he just give you this world’s equivalent of a For Dummies book? What the fuck? Was this kind of sick joke to him?

…

…

Once some of your ire had subsided, you decided to sit down on a boulder and read a bit of the book while there was still some sunlight out, but it was dipping into the horizon fast.

How to Survive the Underground; For Humans! By Yelworc Erid Preface …… i - iv Chapter 1; Surviving Your First Night…… 1 - 10 Chapter 2; Edible Food for Humans …… 11 - 31 Chapter 3; The Basics of Fae Etiquette …… 32 - 35 3.1; Species Specifics …… 36 - 146 3.2; Government Specifics …… 147 - 169 Chapter 4; Help! I Have Been Indentured to a Fae! …… 170 - 200 Chapter 5; Adjusting to Fae Social Life …… 201 - 224 Chapter 6; Transmittable Illnesses & Diseases …… 225 - 261 Chapter 7; Fae Courting Practices …… 262 - 264 7.1; Species Specifications …… 265 - 366 7.2; Government Specifications …… 367 - 389 7.3; Accepting a Courting Proposal …… 390 - 393 7.4; Refusing a Courting Proposal …… 394 - 401 Chapter 8; How to Handle Fae Children …… 402 - 452 Chapter 9; How to Leave the Underground … 453 Chapter 10; Adjusting to Life in the Underground …… 454 - 482 Acknowledgments …… 483 - 485

Looking back up to the horizon, you quickly turned the pages to Chapter 1; Surviving Your First Night.

“If you are unable to find yourself some suitable shelter, one should find themselves safe by camping out in a rowan tree. These trees can easily be found by their vermillion clusters of berries. They keep away all native species of the Underground,” you read out loud, turning your attention to the trees nearby, searching for those berries. “Rowan tree, rowan tree–”

A loud screech coming from the undergrowth only pushed you further. 

Nope, I do not want to find out what THAT was! Nope! NoPe! NOPE! 

Finally, you found a tall enough tree and you hauled your ass up it like there was a fire below you, and you were up in the canopy, far enough up that nothing could reach you, but also high enough where you needed to be careful, since you didn’t want to meet an early death because you made a wrong move. But for now, you were safe.

“Nice try buddy,” you muttered to yourself, trying to get comfy. Wood wasn’t the comfiest thing in the world, but you weren’t really in the position to be complaining. “I am not on the menu.”

The screech came again, this time closer; yeah, you weren’t sleeping tonight. The sun was now beyond the horizon, and there was no moon, the only light coming from the stars above; it was very pretty, but you could see jack shit. This was going to be a long night… and not a fun one, since you could also see the glowing eyes of unknown creatures which were, quite frankly, freaky as fuck. So yeah, no sleep for you.

“This fucking sucks,” you grumbled, and a chittering from the bog seemed to mock you. “This really fucking sucks.”

…

…

…

…

Tags; @busycloudy, @eynnwwyjth, @identity-theft-101, @ithseem, @krenenbaker, @lucid-stories, @ryker-writes, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

~~~~~~~

Author's Note; This chapter is shorter, but it felt natural to end the chapter like this. This chapter, and the previous one, were both rewrites of an old WIP, so from here on out I don't have to rewrite! YIPPEE!!! Rewriting takes me forever, so we shall see what I come up with next.

If you liked this, do check out my masterlist for more content!

[tomurawr44]

I have a request!!

Shiggy wins reader the giant plushie she wanted from the claw game of the arcade (he says it’s all rigged but she begs him to help her because he seems like the type to be good at these games “hey, what’s that supposed to mean?!”) and she watches his slender fingers skillfully move the controls and he wins the derpy giant plushie for her in one try.

But then she can’t stop thinking about how those fingers would feel inside of her, and wants to reward him…he’s probably the type to be into knee socks and plaid mini skirts…and she did want to thank him for the plushie…she’s going to rock this virgin’s world.

(Go wild with NSFW plz we’re all a bunch of perverts)

A/N: is it too tmi if i say i did what happened in this fic irl

Warnings: nsfw!! hand kink..finger suckling, face fucking, dangerous sex..

"So close...!" you groaned as you saw the plush fall out of the claw machine again, whining against the glass you pressed against the glass with your fingers clawing at it, sliding down before you rested against the controller. "Why even bother? all these claw machines are rigged y'know." he'd speak up, sipping on his drink while he watched you bent over the machine and crying about some ugly plushie. he was confused and thought you were stupid. as per usual.

"you don't get it! I need this thing and i need it now!" you whined like an immature brat as you stared at it, it was a derpy off brand hatsune miku plush, and it made you want to cry with frustration, with only a few coins left. you turned to him as he scoffed, his irritation only growing. "your blowing all your money on something we could get online for cheap." he stated while he looked around, you knew you looked ridiculous, you knew that you could just buy it but the experience, memories and the challenge is what makes it such a memorable piece to remember. that's why you wanted it so bad, plus, it was hatsune miku, who wouldn't want a hatsune miku plush? but he couldn't lie he found it a little funny. "besides, i could win that easy peasy, there's a bunch of tips i got from online." your eyes lit up upon hearing that, of course Tomura of all people knew how to beat a game meant for kids.

with the clack of your shoe against the floor, you gripped onto him by his shoulders with a pleading pout. "please Tomura please! i-I'll do anything i swear! I'll give you anything you want or a reward for getting me that plush!" you pointed at the derpy miku as he tried to hide the blush on his cheeks, anything he wants? a reward? life couldn't be any damn sweeter for him, and he gets to finally show off cool stuff he's saved from the internet. he pulls out his phone and looks for the tutorial video again before he places coins against the slot and the game music started beeping again.

he moved his fingers delicately, trying not to decay the machine as he fiddled with the joystick almost randomly as he rapidly tapped on the button, the way he handled the machine and the way his slender fingers moved against it made you bite your lip a little as you watched him, a dork in his natural environment. you could see his focused reflection in the glass of the machine as you snapped a quiet pic, god he's adorable. you watched him fail before he angrily put in more coins, rocking the machine a little as he handled it more roughly, mumbling curses while he tried for that miku plush again, the way he was so quick and rough made you stare a little longer than intended before you heard the victory music and the plush gently fall into the slot. a wide smile appearing on your face, he couldn't lie, it found it rather..cute.

"YES! yes! Thank you so much Tomura! i love it so much you don't even—" he stopped you with a cocky grin. he looked so nerdy doing this. "yeah, whatever. what's my reward?" you pause to think over it before you just smiled at him and locked arms. "a hug." was what you said but what really wanted to leave your lips was alot more than just a 'hug.' you could feel your underwear stick to your panties as you let out a small huff, smiling softly at him, poor boy doesn't know what's coming. he kept walking as he truly thought his reward for showing off his awesome hand-eye-coordination was just a hug. "I'll get Kurogiri to warp us home, he isn't home right now so i guess you can hangout awhile longer."

perfect.

when you arrived and stepped out of the purple fog, at the dingy bar, there was no one keeping it and it was empty as always, Tomura led you to his messy room as he plopped down on the bed and watched you cuddle the derpy miku plush. "why do you even like it so much?" he questioned while he ran his fingers against his neck while eyed you up and down with a curious look. "it's ugly, but cute, ugly cute y'know?" you giggled softly before putting it aside and crawling closer to him. "You still waiting on that reward?" you whispered as you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and brought his open hand to your breast. he immediately got the message and nodded his head reaching for his gloves before you stopped him. "no, not yet."

"what the hell do you mean 'not yet'? are you suicidal or something?" he looked at you as if you were stupid before you only giggled and brough his hands together, dropping his right one before you pressed the tips of his left fingers against your lips. "Maybe, not really thinking with my head here." you whispered before you parted your lips and licked them, watching him shiver before you began to slide his middle and pointer finger in and letting your tongue play against them. you let out a few soft moans as he watched you with eyes blown wide. his cock aching painfully against his jeans as he let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. "wh-what the hell are you doing..? i-..you know that-" He was cut off by the sound of you pulling away with a small pant, letting the pade of his fingers rest against the flat and soft surface of your tongue. "can't I appreciate these pretty hands in peace?" you chuckled. "You can't appreciate them if i dust you.."

"but you won't, right pretty boy?" is what you whispered before you slid his fingers back into your mouth, sucking on them like you would with a cock as you even pulled them barely all the way out before you swirled your tongue against the tips before sliding it all the way back in, letting drool leak down your throat as you maintained eye contact with him. he tried to reach down and undo his buttons, grabbing his dick and pulling it out as he jacked off to the sight of you doing that to him, letting out small moans and biting his dry lips while he stroked himself to the sight. "i-i fucking knew you were kinky but..this is new.." he tried to match his pace to your mouth as he felt like absolute heaven.

you pulled away just before he was about to cum, letting his fingers barely connect to your lips with a string of drool before you pulled him to stand up while you got on your knees. you saw him put on his gloves before he let his pants pool around his ankles as he shoved his needy cock into your throat. "G-gah! if this is– wh-what i get for winning...!" he groaned as he thrust into your mouth, grinding against you every now and then. "Fuck- take me to the arcade every weekend- please! let me win for you..!" he babbled as he thrust into your face, his cock sliding against your tongue as you tuned him out a long time ago and let him use you like a fleshlight. it didn't take long for him to shove himself as deep as he could down your throat before cumming, giving you no option to spit out or swallow, besides, who would be spitting him out? certainly not you. he panted as he twitched in your throat, watching you pant as he pulled away and let his saliva soaked dick rest on your face as it leaked remnants of his load onto your cheek.

"What do i get for buying you a cosplay?" he whispered as he looked down at you with a crooked smile, his cock pulsing on your face as you smiled back. this was going to be one..long and spoiled night for you. don't tell All For One why he blew his allowance on clothes that seemed so expensive, or Kurogiri for that matter.

—Ake 2024

[tropicalszns]

hello kitten 😈

PLEASEEE do gojo 🙏 can you do like really silly gojo annoying reader from the SECOND she wakes up to the end of the day, like him and utahimes dynamic basically, and we’re extremely annoyed by him and are always trying to get him to shut up ? you’re welcome to do whatever prompt but make sure to make it FLUFFY!!! and smut if you’d like, i wouldn’t mind 🌚 with muchhhh love xoxo

ROOMMATES !

⋆˚⟡˖° 𐙚 gojo satoru x black!fem!reader

about

your roommate gojo can’t stop annoying you

content contains

fluffff, silly gojo, friends to ??, they were roommates!, slightly suggestive.

word count

1,242

a/n

hey let’s get married frl I love u 🙏🏾😍😍 THANK U FOR BEING MY FIRST REUQESY, forgive me for my tumblr being so glitchy and weird so like I can’t do what I wanna do!! but thank u again for requesting and I’m gonna try and make this the best I can possibly be 🫡 so sorry if it isn’t up ur standards 😭

“UGH!” You groaned. You were once again picking up the dirty socks Satoru left lying around the floor. In the living room, the kitchen, his bedroom, the bathroom, and your bedroom? You put two fingers up by your nose, squeezing hard to block out the stench of the sock you’d just picked up. “This is so gross..” you told yourself.

You walked the living room to see Satoru on his phone, his feet kicked up against the armrest of the couch you just cleaned not too long ago. “Stop leaving your dirty socks around the floor, stinky idiot.” You tossed the sock on his chest, seeing him immediately sit up and push the sock away. “Hey! Don’t do that! I just bought these clothes, not cool.” He frowned, glancing at his sock. “And for the record, I am not stinky, that’s all you.”

You raised your brow, “Me?! You leave your dirty laundry for me to clean!” You scoffed, “I’m not arguing with you, clean up after yourself and stop being lazy.” You begin to walk away. Gojo huffed, mocking you as you walked away, “Not my mom.” He murmured to himself. “I heard that!”

“Cmon! Cmon!” You bit your lip, your fingers fidgeting to your controller. You were in an intense game with your friends and so close to winning. “I got him!” You said excitedly, leaning back against the couch. Your eyes focused on the TV, you couldn’t have any distractions, no interrup- “Do you know where you put the leftovers?” Gojo announced. He slid his hand up his shirt and itched his side and yawned. “Not now, Gojo. Can you shut up?” Your brows pulled together, your frustration building up.

“I don’t know can I?” He snickered, hearing you say nothing after. His laughter died down as he pouted. “No fun, party pooper. Before I went to sleep I didn’t see anything in the fridge, did you make something?” He continued to speak, walking to the couch and glancing at the TV. If he was being honest, he didn’t really care that you were playing the game. He was hungry, and he wanted food now.

“Heeeeyyyy..” he nagged in your ear. You glared at him, swiftly slapping his face. “Ouch!” He held his nose, rubbing his face. “Seriously- not now! Go look for something to eat, stop bothering me!” You urged Gojo, putting your attention back on your game. “Fine.” Satoru sulked and walked over to the kitchen. He stood in front of the fridge, feeling too lazy to even open the fridge door.

He walked back into the living room and crossed his arms. “I don’t see anything, just your stupid drinks.” Satoru deeply sighed, crossing his arms. “Pleaaaseeee, make me something to eat! M’hungry! M’gonna die!” He whined. You felt anger boil your veins, before you could turn around to yell at him, you had gotten killed and finished in 2nd place. Your eyes widened, dropping your controller.

You were speechless. Your lips curled into a line, trying to take breathers but nothing worked. You turned your head to Satoru slowly, watching his sly grin. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, you’re so fucking annoying!” You began to yell at him but Satoru only smiled. “Sooo.. are you gonna get me some food?”

Safe to say that the day ended off with Satoru getting cold microwaved left overs and a bruised body.

“This food is cold..” he whined, picking his fork at the cold mash potatoes. “You asked for food, stop complaining.” You narrowed your eyes at him, scoffing. “Such a baby.” You muttered.

Gojo laid in his bed peacefully, wrapping himself in his blankets with the only light in the room is his phone. “Oh my gosh! Satoru!” You squealed, barging in his phone. Your eyes looked around the room, “Ugh, you’re so..” you rolled your eyes and opened the blinds. Gojo groaned, putting his blankets over his head. “Stooop!” he insisted. “No, anyway, I got a date! So you know what that means!!” You smiled.

Gojo gasped, lifting the covers. “You’re gonna come home crying about your date, then somehow make it my problem because you are always annoyed!?” Your face dropped, “I should kill you, I don’t know how we are roommates.” You blurted. “‘Cause you’re broke!” He smiled.

“I hate you!” You groaned, walking about and slamming the door behind you. “I love you too, I think!!” He yelled back.

A couple hours later, you walked into the apartment, tears streaming down your eyes. Your mascara running down your cheeks, ruining your make up. You continued to sob with your head aching and barely being able to walk in your heels, you dashed to your room and slammed the door behind you. Satoru lifted his head, raising a brow as he heard your sobs. “Eh?” He hummed. He took the pillow off his chest and rested his phone on the coffee table. Satoru got up and walked to your room, the door closed.

He placed his ear against the door. Your sobs being heard so loudly, he jolted. He knocked on the door, his heart slightly wrenching from your heavy and horrific sobs. “Uh, are you okay?” Something he probably wasn’t supposed to ask but he didn’t know how to comfort you. Usually you’d come back from your dates upset or irritated because they were a jerk, now you’re crying. He’s never seen you cry, nor did he have it on his check-list for today.

“Go away, asshole!” Your voice was muffled by your face deeply hidden in the pillows. “Uh huh, no. I don’t wanna.” He testified. Satoru twisted the knob and opened the door to see you sulking in your bed. Your dress still on and one heel on the side of the room and another on your foot. Your pillow dirty from your make up and dry tears and mascara implanted on your face.

“You look horrific.” He snorted. He quickly shut down by you throwing a pillow at him. “Go away! You’re so! Ugh!” You cried. “I was just joking, oh my god! Such a downer.” He rolled his eyes, but he secretly was chuckling to himself. He sat on the edge of your bed, watching you try and hide yourself from him. “You don’t have to be upset because of a date, you’ll be fine.” He shrugged. Satoru wasn’t in your shoes, nor does he ever want to be in it. He didn’t know how to comfort you because he knows eventually you’ll find another date that’s probably better than the last.

“He probably doesn’t even deserve you, and you should be confident to know that. I think.” He added. You didn’t speak, only keeping your face buried in the pillow. “I’m not helping, am I?” He asked, you nodded. “M’sorry.” He apologized. He looked around the room, seeing your posters and plushies, it was like he was somewhat interested in it. He moved a bit, pushing himself further in the bed.

“Do you want a hug?” He offered. You somewhat nodded your head which is enough for him. He awkwardly laid down next to you, pulling you in for a hug. “You’re kinda heavy, no offense.” Satoru blurted out. “Shut up.” You replied harshly. “You’re right, my bad.” He snickered, putting his chin on your shoulder. It felt like more of a cuddle instead of a hug, but you weren’t complaining.

“Wait, what is that poking my butt?—”

made by, tropicalszns, please do not copy, steal or repost my work without permission

[hannie-dul-set]

PATIENCE, PATIENCE.

p — SIM JAEYUN x gn! reader. g — humor, fluff. w — swearing, making out, secondhand embarrassment aka the hannie-dul-set fic triumvirate + a good amount of public indecency. 1.5k words.

requested by — anon: cocky jock (who loses that cockiness around you) x reserved student librarian (who loses that cool because of him).

note — loosely inspired by a moment from the manhwa "unstoppable hayoung" ifykyk. in a prev fic i alluded beomgyu to a mosquito, in this one jake to a pest. i think i'm seeing a pattern here.

a pest has been following you for quite some time now.

“sim jaeyun.”

his name falls icy off your tongue, prefacing it with a sharp inhale yet the man in question is unfazed. he’s trespassing the barrier that’s preventing you from socking him in the face: the front desk of the library where he’s decided to prop his arms over, leaning into the surface, smiling oh-so-handsomely at you as if you aren’t politely telling him to fuck off with your eyes alone.

then again. you don’t really expect him to understand social cues.

“for the dozenth time, please leave me alone.”

so you verbalize your intent instead.

“i can’t do that, baby,” he replies. “not until you agree to go out with me.”

you suck in a deep huff of air, close your eyes, and dig your fingers into your thighs to ward away the distress.

“just one date. please?” he prods, nudging himself closer over the desk as if the scrawls of paper you’re trying to organize aren’t as important as his incessant badgering. “are you really going to keep saying no to this face?” the face in mention looks particularly punch-able right now. you’ve always taken pride in yourself for being a very patient, patient individual. jake sim from philosophy 102 is testing that patience.

“the library is for reading,” you say through gritted teeth. patience, patience, patience. you’re a daffodil on a breezy field, a piece of driftwood on a steady river. you will not fight a man in your workplace. you will keep your job and maintain inner peace.

“i am reading,” he argues. “i’m trying to read your mind because i don’t get why you don’t want to go out with me.”

holy crap. he’s insufferable.

“i’ve already told you dozens of times, jake.” now, you don’t know a thing or two about the ball sport he does, but that pink varsity jacket is starting to look abhorrent. it’s being shoved into your face the more he tries to throw himself over your desk. a bright jarring color, unsafe for the eyes. “i don’t want to go out with you. also, i’d appreciate if you stop ruining my work.”

one of the documents got wrinkled under his elbow. his mouth opens, “oh, sorry!” and he quickly backs off, ironing the sheet with his palms. “but at least tell me why you don’t want to go out with me. you keep rejecting me with a blank face but i don’t know why.”

your upper lip twitches. 

because this is all because of a dare, that’s fucking why.

no, even that aside, the way he keeps arrogantly trying to hit on you, expecting you to just accept it and go is grinding your gears. you’re calm. you’re usually calm. but something about this guy just pushes all your buttons in one go, makes you spew out bullshit you’d never dare yourself to say to anyone else.

“hey,” your rouse. “can you kiss me right now?”

two can play at that game, bitch.

it works. it works really well because jake is suddenly as pink as his jacket. well, you don’t blame him. the library isn’t safe from gross, hormonal activities, but those are usually done in between the shelves— not at the front desk near the entrance. 

you’re mimicking his stance, leaned forward, arms crossed over the desk and all. “like— like a peck on the cheek?” he stutters.

“no. like tongue in mouth kissing me like a starved man and it’s your last meal on death row,” you clarify. it’s funny how you can see his brain circuits crashing in real time. serves him right. you let out a breath and stand up, seeing the clock tick closer to your break. you quickly gather your things and circle out from behind the desk, now in cross-armed disappointment next to your persistent pest. “this is why i don’t want to go out with you, jake. you don’t even have feelings for me. you’re doing this because your friends told you to, and i don’t—”

suddenly, you feel something soft on your lips.

suddenly, your knees are weak, your mind is fuzzy, and you’re exchanging spit with jake sim in the library lobby.

wait, you gasp into his mouth and he responds with a grunt. wait, your eyelids flutter, air knocked out of your chest that’s somehow now pressed against his because wait— this wasn’t supposed to go this way. 

how dare he actually do what you told him to? how dare he give you the best damn kiss you’ll ever have in your life? 

“what the fuck?” you breathe out in intermittent huffs, hands on his chest as you pull yourself back. jake’s hazy eyes are looking at you in a way that makes your brain jump in circles, coupled by the arm that he has looped around your lower back. he’s crazy. he’s fucking crazy. “why— why would you do that?!”

“you told me to kiss you!”

“and you did?!”

your eyes widen at the volume of your own voice, quickly slapping a hand over your swollen lips, but making noise is at the bottom of your library sins today. you see your supervisor’s attention on you from the corner of your eye, and your face flushes. “why would you go this far for a dare?” you say in a quieter voice, still manic, still frantic, and jake flinches hard when you jab a finger to his chest. “you’re nuts, you’re actually nuts, oh my god—”

“wait, what do you mean dare?” your finger seems to be hurting him because he grabs your wrist and brings your hand down. “a dare? a dare to do what?”

you seethe. “don’t play dumb with me, jake. overheard you and your little soccer friends last time—”

“it’s football—”

“i don’t care.” your voice is getting louder again. jake flinches once more. “the problem here is you keep asking me out to date you because your soccer friends are betting on who can bed the quiet library assistant first and— and i’m not going to play dumb just because you’re a good kisser. i’m angry and disgusted and—”

“do you mind continuing your argument outside?”

your mouth is hanging open, paused mid-speech. when you peer to your left, you see that your supervisor has teleported right next to you. oh, god. there goes your job. jake apologizes for the both of you and skews your frozen figure out the door. you’re screwed. your patience could handle six months at starbucks and three months babysitting three toddlers, but i cannot handle one sim jaeyun.

“so,” the perpetrator’s voice snaps you back to reality. you’re both now outside the library, and he’s looking at you with a smugness that begs a kick to the balls. “you think i kiss good.”

your face bitters. “is that your only takeaway from all that?”

“no,” he shakes his head. “i also got that you’re rightfully mad at me for something i have to clear up.”

here we go. you’re curious to see what excuses he’ll make, how many sorry’s he’ll impart, and if he’ll get down on his knees. jake. but his starting words aren’t what you’re hoping for. “there isn’t a bet,” he starts. “my teammates were just trying to tease me because i didn’t have the balls to ask you out. dumb, i know, but they were dumber because they were all like, ‘if you don’t make a move soon, we will, blah, blah, blah’ to provoke me so—”

jake is matching his varsity jacket again.

“long story short, i made them run fifteen laps and decided to get it over with by asking you out on a date.”

you’re brought back to the first instance jake had asked you out— it was in the lecture hall, right after class, and he was wearing the same pink jacket that at this point seems like his second skin. the color isn’t as jarring as you initially thought.

“but rejection didn’t feel nice. so i thought i’d try again.”

you narrow your eyes. “again, as in like, eight times?”

“you counted?” he muses. you are unamused. he clears his throat and continues. “you’re always so calm and collected, but your eyebrows would furrow and your face would scrunch up whenever i threw you the question. it’s cute. i got addicted. you can’t pin all the blame on me.”

you let his words simmer, and with each passing second of silence jake grows more nervous, fidgeting in wait. you decide to spare him the agony, letting out a deep and heavy sigh. “okay. you’re forgiven.”

it’s instantaneous how his face lights up. now, you’re the one flinching.

“nice! does that mean we’re dating now? can i kiss you again?”

“now hold on,” you stop him, mildly appalled, mostly flustered. “i said i forgive you. i never said we can start making out in a public area again.”

he bats his eyes at you. “in private then?” 

you want to hit him. you want to hit him so bad. sim jaeyun is the pest that has been following you for quite some time now. you fear that at this point, there’s no getting rid of him now.

PATIENCE, PATIENCE. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[petew21-blog]

Family fun

"Hi, I'm Simon and I'm an alcoholic." Haha. I'm just kidding. I'm just a normal nineteen year old kid still living with his widowed father and his three brothers. Today I was suppose to go on a trip with my 4 friends - Michael, Nathan, Daniel and Connor. I was ready to leave, but suddenly my - always happy and kind dad - started screaming about me not doing enough for our family, not doing chores and he banned me to go on the trip. I texted my friends, but only Connor replied:"Better luck next time. C ya". Then my dad even took my phone from me. I have no idea what I have done, but I didn't question him right now. Maybe later when he cools off.

My brother Alex came downstairs and offered me to go with him to the store. He acted different. I can't tell why, but he kept teasing me, which he usually doesn't. He is the quiet one.

We got into the store. I went to get some vegetable and when I got back to him. He was standing there completely naked

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Hurry. Give my some clothes!!! I lost them!"

"How can you just loose your clothes you're wearing?!?"

"Doesn't matter. Give me something."

I gave him my jeans, my shirt, leaving me only with my socks, sweatshirt in my hand and my boxers. He put on the rest and then laughed as he took the sweatshirt from my hands and ran away.

I was standing in a storeonly in my underwear. How embarassing. Alex was standing outside of the store with a phone in his hand already recording and laughing

"What the hell is wrong with you today?"

"Haha. Nothing. Just... enjoying life."

We returned back home. Alex went to show my other two brothers how he humiliated me. I went upstairs to find my father in my bathroom completely naked. He held my phone in his hands and tried to take a nude.

"DAD! What are you doing?!"

He wasn't even shocked and kept trying to get a good photo.

"Oh hey, I was going through your phone and I found this Grindr app where most of the profiles had pictures like this. I thought that maybe it is a dating website and I might have a chance. Maybe I'll find someone there."

THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING

"Dad, please. Go away. And don't install that app. I'll explain that to you later."

He checked himself out again and then winked at me

"Don't act like this isn't the dick that made you. You owe me for that, you know"

Has everyone gone crazy this morning or what the fuck is happening?

I went downstairs, ready for some more weird stuff. But fortunately my two brothers - Joe and Kyle fought. Thank god. The most normal thing in our family that could be happening right now. I sat outside on the porch just briefly watching them fight.

But suddenly the fight turned into this

They made out passionately as many couples in love do. But THEY ARE MY BROTHERS!!!

"STOP! SOMEBODY EXPLAIN TO ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!!!"

All four of the stared at each other back and forth. My dad was the first one who started laughing, then the rest did too.

"What's so funny? Have you all lost your mind?"

"Oh come ooooon. It's just a prank, BRO" said my father

"Besides, would your brother that you secretly have a crush on let you do this?" Alex came to me and placed my hand on his abs, just going up and down and finally going down.

"How... Connor?"

"BINGO! You figured it out. We swapped bodies with everyone in your family just to mess with you. We discovered we could do that last night when we arrived at the campsite, but we decided to surprise you. So, what do you think?"

"Wait. What about my dad and my brothers? Where are they?"

"In the campsite hopefully. But they keep calling your phone, so that's why we took it from you. Seems like we might have some explaining to do. So, until we give these bodies back and might never use them again?" All four of them smiled.

I couldn't believe how perverted my freinds are. And I couldn't believe I didn't really protest.

A story from the inbox: Hello! I love your stories😍😍😍 can u write a story about some friends are doing prank by body swapping with his male family members?

[bifuriouswaterbender]

@steddieholidaydrabbles is doing some warm up rounds. This is for the Round One prompt "High School or College AU," rated T, 685 words.

"You sure your roommate won't mind?" Robin had asked.

"No," Steve had answered automatically. "He's cool."

Maybe that was proving incorrect because while they'd already been asleep curled up together in Steve's bed when Eddie got home, this morning he was being incredibly weird about it.

"You didn't leave a sock or text me or anything," Eddie hissed in his ear when Robin was using the en-suite bathroom that Steve praised for existing every single day.

He'd done the communal shower thing for sports in high school. He didn't mind avoiding it now.

Steve just shrugged and kept digging in his dresser for a shirt he knew Robin had jokingly tucked in his bags before they'd moved in. "I didn't need to. We weren't doing anything but sleeping."

"Right." Eddie sounded doubtful, but Steve ignored him.

He knocked on the bathroom door. "Got a shirt for you."

It opened a crack and Robin's arm stuck through like some kind of little raccoon. Steve laughed as he handed it over.

The door shut firmly behind him, he turned back around, surprised at the look on Eddie's face. "What?"

Eddie shrugged and flopped down in his desk chair, barely avoiding hitting his head on the underside of his bed. "I dunno, I guess I'm just surprised."

"By what?"

Eddie's eyes darted to the door before settling back at Steve. "I mean this definitely doesn't feel like it was a random hookup or anything."

Steve snorted. "It definitely wasn't."

Eddie nodded, his face grim. He dropped his voice as he said, "And that means you've put me in a fucked up and really awkward place, man. You talk all the time about going out and maybe finding somebody at a party to hook up with. I don't think you really have hooked up with anyone, but am I supposed to keep that a secret from your girlfriend?"

Steve opened and closed his mouth a few times before getting out, "Girlfriend?" Then he lost it.

The bathroom door opened behind him, and Steve heard Robin move closer. "What's so funny?" she asked.

Eddie looked stricken, but Steve managed to get out between his chuckles, "Eddie thinks we're dating."

Steve turned to see her face directly, and the priceless way she wrinkled her nose in disgust sent him into another wave of laughter, this one hard enough to force tears from his eyes.

"What the fuck," Eddie deadpanned.

"Sorry," Steve sputtered, even as Robin shook her head.

"We're not dating," she said flatly.

"I, um, am gathering that," Eddie said, his eyes rapidly flicking between them.

"Platonic," Robin said.

"With a capital P," Steve added, still wheezing.

"Besides," Robin continued, "I'm not interested in men. I'm a lesbian."

For a moment, the room was still. Then Steve found himself throwing her into a hug. "I'm so proud of you! Oh my god, you said it in front of someone!"

Robin's face turned pink, but she hugged him back. "Yeah, and you're kinda ruining that moment, dingus."

Steve sobered up immediately. He pulled back but didn't let go of her completely. With the way she leaned against his side, Steve had to assume she approved. "Sorry." He turned his gaze back to Eddie. "Well?"

Eddie, clearly unsure how he was supposed to react, blurted out, "I'm gay."

"Really?"

Robin elbowed Steve in the side for that, but he stayed focused on Eddie's panicked expression.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Eddie asked. He moved like he was trying to sound tough, but it did not come out that way.

Steve felt a stab of guilt for making him think he might be in danger.

"No, absolutely not!" Steve insisted. "I'm bisexual!"

This time Robin squealed. She was in his face before Steve could even process Eddie's reaction. "And now I'm proud of you!" she declared. "Have you told anybody but me? That's so awesome!"

Steve made eye contact with Eddie around her as a slow smile spread across his roommate's face.

"Yeah," Steve said. "I think it is."

With the way Eddie was looking at him now, it was going to be.

[katebishopshands]

But I’m a Cheerleader ! Pt. 4

(Cheerleader!Kate Bishop/reader) (18+)

Pt.1

Pt.2

Pt. 3

»-------------¤-------------«

The end of cheer camp nears. With three days left in the week to carry your team to victory, you only have one thing standing in your way.

Your feelings for Kate.

No longer being able to let your feelings for her hide in the depths of your subconscious, you do something you never thought you’d do.

You talk to her.

»-------------¤-------------«

You search for her eye for the rest of the day. You swear you can feel her staring at the back of your head during lunch, but when you turn around to look at her shes talking with America and Clint like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn’t shoved her hands down your spanx hours earlier.

Like you hadn’t done the same to her a day prior.

Yelena beams to you on your way to the last rotation of the day, conditioning.

“Today was great, wasn’t it? I think we’re really onto something this season” she’s talking nonsense, not even making eye contact with you. She toys with the end of a blonde braid as she keeps up with the rest of the team. You adjust your backpack on your shoulders, glancing behind you in hopes to see Kate.

You see her, but she doesn’t see you.

Was the moment in the locker room her way of calling it quits? Whatever relationship that had been developing, squashed in under 24 hours? Maybe the sweatshirt was her way of saying goodbye.

“Yeah uh, I don’t know Yelena, but I think we were on fire today!” You smile back at her, not wanting to show her the internal conflict you were going through as you stepped through the doors of the training facility.

It shouldn’t bother you that Kate ignores you throughout the last rotation of the day, throughout dinner and the rest of the night. If anything, you should be happy that she’s finally done tormenting you. But you’re not. You crave her eyes on you, the snarky comments, the snotty looks. You crave her. Always have. Since you started cheering, Kate had been with you. At competitions, try outs, cheer camps. She’s a constant in your life that you didn’t even realize.

So now having a day almost completely void of her, felt wrong.

You played with the sleeves of the sweatshirt you had stolen, well now Kate had given to you. Just biding time until you got the energy to get up and take your shower. The tie faded tie blanket you had made sophomore year of high school sat under you. On top of the blood, sweat and tears from training that day, you also hadn’t really gotten a chance to clean yourself up since the…incident with Kate in the locker room that morning. A shower sounded so good, but your body ached.

Along with the aching muscles, your heart ached over the lack of Kate’s attention during the latter half of the day. You felt like a spoiled child. You hated admitting that feelings of some sort had started growing for the dark haired girl. But they had, in some fucked up sort of way.

You’re getting up from your bed, grabbing the towel that hung on the back of the door to the bathroom after not being able to take the smell of your own BO any longer. But you stop before you turn the bathroom door handle.

You had to talk to Kate.

You couldn’t keep letting her take over your mind. She hadn’t even done anything really, but god was she distracting. You couldn’t live through the rest of camp looking over your shoulder to see if she was noticing you.

You hung the towel back up on the door, sighing a bit as you hung your head before walking over to the door that led to the hall. Your bare feet stuck to the cool linoleum flooring. You knew deep down that you probably should be wearing socks or some sort of slip on shoe to avoid athletes foot or wherever, but you were too tired to care.

Hand colliding with the metal door handle that led to the hallway, you turn it and open your door. You’re looking at the ground as you do so, ready to make the short walk to Kate’s room so you can tell her how you feel.

“Um…hi…?” Your eyes flick up to the voice that had just spoken up.

It’s Kate, her hand still stretched out, reaching towards your door handle. Her hair is down . It’s a little wet from a shower you assume. Her pajama shorts low on her hips once again. You’re able to see the purple jeweled jewelry she has in her belly button piercing more clearly than earlier. Your mouth goes dry.

“I was just..um..” you’re sputtering, suddenly forgetting why you were even going to see Kate in the first place. She chuckles slightly at you, letting her head fall for a moment before looking back at you.

“Can we talk? And I mean actually talk” she’s still smiling, not looking like she’s mad at you. This settles the uneasy feeling in your stomach.

“It’s like you stole the words out of my mouth.” You take a step out of her way, beckoning her to take a step into your room .

She obliges and steps past you, you’re able to smell her shampoo from her shower. Coconut. You knew that already, having woken up to her hair in your face that morning. You’re suddenly insecure about the way you smell after deciding to ditch your shower in favor of going and talking with Kate.

Kate turns to you before she enters fully into the bedroom area of the dorm. She picks at the skin on her lip with her teeth , her hands clenched at her sides. She’s swaying back and forth, clearly in thought.

“So..you wanted to talk?” You interrupt her thought process. You couldn’t stand having her this close to you when you didn’t know where this newfound relationship stood. The last time you had spoken it had felt like a goodbye, but now you weren’t sure.

“Right! Yeah..of course..” Kate shakes her head a bit, as if she was trying to shake her ideas out.

“I think..” she starts. You brace yourself for impact. This was it. This was where she broke everything off with you, and you went back to hating each others guts, or even possibly ignoring each other for the rest of your lives. You look at your feet, not wanting to meet her watery blue eyes.

“I think we started this off wrong” she finishes, and it’s not what you were expecting to come out of her mouth in that moment. Kate Bishop admitting she had done something wrong, it was a Christmas miracle.

“Oh?” You look up in surprise, finally looking at her. She looks nervous actually. No longer the confident girl who had asked you to ride her thigh last night, or the girl who had followed you to the locker rooms. She looks small. She’s fidgeting with the seams of her pajama shorts, bouncing from foot to foot.

“Yeah, I mean like.. I usually don’t do this kind of thing..well I do but I don’t know..”

You cock you head at her, not really sure what she’s trying to get at.

“I’m not sure I’m following” Kate sighs and goes to sit down on your bed. She looks at you expectantly before nodding her head next to her, inviting you to sit down next to her. You mindlessly follow her request and sit an almost too far distance away from her. She raises an eyebrow at you but continues.

“I’m sorry I just..I’m used to getting with girls suddenly but there’s something about you.. I don’t know. You’ve bugged me since the day I met you..”

“So you’re saying I’m different that the other girls you’ve been with?” You scoff a little at how cliche it sounds.

“Yes! But it’s not like that I just…I’d like to get to know you…like actually get to know you..” Kate won’t look at you. She’s staring at the chipped purple polish on her fingers, playing with the hang nails that cling to her cuticles.

“Kate..” she looks up at you. If you didn’t know any better you’d think she had tears in her eyes. She’s embarrassed you realize. The ego machine that was Kate bishop was embarrassed infront of you.

“Are you saying you want to actually have a conversation with me and not just fuck my brains out?” She goes red at this. You laugh a little.

“I mean if you want to put it that bluntly…yes? If that’s okay with you.” Her voice is hopeful. She’s trying to hide behind awkward laughter, but you can tell that she’s wanting you to say yes.

“Look, don’t get me wrong I REALLY like fucking your brains out, but I think in this case we need to get past the enemies thing and get to the friend part first..” she ends her sentence with an awkward laugh.

“Oh so we’re enemies?” You lean forward, smiling a little at the idea that Kate thought you were enemies.

“You told me last night that you ‘ hate me’, I’d take that as being enemies” she rolls her eyes a little, her attitude coming back for a second.

“Maybe I wouldn’t hate you if you weren’t such a show off”

“And maybe I wouldn’t show off so much if you didn’t give me dirty looks all the time” she snaps back from your snarky remark. You put your hands up as a sign of surrender.

“Okay Kate Bishop…let’s be friends then…ask me whatever you want”

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶ ➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶ ➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Kate’s legs are crossed over your own. Your back against the stone wall of the dorm room that your bed sat against. You’re both laughing at some story she was finishing up.

“There’s no way you’re that scared of horses” you say in between laughs, trying to catch your breath. One of your hands sits atop Kate’s knee, a thin barrier of sweat between your exposed skin.

“I’m being so for real right now, I ran right into the road after seeing the Central Park carriage horses for the first time” she’s laughing too. Her nose crinkling as she smiles big. She’s cute.

This is the first time you’ve looked at Kate and thought she was cute. Not hot, or sexy or anything of the sort. She’s cute. She’s being herself in the moment, not the villain you had made her out to be in your head. She’s someone who if you had met under different circumstances, you’d be totally head over heels for almost instantly.

“My mom had to run into the road after me to make sure I didn’t get squashed” she’s grinning at you.

“And…you’re still scared of horses?”

Kate looks away from you.

“No comment” she continues to not look at you, opting instead to play with the ties in your blanket

You scoff at her and shove her shoulder a lightly. Kate leans back and rubs at her shoulder where you had hit her.

“No fucking way you’re scared of horses, you’re 22!” you nearly yell at her. You’re in awe. True awe. In the past two days you’ve learned some crazy things about about Kate, but this one took the cake. She rolls her eyes at you, black hair sliding off her shoulder and falling behind her back.

“Look, I don’t trust them. They know something we don’t, I swear!” Kate is desperate to plead her case, but you’re not having it.

“You’re ridiculous” it comes out breathy as you look down to where your hand still sat atop her knee. The bed dips and shakes a little as Kate scoots a a little closer to you, her purple polished hand finding your thigh. Your boxers rise up a little as you shift a bit. Either it be from nerves or to relive the growing heat in your core, you’re not sure. Kate rubs her thumb over your thigh.

“Would it be ridiculous of me to say that you might be into it?” Half lidded blue eyes bore into the side of your face. You dare to sneak a glance at her out of the corner of your eye. She’s waiting for a response.

“You’re ridiculous” you repeat, this time more quietly, less confident than before. She nods her head a little .

“That’s what I thought” before you knew it she’s shifting her position on you, swinging her leg over you to straddle your lap. You hold your hands on her waist, looking up at her with your brows furrowed in confusion not exactly sure what she was trying to get at.

Kate leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. You kiss her back.

The last two hours you had learned more about Kate Bishop than you had ever intended on. Her mom had essentially raised her herself after her dad passed away. She had gone to an all girls school for high school. Despite being the charismatic powerhouse that you knew from cheer, she struggled to have a lot of close friends.

Kate Bishop was nice. A hell of a lot nicer than you were. Always judging Kate, chalking her up to some rich girl who got eve try thing she had wanted, but you were so wrong.

And now here she was, fingers tugging at the hairs that sat on the base of your neck as she kissed you. She rocks into the kiss a little, sending your back against the cool stone of the wall behind you. You can’t tell what gives you the goosebumps that prick up on your arms and exposed skin of your legs; the feeling of the wall through your tshirt or Kate’s lips on your own.

Kate pulls away, a little out of breath and looks down at your. Her hair is back over one shoulder, it’s almost fully dry now.

“What happened to not wanting to do anything again until we’re friends? “ you jab at her, squeezing her hips a little. You can’t help but tease her. The last couple of hours had been entirely too nice for your liking. She groans and rolls her eyes.

“Are we not friends yet? I told you about my dead dad..I think that means things are getting pretty serious” she’s joking, but the undertone of her words is legitimate.

You run your hands up her back, nails catching slightly on the cropped tank top she wore. Kate shivers. Sitting up slightly, you let your nose graze hers. She looks at you and blinks a few times expectantly.

“I don’t know Katie…” your thumbs are rubbing small circles on her back. Kate takes a small breath of air in anticipation.

“I’m honestly still a little wigged out about the horse phobia” you grin at her, moving your face closer to hers and letting your noses brush once again.

“but..I guess..”

“Please” Kate cuts you off, no she begs you. Thick brows furrowed, full lips slightly parted as she releases her breath onto your face.

“I guess I’d call us friends now.”

Kate’s resolve crumbles quickly. She slings her hands over your shoulders, grabbing at the hair at the base of your neck again. She’s tugging on them, eliciting pleased sighs out of you as you kiss her.

You’re holding her, pressing her body into yours. Her chest pressed against yours as you fight for control of the kiss. Kate’s tilting her head to get better access to you. Hot, open mouthed kisses shared between you break the would be silence of the dorm room.

For the second time while in the process of kissing Kate, you think of your neighbor and best friend, Yelena. Wondering what she would think of if she heard you sucking face with your biggest rival. You shudder, making a mental note to keep it down if you guys do end up banging.

Kate detaches her mouth from yours and works downward . A kiss to the corner of your mouth, your chin, your neck, right above the collar of your shirt. She lifts off of your for a minutes, her fingers playing with the bottom of your shirt. It’s an old competition shirt, you think you gotten it when you were maybe 17. Kate eyeballs it for a moment. She laughs.

“We won this competition…you guys came in second.” Of course she had to have brought that up. You scoff at her.

“Oh you bitch” you push her off of you, adjusting her position so her head fell on your pillow. Kate laughs at you as she falls backwards. Her dark hair sprawls out behind her onto the faded pink pillowcase. It was some ancient Disney princess pillow case from when you were like four, it had been to every cheer camp with you .

You swap your positions, now straddling Kate’s hips. She keeps laughing as you start kissing her neck.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I heard you call me that”

Kate is incredibly smug for someone who was under you. Confident gaze flitting over your body. How she found you attractive in that moment was above you. The faded competition shirt, the tattered boxers, the fact that you hadn’t showered. When you had packed for the week you didn’t intend on anyone that wasn’t Yelena seeing you in your pajamas. But you found yourself straddled on top of your arch enemy, core throbbing with want.

You kiss up her neck, sucking on her jaw. Kate’s hands tangle in your hair, yanking in the strands a little. She whines a little. You nip at her jaw a little following it with your tongue to soothe the blossoming hickey.

Kate arches her back upward, successfully colliding your chests and your crotches. You hiss into her neck, letting your head hang for a moment as she bumps into you, your clit colliding with the material of your boxers.

Kate takes note of the way you stutter on top of her.

“Feel good?” She gently gathers your hair in a free hand, pulling your head up slightly so you can meet her face. You flush. You were so tough a few moments ago, but now that Kate’s got you under her gaze you shrink down. Too embarrassed to admit that you wanted her to shove her fingers down your shorts again.

You can see the hickey bruising on her jawline. You hadn’t even thought about the consequences of doing that. You had just wanted to hear Kate make her pretty noises. You sit up, putting your hand over your mouth.

“Shit I’m sorry Kate” she looks at you confused, leaning up on her elbows.

“For what exactly?”

“I accidentally gave you a fucking hickey. I wasn’t even thinking about it” your hands are over your face. You really didn’t want to blow this whole thing you had going with Kate. After your conversation and actually getting to know her, you thought that even outside of a sexual relationship you might actually be able to be friends with her. But no matter what? Neither of you were ready to be in the public eye.

Kate sits up fully. You feel your body drag a little with hers as she crosses her legs under her. She takes your wrists, so incredibly gently. When you had embarrassingly enough imagined Kate Bishop in these scenarios before you thought she’d be cocky, mean, maybe even a little demeaning and rough.

But Kate Bishop is gentle.

Removing your hands from your face, Kate shakes her head at your a little once you meet eyes.

“It’s okay, really”

“Really?”

She nods her head and your stomach feels a bit better, the guilt eating away at you subsidizing for a moment.

“And besides, I’ve got concealer, no one will notice.”

She’s so nice to you. It’s shocking. After years of getting in each others faces and endless taunting, Kate is nice to you.

She leans into you, kissing your gently at first. But as her hands travel down your body, starting at your cheeks, and then your shoulders, to your breasts and downwards, she gets more aggressive. You rock your head with her, letting Kate dominate the kiss.

This wasn’t the rage filled make out sesh from the night prior, or the quickie in the locker room, something had changed between you.

Kate’s gently pushing you backwards so your head barely sits below the edge of the twin extra long mattress. You let her, sighing into her as your back touches down. Kate’s hands have found your hips, her fingers pulling lightly at the top of your boxers. You lift your hips just enough for Kate to pull them and your underwear down your thighs. You never take your mouth off of hers, sighing into her mouth as the air of the dorm hits your freshly exposed core.

Kate reassuringly places a hand on your hip, rubbing light circles on the warm skin there.

“You good?” She pulls away from you and meets your eyes. Her finger keeps rubbing at your hip. You swallow. You’re more than good. Never in your whole life had you thought you’d actually be civil with Kate, but here you are.

You nod.

“Words please. I’ve heard you be louder than that on the mat” Kate smiles, her teeth perfectly white and straight. You wonder if she had braces at some point.

You roll your eyes. As if she really needed you to say it, she had already had her fingers inside you that day.

“Yeah..I’m good” you whisper. Kate’s not happy with your answer, but it’s sufficient enough because she shimmies her way down to her stomach. Face eventually level with your cunt, which at this point is effectively soaked because of the stop and go make out sesh you guys had been locked in for the last 20 minutes or so. She wastes no time as she goes in, nose bumping your sensitive clit as she begins licking at you.

You jolt, a strangled moan breaking through your lips. Kate had not prepped you in the slightest so the sudden attention almost jump started your body.

You feel Kate smile into you as she reached a hand up to your breast and starts to knead at it. You moan again. Kate continues licking and sucking at your folds. The mixed sensations of Kate swapping between lickingg at your labia and sucking on your clit, along with kneading at your breast occasionally tweaking your nipple has you shamelessly moaning.

It’s almost like you’ve forgotten you’re at cheer camp, and you’re now a horny 16 year old hooking up with her first girlfriend in some beat up car.

You grow tired of the barrier that is your shirt between Kate and your skin. You begin to grasp at the hem of it. You arch your back to make it more easy to get the shirt off of you, in the process pushing your cunt even more into Kate’s face. She moans and swirls her tongue around your clit. You gasp, dropping the shirt from your grip to clasp your hand over your mouth in an effort to keep quiet.

Kate laughs at you and goes back to work.

Shaky hands finally grabbing onto the faded fabric and pulling it over your head. You throw it behind you and forcefully place Kate’s hand back on your tit. She tweaks your nipple again and you jump.

Kate looks up from her position between your legs, blue eyes clouded in thought and a smile still on her juice covered lips. You were close at this point. The extra stimulation to your breast was what you needed as you rut against Kate’s face.

You’re about to announce to Kate that you’re close to finishing when she stops.

“Kate I was about to fini-“

She shushes you, quickly sitting up. You’re about to protest again until Kate begins to pull off her own shirt. You close your mouth and stare. Respectfully of course. But you think to yourself that she has the prettiest boobs you’ve ever seen. Kate catches you staring as she throws her shirt towards where yours landed behind you.

“ you like the view?”

“Uh no” you lie. Admitting it was too embarrassing. She leans forward and kisses you. You sit up, leaning into Kate. While kissing you, Kate begins to shimmy her way out of her own shorts, leaving her them along with her underwear discarded on the opposite end of the bed .

She pulls away from you. You had seen her naked before. But this time was different. That was you two fucking out your feelings for each other. Whatever this was, you couldn’t put your finger on it but it wasn’t that.

You take Kate’s naked form in as she props your right leg up and slings it over her shoulder. She hovers her own cunt over yours, her own right leg going over your left.

“Kate what are you doing?”

“God I’ve been waiting to find the right girl to try this with” her eyes are on where your cunts almost collide. Her chest is heaving, blue eyes blown with her dark curls falling over her shoulder again. Her tone is deep and filled with lust. You’re about to lean forward to brush her hair off her shoulder again when she she essentially sits down on your center, her swollen clit catching on yours. The raw sensation of your overly sensitive bud colliding with Kate’s warmth sends your back towards the mattress again.

You see stars. When you had heard your friends talk about seeing stars during sex you thought they were joking but having Kate Bishop sit her own pussy against yours was what officially broke you.

That was, until she started moving.

Kate begins to grind herself against you, sending your body up and down with every thrust of her hips. You’re silently screaming as she does so. You have to put your own hand in your mouth to keep any sounds from escaping. Kate’s panting, her thick brows furrowed as sweat drips from her hairline inbetween them. She’s reaching for your tits as she continues to thrust into you.

Sweat drips down your own back and inbetween your asscheeks, eventually ending on the fitted sheet beneath you that seemed to slip farther off the mattress with every one of Kate’s thrusts. Kate’s moaning above you. Her heads thrown back as she squeezes your boobs, using them to anchor herself into her motions.

“Jesus Christ Kate” you whine. Your hands are reaching anywhere. You need something to bring you back down to earth. The feeling of Kate against you is so raw and intoxicating you can’t help but feel like this is a dream. Some insanely perverted dream. You would’ve continued to think it was a dream, until Kate herself whines from above you.

Her clit catching on yours causing her hips to stutter. Your breath catches in your throat at this, which is a sign for Kate to pick up her pace. She leaves marks on your tits as she pounds into you. Red crescent marks framing your nipples from her dull nails pressing into the supple skin there. You plant the one foot on the mattress and begin to meet her thrusts, frantically humping into the air in an effort to meet your climax.

With each thrust your clits kiss and elicit a high pitched whine or moan from you both. At this point you didn’t care who heard you, you wanted to cum. You wanted Kate Bishop to make you come.

“God you’re doing so good” Kate mumbles, her rhythm faltering. She plants a kiss on your ankle. Your cunt flutters around nothing at her praise and sudden affection. Your release is approaching faster than you’d like it to. Kate teasing you earlier hasn’t done you any favors.

Before you’d like it to, your body tenses up, hips off the mattress and you cum. Your calves clench, your ass clenches and so do your eyes. Your whole body goes limp under Kate as she continues to rut into you, desperately trying to finish herself. You shake as she does so, beginning to feel over stimulated every time her clit bumps against yours. You’re about to push her off when she moans quietly and her hips stutter to a halt.

She looks down at you as she catches her breath. Waiting a moment before she removes your leg from her shoulder, you wince at the feeling. On top of being sore from the days work, your hip is now sore from being locked in that position for god knows how long Kate had you there. She’s gentle with you, guiding your leg back down onto the mattress before lifting herself of of you.

The sound of your mixed release sends shivers down your spine and you both wince at the lack of each other’s presence. Kate brushes some hair out of your eyes and leans down again to kiss you. You reciprocate as you sit up, wincing with every adjustment because you were so sore.

“You did really good..I really meant that” Kate says between a whisper and her usual speaking voice. She’s avoiding your eyes again, back to the shy girl who had came into your room a few hours again. Kate traces a circle in your thigh, eyes focused on that.

“Thanks” you say through a smile. “You were pretty good too. I mean that was…” you take her hand in yours, you now rubbing circles on the top of her hand.

“Yeah..it was.”

Kate looks towards the door, then to where her shirt was behind you, and then towards her shorts at the other end of the bed.

“Well I should..” she begins to move to go collect her clothes, getting one foot onto the cool flooring.

“Stay..” you reach for her. You’re not sure what came over you, but you want her to stay. Genuinely. Not even for more sex. Just to lay with her, run your nails up and down her arms. To count the freckles on her body.

“Please stay..” it was your turn to beg tonight. At first you can’t read Kate’s expression. Her lips are slightly downturned into a pout and her head leans to the side. She almost looks confused. The corners of her mouth slowly turn upwards into a smirk and her cheeks flush. She quickly gets up, running across the room to turn the light off, and then jumps back into your bed, her head back on your old Disney princess pillow. She holds her arms out for you to join her.

Kate stays the night.

»-------------¤-------------«

DARRRRRLINGGGGG, GUESS WHOS BACK FROL JAIIIIILLLL

No but for real this took forever and I apologize for that, but I’m actually like, really proud of it?? Something about taking my time to really work on the quality of it was really refreshing.

This IS NOT the last part, but I do think part 5 will be. This concept has been so fun to write, but I’ve got a fic on my other blog I’ve been neglecting even worse than this one.

Mwah mwah mwah love you all so much ✨🏹

»-------------¤-------------«

[harmonictechnicality]

*wrote this for @vecnuthy's birthday, so here you go babe! i baked you a word cake 🥰🎂* *ao3 link here*

Nobody gets cool shit on their birthday after the age of sixteen - Steve stands by this statement firmly. That year, he got his permit. And by yuppie parent default-mode, he also received his first car.

He almost, almost had a quarter-life crisis on his twenty-fifth birthday. Steve was seconds away from buying a motorcycle. Robin was very dramatic about this decision, kept threatening to order his gravestone if he followed through on an impulse purchase. 

This, however, would’ve nullified his Adults Get Lame Birthday Gifts theory entirely. So Steve apologized to the salesperson, and tucked his credit card back into his wallet. Robin canceled the order on his gravestone as well, thank god.

Gifts have continued to be lackluster every year since then. And his 30th birthday is no exception to this rule.

A gift card from his parents. A pair of athletic socks from Dustin. And a t-shirt from Robin. Essentially, the starter pack of Welcome to Adulthood. 

Except for one minor detail:

The shirt from Robin is exceptionally soft. Bamboo fibers or something, he wasn’t really listening to her description. Even the color is soft. Muted red, almost pink. Everything about it is soft. Airy. 

Touchable.

Okay - that’s not an observation Steve makes upon receiving it. But it’s one that Eddie Munson will never let him forget. 

The first time it happens is a week after Steve’s birthday. The two of them hit up a bar on the outskirts of town. A place Eddie frequents a lot, occasionally dragging Steve along as his Token 9 to 5 Friend.

“Welcome to the Dirty Thirty Club, man!” Eddie crows, already diving into Steve’s atmosphere for a hug. 

“Thanks! Good to see you, Munson.” Steve chokes out, returning the massive hug with a single pat on Eddie's back.

The guy always gives the most suffocating hugs, fucking cages Steve into his arms and steals the breath of out his lungs with one squeeze. Steve has to inhale through his nose, smells the soapy steam rolling off Eddie’s skin.

Shower. Eddie just showered before meeting him here. It’s so fucking clear by the way he feels damp, smells clean.

Steve hates that he notices that. Wishes he didn’t care about Eddie’s hygiene schedule. But the scent of shower gel is addictive, breathing it in fast. Big gulps of fresh air. Lungs extending like they can capture Eddie's atmosphere and keep it there.

Okay, seriously. Steve thought his Eddie Munson Crush had been buried with the rest of his trauma back in 1993.

“Dude. This shirt is so soft, holy shit.” Eddie is rubbing his hand all over the back of Steve’s shirt, fingertips pushing into the fabric.

“Uh yeah. Sure is.”

Eddie must’ve blazed up back at his place, it’s the only reasonable explanation as to why they’re hugging for this long. Gotta be some strong shit too - strong enough to make him sound completely blissed out over a damn shirt.

He’s is humming now, both hands petting Steve’s shoulders, one on each side. Pinching the material, twisting it till it curls around his index finger.

“Gotta get me one of these bad boys.” Eddie chuckles, turns it into a playful growling sound. “Could touch this all day.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Steve does an awkward wiggle out of the embrace. He looks down at his shoes, cheeks growing warmer as he continues to take Eddie’s words entirely out of context. 

Look, the sensible part of his brain knows that Eddie is talking about the shirt. That’s it. But the insufferably needy and more prominent part of his brain wants Eddie to be talking about himself in general.

That he could touch Steve all day long - shirt or no shirt.

Right. Steve needs a splash of water on his face. Could use a splash of water on his goddamn imagination too. Dilute the delusion for christ’s sake.

It happens again about four months later. Lucas invites the whole crew over to throw a surprise party for Max’s promotion at work.

Of course, Eddie is running late - he didn’t fail senior year twice solely from his shitty GPA. But showing up late to a surprise party? That’s a new level of risky. Not everything has to be a thrill-worthy adventure. Ugh.

“Max should be getting off work right about now.” Lucas explains, peering around the living room. “So everyone should head to your designated hiding spots.”

Nobody budges, just carrying on with their conversation.

“Alright, asshats - you heard Sinclair!” Steve snaps at each of them, glares for good measure. “Find a hiding spot or get the fuck out.” He gives a quick nod to Lucas, who still looks severely stressed, eyes ready to bust out of his skull any minute.

The coach-esque threat does the job. Everyone, ducks into place, voices descending into whispers. Whispers descending into shushes as the minutes draw closer to Max’s arrival. Steve is folded up behind the couch, arms wrapped around his knees. 

There’s a small creak coming from the front door. A few people yell 'surprise.' Steve peaks to the side to see Lucas shaking his head at them.

“No, nobody move.” He instructs, voice caught between a yell and whisper. “I was just letting Eddie inside.”

Instinct takes over. Steve twists around the corner of the couch, needing to see for himself that Eddie is here. That he really came.

Clearly, he didn’t move fast enough. Although he could’ve sworn he moved so embarrassingly fast that the vertebras in his back sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies (post-milk). 

But no one is there. No Eddie. No Lucas. No one.

“What the-” Something grabs the back of Steve’s shirt, pulling at his collar. A few people start aggressively shushing him.

“Chill out, Stevie.” Eddie is right there, meeting Steve’s face with a lopsided smirk. He’s close, way too close. Still holding the collar of Steve’s shirt with one hand, stretching it out. Keeping them close.

“Just trying to check the tag,” He releases Steve just an inch or so. His voice is so hushed, the quietest Steve has ever fucking heard it. “Wanted to see where I might be able to purchase such a godly article of clothing.”

“Ever heard of a thing called boundaries?” Steve hisses, swatting a strand of Eddie’s hair out of his face.

“Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry.”

They haven’t talked much since that night, barely any interaction for four months. But watching Eddie lean in, angling his head lower to study the tag on Steve’s shirt, hot breath on his neck…

It resets the clock. Flips the hourglass on Steve’s feelings for him.

He’s infatuated all over again, and all it took was Eddie invading his personal space. Just like he always does.

“You’ll have to ask Robin.” Steve whispers. Tries not to flinch when Eddie smooths Steve’s shirt collar back into place. “She’s the one that bought it for me.”

“Damn. Buckley has good taste.”

“Sure does.”

No distance is created. Neither of them move away. Eddie’s eyes continue to sketch over every stitch in Steve’s shirt, every hemline. He seems hyper fixated on it, too fixated to notice Steve’s pink-ish cheeks, thank god. 

If it weren’t for the shirt, Steve would assume Eddie is checking him out, looking him up and down with a heavy gaze. Dark pupils, casted darker by the dim lighting.

“Can I?” Eddie raises a hand out to Steve’s shoulder. He pauses, lifts an eyebrow at the end of his question.

Steve’s jaw is too tight to answer or counter back with a joke about how Eddie never asks permission before popping personal bubbles. All he can do is nod a little too eagerly.

Eddie reaches into Steve’s sleeve, rubs the material from the inside. A small grin forms on his face. He looks so pleased, purely amused. That’s enough to untangle Steve’s muscles, relaxing under Eddie’s light touch. 

But that’s the other thing. He’s barely touching Steve. Every now and then, his knuckles roll over Steve’s skin. Really, that’s it, that’s all he’s doing. And god, Steve craves more.

Eventually, Eddie switches it up, pinching the material between the pads of his fingers. He scoots closer to Steve’s side to do so. 

Time feels paused. Time feels rapid. It’s going nowhere and already slipping through his grasp. All Steve can think about is placing his hand underneath Eddie’s chin, bringing his lips up to his own. Kissing him till the clock stops ticking. Till the sand stops running.

“Softest shirt ever.” Eddie gives the material a slight tug. Smiles wider.

Steve gulps. “If you say so.”

“I mean, seriously - it must be made from the glow off an angel’s halo or something, cause damn.”

“You’re a trip, Munson.” 

Steve has to keep telling himself that Eddie is obsessed with touching his clothes - he’s not thinking about taking them off of Steve. No matter how much he wants that to be the reality of the situation. 

It’s not.

They stay like this till the doorknob clicks, turns. Steve almost forgot that he was at a party, surrounded by other people. 

Immediately, all of his senses flip back into Extrovert Autopilot. Everyone jumps out, yells a combination of surprise and congratulations (because they failed to coordinate that apparently).

He stays in this zone for the rest of the party. Talkative and breezy. Charming the pants off Max’s coworkers with silly little anecdotes about her as a kid. 

Steve is damn good at hosting. It’s probably in his white-collar bloodline or some shit. Still, anytime Eddie walks by, he glitches up. Temporarily out of sync.

He doesn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Eddie ducks out early, waving broadly before slipping through the front door.

Time does that weird thing again. Feels paused and rapid all at once as he watches the door shut behind Eddie.

“You okay, man?” Lucas nudges him.

“Yeah.” The gentle gesture returns time back to normal. Brings Steve back into this moment.

“Doing just fine.”

It’s all he thinks about for weeks. Anytime there’s a lull at work or a commercial break on television, Steve drifts. Pictures Eddie is in his shirt, the one he’s so obsessed with.

At first, it’s just that. Basic. Eddie standing in front of him, wearing that muted red, almost pink, shirt. Sometimes smiling, sometimes expectant. Either way, it’s always enough to make Steve’s neck feel flushed, creeping up to his cheeks.

Gradually, it evolves into something more complex. A fantasy, almost dreamlike. He imagines Eddie running his hands all over himself, his torso, his chest. The thin material of the shirt moving and shifting under his palms. His head tipping back, lips plush and red from where he’s gritting down, biting hard. Holding back sounds.

Those images get Steve in trouble. Panting on conference calls and boners at his work desk. 

He’s alone in his apartment when it grows, branches off into darker urges. Desires. Steve glances down at the floor, can’t help but wonder what Eddie might look like down there, staring up at him. Wearing Steve’s clothes. Begging Steve to take them off. Rip them, ruin them.

“That fucking does it.” Steve scolds himself, scolds his dick too. He’s calling Eddie Munson right now - before he has time to overthink it.

His hand is trembling as he picks up the house phone, dials out the number he didn’t even know he had memorized. The trembling thing is kinda embarrassing, but it's still better than sticking it down his pants and jerking off while the Cooking Network plays reruns in the background.

Every ring feels drawn out. Stretching time like taffy. 

Eddie picks up on the fourth taffy-length ring. “Eddie here.”

“Hey, man.” His voice comes out all strained, bone-dry.

“Shit. That really you, Harrington?” 

Apparently his voice comes out unrecognizable too.

“The one and only.”

Eddie snorts loudly into the phone speaker. “Doubt that very much - seems like a common enough name.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever, smartass.” Steve rubs his neck, scratching his skin. Working his way to extracting the words out of his throat. “So um… you busy tonight?”

“Nope.” Eddie answers.

“Cool. Me neither.”

There’s silence after that. Well, almost silence. Just a slight hissing sound from the phone line can be heard. Not enough sound to make things less awkward though.

Steve has no good reason to be so antsy, so wired with anxiety. They’ve been friends since metaphorical shit hit the metaphorical fan back in ‘86. So being outwardly weird around Eddie? It’s too damn fishy. 

“Is that it?” Eddie says. “Did you just want to bond over our empty schedules?” 

Of fucking course, Eddie would call Steve out on his weird bullshit. Doesn’t know subtlety if it bit him in the ass. 

Bad time to think about Eddie’s ass.

“Come over.” Steve blurts out. Needs to say something before a parade of ass-centric images start back up in his mind. “I ordered way too much takeout and there's a stack of movie rentals that I need to binge to minimize those late fees, so yeah… come over.”

No response, even the background hissing from the speaker cuts out. Maybe the phone line went dead. Or maybe Eddie hung up. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s abruptly ended a conversation, perpetually flouncing to whatever is new and shiny. Always distracted. 

“What kind of takeout?” He finally responds.

“The Greek place with the kickass tzatziki sauce.” Steve smirks, already knows the answer before Eddie can utter another word. 

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

Eddie arrives in less than an hour, actually. Knocks on Steve’s door exactly 51 minutes after Steve gets off the phone with him. It’s slightly disturbing that Steve suddenly turns into a math whiz when he’s fawning over someone.

Someone that fawns over his clothes more than him, but who gives a shit about logistics?

“Fucking starving.” Eddie says, slamming the door behind him. 

Steve smiles, motions his head toward the kitchen. “Help yourself, dude.”

The plan is so stupid. Half-baked at best: get Eddie out of his shirt (and jacket), and into Steve’s shirt instead. That’s it. That’s all Steve’s got so far.

But it’s better than nothing. So what the hell? It’s worth a shot.

He waits until Eddie has stuffed his face with a decent amount of spanakopita, fully reclining on Steve’s couch. Looks incredibly comfy, too comfy to move.

Good.

Steve grabs the strawberry sorbet from his freezer, the one Robin forced him to buy after going vegan last spring. He scoops a bowl for himself and a bowl for Eddie. Exhales the last bit of his self-respect before returning to the living room with the most boring dessert option ever.

“Here you go.” Steve says.

Eddie scrunches his nose at it. “The fuck is this?”

“Sorbet.”

“Why am I not surprised that the former rich kid prefers sorbet over ice cream?”

Steve sputters, takes the bowl back before it further offends Eddie somehow. “That’s not… I didn’t… it’s actually-”

“Deep breath, Stevie. I’m just teasing you.” Eddie yanks the bowl back, shovels a brain-freezing amount into his mouth. “Far too easy, by the way. Give me a bit of a challenge next time. Makes it more fun… for one of us, at least.”

“Fun. Sure.”

“The one of us being me.”

“Got that.”

Steve decides to take Eddie’s ‘challenge’ remark as the perfect cue to set his stupid plan into action.

Steve pretends to shift around on the couch cushion, getting situated. Does this until he ‘accidentally’ fumbles the sorbet. Spills it all over Eddie’s clothes, his distressed black shirt, his dark gray sweatpants. All of it. Makes a much bigger mess than he intended to.

Eddie jumps up. “Goddamnit, Harrington!”

“I am so sorry!” No he’s not. If anything, his apology is more smug than sincere.

“This shit is sticky as hell.” 

“Really sorry, man.” Steve hands Eddie a few stray napkins, like that’s going to make a difference.

“Don’t be. It was an accident.”

Except it wasn’t. It was one of the most juvenile tactic that Steve has ever pulled. Truly, it tops the overused movie theater-yawn tactic.

“Here - let me get you a change of clothes.” Steve offers, already heading to his bedroom. He’s walking and talking and fucking fidgeting. Suddenly paranoid that Eddie can see right through him, see all his desperation on display. Splattered everywhere like strawberry sorbet.

He turns back around for a split second. “I’ll throw those in the wash. Have them dry and ready to wear again by the time you head out.”

“Oh…” Eddie keeps patting down his clothes with a sopping napkin, barely listening. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

His acting performance is fucking dismal. Over the top. Porno-level obvious. Must be karma for all of those times he gave Robin and Eddie shit about being in an improv club. Makes a mental note to never mock their nerdy hobbies for the rest of his life.

“Well, it must be my lucky night.” Eddie calls out from the bathroom door, causing Steve to wince at the sheer volume.

“What makes you say that?”

“Bestowing the holy grail of shirts upon me? Allowing me even one hour in downy-soft paradise?” Eddie is using that tone, the one that’s boozy and savory. Borderline mean. Equally hot and annoying. “Possibly the greatest of olive branches you could’ve offered up.”

“Christ, you’re dramatic.” Which is so hypocritical after the stunt he just pulled.

The bathroom door swings open and nothing could’ve prepared Steve for how good Eddie looks in his clothes. The shirt is snug through the sleeves, loose through his chest. Makes Steve realize how differently built they are. The waistband on the athletic shorts is sitting low on his hips, maybe a size too big. If they were any bigger, they’d slip right off. Landing all tousled around his bare feet…

Okay, Steve has got to snap the fuck out of it. He rubs aggressively at his eyes. Needs soap or military-strength detergent to fucking cleanse whatever is going on with him lately. 

“We could watch something.” Steve says, even though that’s exactly what he’s already doing.

Watching.

Eddie shrugs. Leans against the wall. “We could.”

“Or… I don’t know.” Steve can’t rip his gaze away from Eddie’s arms. His pale skin looks even lighter against the reddish tones. The waves and curls of black ink look even darker. Just a splash of color has turned him into a landscape of extremes. 

“You don’t?” 

“Um…” Steve flops, flounders. Scrambling for an idea. A coherent thought. Anything. “Cards. We could play cards.”

Eddie’s forehead wrinkles, then quickly straightens back out. Nodding politely. “Sure, we can do that. If that’s what you want to do.”

Steve mumbles something about grabbing a card deck from the storage closet, although he’s pretty sure it’s unintelligible. Makes a quick escape, jogs at the weirdest tempo known to mankind. 

Flirting with a longtime friend is throwing him for a loop. Many loops actually. Theme park amount of loops. All of his usual ease and charm are being denied access. Not tall enough to ride this ride.

The closet is packed with junk, so finding a deck of cards is obnoxiously difficult. He’s tossing coats into piles and shoving shoes into corners. Between his nerves and his determination, Steve is working up a goddamn sweat.

“Need a hand in here?” Eddie’s voice startles him. Steve jolts backwards, straight into a shelf of puzzles. Tons of pieces go flying, some landing in Steve’s hair. Redecorating the fucking closet with tiny bits of colored cardboard.

Fantastic.

Eddie backs away, arms crossing into his chest. “Jesus, man. You’re freaking me out.” 

“Sorry.” Steve says. Shakes the puzzle pieces out of his hair.

“Is it the shirt?” The question sounds genuine. No jokes, no sarcasm. “Does it look that bad on me?”

“Oh.” Steve doesn’t know how to respond. The shirt looks amazing, that’s not the problem at all. It’s just… “Um, actually-”

“Look, I know I’m not a pastel heartthrob.” Eddie gestures directly to Steve before waving his arms around. He starts pacing in the tiny closet, just ranting away. “And let’s fucking face it. I’m not getting any younger, so I doubt I can pull off this slim-cut style the way I used to… but come on. It can’t be that repulsive, right?”

“Eddie.” Steve frowns. 

“Shit, that bad?” Eddie smacks a hand to the top of his hand. Grabs a fistful of his hair and looks down at the shirt, still rambling. “We’re using first names now? What’s next? Gonna bust out my full legal name? My birth certificate? Then we’ll really mean business.”

Okay, yikes. And Steve thought he was the stressed one. This is going south very, very fast. He needs to curb the self-destruction that’s happening in front of him. Just… reach out. 

“Hey.” And Steve does. Literally. He places a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, sucks in some courage. He waits until Eddie makes eye contact, breathes at a less neurotic speed. Then he exhales all the courage. Turns it into honesty instead. “You look… you look good.”

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah right.”

“No, I mean it. It’s different. But in a good way.” Steve skims his nails against the fabric, drawing shapes into Eddie’s shoulder. “I like it.”

“You do?”

Steve nods. Bites down on his lip, flicks his eyes to Eddie’s mouth. “Like it on you.”

The energy between them is thick, clinging to Steve’s skin. It’s new except it’s not. Steve has felt it before. At the bar, the party, that random Thursday in 1993. He recognizes the flex and curl in his stomach as Eddie takes one step forward, then two. The feeling is familiar and strange combined. Knotted tight.

Eddie raises an eyebrow before taking another step. Like the day behind the couch. Quiet permission, one he doesn’t ask for often. Only when it means something.

Steve lets the hand on Eddie’s shoulder fall slowly. Catching the material at the bottom, tugging it forward. Prays to fucking god that’s all the permission Eddie needs.

“You were right.” Steve lets his hand drift back up, landing in the center of Eddie’s chest. Wrinkling and smoothing the fabric underneath. “It really is soft.”

Eddie’s breath hitches up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve’s voice drops lower, richer. “Could touch this all day.”

Eddie thumbs over Steve’s bottom lip, drifting into the small space between them. He places both hands on Steve's cheeks and kisses him firmly. Steve presses in deeper, breathes out through his nose so that he doesn’t have to break away. 

It’s so good, kissing like they’re teenagers behind the bleachers. So swept away in the heat and hunger that they’d be late for class. Showing up to study hall with blotchy skin and achy lips. They keep kissing just like that. Feeling, exploring. Lingering in all the areas that seem to make the other person hum or gasp.

“Steve.” Eddie whispers. His hands push up into Steve’s hair, combing it back, pulling in down with an edge. Hard enough to make Steve tilt his head, mouth dropping open.

“Yeah?” Steve replies. Barely a question, too lost in the feeling of Eddie’s lips on his neck. 

Eddie rubs his mouth over the edge of Steve’s jaw. “You’re so…” 

The sentence stops right there, never gets finished either. He nuzzles over the wet spots of skin covering Steve’s neck. Marks them all up with a gentle nip, not enough to leave bruises. Just enough to make Steve shiver.

Steve is making so many breathy noises, which should be humiliating. Pathetic for someone who’s had fucking loads of first kisses, even more makeout sessions.

But none of that really matters, his age or experience or slutty track record. Nothing counts when being kissed like this. Nothing can stop Steve from taking this moment, eating up all of the sounds and sensations. 

Fuck, he wants all of it. Wants Eddie closer somehow, on top of him, beneath him, surrounding him.

He can’t stop tugging at Eddie’s shirt, well… his shirt. No doubt that it’s stretching out, close to ripping it. Keeps pulling it anyways - dragging Eddie into him till Steve’s back is pressed up against the wall.

“Come here.” Steve curls a finger under Eddie’s chin, brings his face back up to him. Not nearly done kissing him stupid, square on the lips. His mouth is warmer now, a few degrees hotter from sucking Steve’s neck. Licks into Steve’s mouth, gets him to whine at how good it feels. 

The washing machine timer goes off, buzzing throughout the whole apartment. But Steve can’t let this end, he can’t.

Except for the buzzing won’t let up. Continuously interrupting all the delicious noises that Eddie makes whenever Steve bites over his bottom lip, gets it nice and puffy between his teeth. 

“Should we...?” Eddie smushes his nose into Steve’s before motioning to the door. 

“Yeah probably,” Steve unclaws his hand from Eddie’s waist. Kisses him once more before sliding out of reach.

As he walks down the hallway, heading into he laundry room, he hears it. Eddie’s voice, still inside the closet. Chanting the same phrase over and over again:

‘Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Holy fucking shit!’

Steve cracks a smile. Kind of hard to believe his heart is chanting the same damn phrase. So full of adrenaline, fucking crumbling under this wave of raw emotion.

Really, he never thought he’d find himself in this situation. Holding Eddie’s clean clothes in one hand, thumbing over his kiss-bitten lips with his other hand. Impatiently craving to get back to where they left off, hopefully on the couch or bed or floor this time.

“Hurry it up, will ya?” Eddie whistles behind him.

“What’s the rush?” Steve tosses the clothes into the dryer, doesn’t turn around because his self-restraint will be fucked if he does. 

“My lips are getting cold.”

“That’s the best line you got?”

“For now, yeah.” Eddie says. “You sucked out all of my brain cells with your mouth. Can’t expect me to be Swayze-level smooth after something like that.”

No way he’s allowed to be so damn cute comparing himself to Patrick Swayze. As if they're even in the same league. Endearing, really.

“You can head back to the living room. I’ll be there in a minute.” Steve pushes a few buttons on the dryer. The timer starts, another reset on the clock.

Feelings that flip the hourglass once again. 

He really fucking hopes it never runs out this time. 

Eddie is perched on the floor, flipping through the channels on the tv. He's squinting at the harsh light because for some insane reason, he always insists on watching the tv in total darkness.

Even that’s cute now. Annoyingly cute.

Steve joins him on the floor, instantly slouching into Eddie’s arms because he can do that now. Completely allowed to be sweet and gross and smitten. 

“Guess my theory was wrong after all.”

“Hm?” Eddie replies, still mindlessly channel-surfing.

Steve gives Eddie a quick kiss on the cheek (because he can do that now too), and looks at the shirt. Muted red, almost pink. Soft and touchable. “Apparently, you do get cool birthday gifts as an adult.”

“What are you mumbling about?”

This thing between him and Eddie. It feels longer than running sand or ticking timers. Longer than their years of friendship. Maybe not timeless…

“I’ll tell you later, Eddie.”

But pretty damn close.

[dreamstatez]

Tim LaFlour X Reader

summary: after a day out with tim he invites you to his dorm and offers to show you his room. he also has a confession to make.

warnings !!: small praise, cussing, semi sexual tension, semi smut, semi gender specific compliments, fluff ?

word count: 685

Besties, please be nice to me. I'm rusty and please (nicely) tell me how to improve with writing.

𝗗𝗢 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗪𝗔𝗡𝗡𝗔 𝗦𝗘𝗘 𝗠𝗬 𝗥𝗢𝗢𝗠 ?

“no really...I insist..I'll show you everything...”

You and Tim we're walking on the street, laughing with each other. You stopped in front of his dorm building. Tim let out a small sigh,

Tim: “You wanna go up to my dorm?”

Y/N: “Oh..I really shouldn't.”

Tim: “Oh come on! It'll be fun..just for a second, okay?” You nodded and walked upstairs with him. He had on a black and red striped sweater, baggy low-rise jeans, a chain cross necklace, dirty black converse, and white above ankle socks. He excitedly stopped in front of his dorm door.

Tim: “Here we are! Beautiful isn't it?” he fakely sighed and pressed his cheek against the door. And you both giggled. “Soo..do you wanna like…go inside at all or?” He moved from the door and came a little closer. Silently giving you siren eyes.

Y/N: “I should really get home-”

Tim: “But it's uh…cold outside, plus you haven't even seen my room yet! I promise that my room is cool as fuck!” You both laugh as he keeps talking. “I promise.”

Y/N: “It’s really cool?”

Tim: “Super…cool..” He came closer, he was slightly towering over you. It felt as though within the silence, Tim was thinking about reaching out to touch you. The silence was; for some reason; exotic? Tim kept looking down at you. His eyes seemed to be creating images of what you'd look like unclothed, you didn't know for sure, but you were certain. He suddenly cleared his throat.

Tim: “Uh…do you wanna go inside now?” You nodded. And you noticed how Tim was a little nervous, it was kinda cute. He showed you the bathroom, Darryl's room as he wasn't home, and you finally reached his room. He sat down on the side of his bed and looked at you as you came in. “Welcome to my lair!” he giggled and jumped on the bed as you sat down next to where he previously sat. He bounced back down to sit on the bed and looked at you. “Sooooo…what do you think!? Is it cool as fuck?”

Y/N: “Yup..it's amazing” you said, unimpressed.

Tim: “Ohh, Come on! My room is amazing. Especially my bed. You see how soft this is!? Feel this shit. Move real quick.” He got up under the covers and the sheet and looked at you as you stood up and smiled. “Get under the covers with me! It's so fucking soft I swear.” You sighed and got underneath beside Tim. He poked your cheek and quickly looked at a wall like he didn't do anything.

Y/N: “Wh…did you poke me?!?” you chuckled and he looked at you “confused”.

Tim: “Who? Me? Pfft! What? No! I would..I would never!” His laughter tried to break in as he tried to speak with a straight face. You lightly nugged his shoulder. You two locked eyes again. He seemed to slowly lean in as he looked at you. His eyes softened and he licked his lips. He seemed to study your face as well as you looked at him. He caressed your face and slowly leaned in. “Can I?” You nodded, and with your silent consent Tim kissed you. And then more and more followed. With every kiss, his hands decided to explore you and hold you. One hand slightly held your hair and face, the other holding at your waist.

Tim: “I don't know if right now is the right time to say this…but..I've always thought you were so gorgeous. And I have had a crush on you for the longest time..”

Y/N: “I like you too actually..”

Tim: “You do?”

Y/N: “Mhm”

Tim: “Holy shit…no way! Are you fucking serious!? No fucking way! Really!?” The excitement on his face was adorable. He kissed you again. “Do you maybe wanna…go out some time?”

Y/N: “Uh, yes!? Of course I would!”

Tim: “Sweet! When can I pick you up? 3:00pm? Mall?”

Y/N: “Sure, Tim�� You kissed him again and he smiled as he pulled away.

Tim: “I must be dreaming..” You both laugh and look at each other. Before exchanging more soft kisses.

[y'all it's 12:49am. I gotta go to BED.]

[daddy-suguru]

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞

anonymous - asked a question!

Everyone says Kento is a soft dom, and ngl I see it! But some days he just needs to come home to you already on your knees, waiting for him in that cute little set he likes (or maybe nothing at all). Some days he just needs to pound you until neither of you can move, and then sleep like a baby. It’s therapeutic, really❤️

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 ⇝ You help Kento relieve some stress by letting him fuck your throat till he cums.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ❥ explicit, stressed!strict!kento, friends with benefits au, service sub!reader, praise/encouragement, pussy slapping, throat fucking, gagging, hints at mirror sex, mentions of a buttplug, size kink, dacryphilia, light biting

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ❥ 2k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⇝ I got very carried away with this. Because Kento would be so rough because he’s stressed but the words his sweet. Rough yet sweet stress fucking with Kento is top-tier brain rot that I devoted my whole day and night to this. If you can’t tell I really want his cock in my

‘Kneeling at the front door with your hands behind your back and your mouth open now.’ You are walking to the front door before you can even finish reading the text. Unlocking the front door and kneeling.

Your thick, thigh highs socks protect your knees from the chill of the floor. And the moment you hear the doorknob turn, you clasp your hands behind your back. Then tilt your head back, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out.

You don’t move as you hear the door shut and lock. Or when you hear Kento’s shoes hit the ground. Since based on him coming home two hours late, work had to be rough.

You hear a heavy sigh before Kento says, “You should play housewife for me more often. Coming home to you kneeling wearing my button-up shirt and no panties, waiting to suck the sweat off my cock is a sight I want to get used to.” Even after taking a shower, you didn’t want to pick a different shirt of his. When the shirt he wore yesterday still smells strongly of Kento. Since you were already breaking the first personal rule to being friends with befits with Kento by staying the night. Why not break another one and wear his clothes?

Kento finally steps in front of you, filling your vision and staring down at you. Your heart pounding in your chest and your pussy dripping from the way his tight red shirt hugs his chest.

Glancing up at Kento’s face, your reflection in his glasses catching your attention. You look needy with your mouth open, just waiting to be filled. With your spit dripping from the tip. While some of it trickles down your chin.

Kento says, “I hate working overtime. It has been every day this week.” The grabs his tie, undoing it and walking behind you. Kneeling to bind your wrists with his tie. Then reach around your body, his large arms making you feel smaller. As it sinks in that even when he kneels next to you, Kento still looms over your shorter stature.

Slowly Kento undoes each button of his shirt, “I’ve been wanting to fuck you in my shirt since I first saw you wear it this morning.” Spread the shirt apart. And the slipping his hands between your thighs, parting them.

The cool air hits your dripping wet pussy. Giving you a chill that quickly vanished as Kento slaps your pussy twice. The wet sounds making him groan,

“So fucking wet and pretty all for me to ruin.” While the sharp stinging becomes a burning ache.

He tells you, “Swallow.” And right after you do, you beg,

“Please let me help you relax. Use my mouth, pussy and ass however you want to Sir. I want to make you happy and sleep.” Sticking your tongue back out.

Kento makes quick work of undoing his belt and zipper, pulling himself out. And quickly getting your attention to drop from Kento’s handsome face to his thick cock. With his heavy cock hanging so close to your face. That his thick mushroom-like tip drags along your tongue, smearing his sweet pre-cum.

Kento says, “Such a sweet, good girl letting me use your warm mouth, nng,” He groans while he quickly thrusts his cock deep into your throat. Which squeezes him as you roughly gag. He pauses there lingering while you gag as he says,

“Couldn’t help myself your so wet and soft, need to feel your throat clenching my cock while I choke you with it.” Pushing his pants down, freeing his fat, heavy balls.

Kento sets a rough, face pace. His abs clenching every every thrust. While his heavy balls hitting your chin with every sharp thrust.

There is no other brace you get, other than his large hand cupping the back of your head. The heavy groan that passes Kento’s parted lips has your pussy clenching around nothing. While your clit throbs with the need for attention.

Kento says, “You look so pretty with spit dripping down your chin. Gagging so loudly while you try your best to handle my cock. You’re already doing so good for me.” Your eyes burn while tears blur your vision of Kento. With his flush pink cheeks.

He runs his hands through his blond hair, messing it up. While he says, “Choke on my cock just like that. You look so pretty crying because you can barely handle me” Your tears roll down your cheeks causing Kento to pick up his pace.

Kento groans, “I can see the outline of my cock in your throat every time your pretty mouth takes all of me. And when you squeeze me mmm. you’re going to make me cum so fucking quickly.” Placing his other hand on the top of your head. While he still his hips, jerking your head up and down his length.

His thick heavy cum spurts down your throat while be moans, “Mm got to make sure I cum in your pretty mouth so I can last longer fucking my frustration into your pretty pussy. Going to make her puffy and bruised from how hard she is going to take my fat cock.” Slipping his cock out of your mouth slowly.

A shaky groan passes his lips as a tremor passes through his body. While you refuse to let him go, hallowing your cheeks and sucking harder. Kento’s voice is breathy when he says,

“Get in the bedroom.” You stand up and turn around. Heading towards the bedroom with Kento following behind you. And when you look over your shoulder you freeze. Your brain goes blank while Kento slips his dark red shirt off his broad shoulders.

The dark red of his shirt matches the bright bite marks on his chest. Which leads down his hard abs, to the light blonde happy trail that leads down to the short patch of hair.

Kento smiles, while he slips off his glass. His tired, sleepy eyes burn with hunger as his gaze slips down the shape of your body. He says,

“Stop admiring me and go in the room.” He roughly slaps your ass, the force of his slap causing you to stumble forward. And encouraging you to finish the taking the last few steps towards his bedroom door.

Walking through the bedroom door, you hear his pants hit the floor behind you. You smile and say, “I can’t help it, you’re so damn handsome.” He wraps his hand around your throat, bending down and biting your shoulder. While you cry out, he grabs a handful of your ass. Digging his nails into the softness of your squish and groaning loudly.

Kento pulls away and telling, “Am I? Then I want you bent over in front of the mirror with your beautiful ass in the air with your legs spread apart so I can see your pussy juices dripping down your thighs.” He lets you go and you walk over in front of the mirror.

Bending over in front of the mirror. You take in the sight of yourself. Wearing thigh-high socks with Kento’s large white button-up shirt hanging from your torso. With your bound-up wrists resting on your lower back.

You hear a dresser drawer open and then close soon after. And moments later Kento appears behind you with a bottle of lube in hand and a buttplug. He tells you,

“Since you love admiring me so much if you take your eyes off me even once you aren’t cumming for the hour that follows.” He pours some of the cool lube onto your asshole. Which he smears out with the tip of the toy.

[resident-gay-bitch]

My Barty Crouch Jr headcannons:

He’s a kleptomaniac - at least to some degree. I think he can’t help but steal things from the people he loves, like he’s just always taking their shit and he has little collections of his favorite people’s things hidden away in his room

He actually has a massive fucking heart and feels so deeply but he doesn’t let anyone know that because his father kept telling him it wasn’t manly to have emotions so he shuts them all up

Death eater or not - wizards or not - stuck in a war or not - no matter fucking what circumstance Barty would actually kill for those he loves. If someone he cares about comes crying about being hurt he would lash out and hurt them back and he would not hesitate to kill them if granted permission

He’s not the healthiest. He smokes compulsively, if he was alive now he’d also vape like it was his last resort.

His diet is basically energy drinks, chips, and plain pieces of bread. He really doesn’t eat much at all so he’s really skinny to the point where it’s concerning and borderline an eating disorder.

He’s never or will never love anyone to the extent that he loves Pandora. He looked at her one day and just decided she was his entire fucking world. She’s the only one he really opens up too, the only one who sees him cry (before his lover), the first person besides his mum who’s ever hugged him and held him and told him he’s worthy of being loved. He would go to the ends of the earth for her, and he really wishes he could just put her in his pocket and protect her from everything. They are the ultimate besties.

Barty falls for every single one of his friends. Some deeper than others. But he gets crushes on anyone that makes the time for him, listens to what he has to say, and genuinely enjoys his presence. There aren’t many that do, so he genuinely fucking clings.

That man would have the most random fucking tattoos ever. They’re mostly cool as shit. Like he’ll have big scary boy tattoos but then smushed in between scorpions and snakes and like demons with blood he’d just have a little ghost with love heart eyes or something. Most of the random ones are because they’re funny or because Pandora said she liked something so he just got a tattoo of it. He also has her name tattood on his chest.

He has had them most retched mullets in his days. He only gets rid of them when Pandora finally breaks and asks him to grow it out. He somehow still gets bitches with those atrocities though.

If he was alive now, he would definitely own a maid costume and would pull it out at the most random times. Regulus / Evan would fucking thirst over it so much.

Acts like a dom outside the bedroom, the most bottom man ever in the bedroom - but he’s cheeky about it

He just wants to be loved at the end of the day

Would 1000% have a dick piercing. Probably even more than one. He would also have a dick tattoo because he’s stupid

His favorite colours are pale forest greens and sky blues

Socks on at all times when he’s around other people or in active mode. The only time they come off is in the shower or bed, and only if he’s in bed alone. Man’s will be butt ass naked without a care but he will still be wearing his socks. He also only owns dumb socks

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO SHARE SOME OF YOURS! come put them all in my ask box <3

I do have more but this is what I’m sharing for now :)))

[hedwig123]

Ranking The Quarry Counselor Outfits By Late-August Practicality

OK, so. This has been bugging me. I blame SMG's British-ness for this, but so many of the counselors' outfits are just... ridiculous for late August.

(Apparently the weather in the area- West Kill, NY- that day was a high of 75, a low of 68, and humidity was 100 FUCKING PERCENT. So. My concerns are not unfounded.)

So now I'm going to rank all the character outfits by how likely I think it is that normal human people would put them on during the latter half of August, tyyyyyyyy

Excluding Max & Laura because the only time they got to pick their own outfits was June- which, still not great, but. I'll let it slide. Also excluding Emma's overalls, because again, she didn't pick them.

So of the other 21 AUGUST outfits:

21. Nick's 80s Outfit

Dead fucking last is the letterman jacket. Aesthetically it looks cool, and I want to give it bonus points for being a Matt Taylor reference, but I can't. That's a coat. A coat, SMG.

20. Jacob's Modern Outfit

First can I just say how weird it is that Jacob doesn't have a single 360 look uploaded? In ANY of his outfits???

Anyway. This was going to be a little higher because I thought he was wearing a sweatshirt, but looking at it in the close-up that is a fucking sweater. NO!!!!!

19. Nick's 50s Outfit

That is just a full-on nearly-cable-knit sweater. The only reason it ranks above Jacob is that it's at least not visibly layered. But still.

18. Abi's 50s Outfit

Listen, I love that they made Blygbank into Velma & Daphne as much as the next person, but Abi's still wearing a turtleneck in August. They couldn't at least shorten the sleeves? Or pair it with shorts?

17. Emma's Modern Outfit

OK, so I love this outfit out of context. But. Even as a crop-top. It is a turtleneck sweater. With jeans, no less! Jeans, no less!

16. Kaitlyn's Modern Outfit

Why the layers. Why. It's cute, sure, but August.

15. Dylan's 80s Outfit

I'm told this is a rugby shirt, which people do play some sports in. So it's almost passable. But the slacks... the sleeves... the shoes...

14. Ryan's Modern Outfit

Again, almost passable. The shirts look thin, even if there's two of them. But the two shirts combined with the skinny jeans & shoes would just... suffocate him :(

13. Abi's 80s Outfit

This outfit is awesome, but not pictured here are the COMBAT BOOTS SHE'S WEARING ON HER FEET.

No.

12. Dylan's 50s Outfit

OK, listen.

Listen.

I love this outfit. You love this outfit. That shirt was made for him.

But the pants!!!

11. Jacob's 50s Outfit

T-shirt good. Pants BAD.

10. Ryan's 50s Outfit

Same as Jacob's 50s outfit, the shirt is fine. The WOOL PANTS are a no.

9. Ryan's 80s Outfit

This one is almost acceptable. Despite the dark colors, the material looks light. The shoes are OK (not great, but OK). The t-shirt is perfect!

But the vest. The vest. Does he look good in it? Of course. But NOBODY ADDS LAYERS IN AUGUST!

8. Emma's 80s Outfit

We have reached the Acceptable Eight.

I love this outfit. Really the only things putting it at the bottom of the top 8 are the lipstick and the socks, which like... who cares? But these things have to be considered for the ranking.

7. Nick's Modern Outfit

There's nothing wrong with this outfit. The only thing putting it at 7 is the sleeve length, but. It's fine. It's acceptable.

Leagues better than his other 2 outfits.

6. Emma's 50s Outfit

This outfit is great. The shoes are light. The pants are open on the side. The shirt is cropped and tied off!

Only thing edging it out of the Top 5 is the scarf. It's cute, I love Daphne!Emma with my whole heart, but it would get hot.

5. Kaitlyn's 80s Outfit

5th through 2nd place was a toss-up. They're all perfectly appropriate August attire.

This one's great. The jeans are light wash and ripped at the knees. The polo is perfect. The only thing that might give me pause are the converse but honestly??? They're fine too.

4. Abi's Modern Outfit

This outfit's great too! The only counselor outfit with shorts besides #1. The tights don't bother me, they look very light and breathable. 10/10 good job modern Abi!!! (Give 50s Abi some tips she's gonna die of heatstroke)

3. Dylan's Modern Outfit

Another great choice. Light t-shirt, skinny jeans that aren't too tight, and vans. ✨10/10 great job Dylan✨

2. Kaitlyn's 50s Outfit

THOSE ARE OPEN-TOE SHOES I REPEAT THEY ARE OPEN-TOE SHOES THIS IS NOT A DRILL

ONE FUCKING CHARACTER GOT SHOES THAT OPEN AT THE DAMN TOES

I don't even care that it's just a peep toe, I'm fucking counting it

Jacob's 80s Outfit

Was there ever any doubt?

Honorable mention goes to:

Nakey Jakey. Honorable mention only because he didn't reeeeeeally pick it as an OUTFIT outfit.

But still.

[xamaxenta]

New MAS meetcute

Marco attending a very extended family members wedding that, goes to shit as one of the cheapest and tackiest weddings hes ever attended in his life but he showed up according to dress code which is to say he looks fine as hell

But the brides father (the family marrying into theirs) ended up getting blackout drunk and started a fist fight with one of the bartenders, the other family members ended up squabbling about petty shit that also ended up in a physical altercation, someone gets a concussion and someone pulls a knife — its the brides cousin and Marco cant really be a bystander and out of the goodness of his heart intervenes because hes nice like that

He gets socked in the jaw and wakes up in the arms of an angel, hes got dark sun kissed skin and freckles and a million watt smile hes like hey there champ you got got pretty bad huh? How are you feeling? — runs down the entire list of checks name age where am i blahblah

Oh someone called emergency services and Marco couldn’t be more grateful honestly, realises belatedly that the man cradling him is actually a firefighter he thought he smelt something burning before he got knocked out

The actual paramedics show and its supremely unfair that this one is also obnoxiously goodlooking because hes tall blonde broad shouldered and Marcos never been one to fixate on hands but nobodys hands should be that pretty scars or no scars

Marco mumbles something that makes him realise he is so goddamn thirsty, its hot as balls out summer wedding in full black dinner tie jacket bs and too much alcohol does that to a guy, unglues his tongue like what have i done to warrant access into heaven im not even that religious mind you—

The dark haired fire chief laughs, jostles Marco in his big strong arms god, Marco will actively die in a hot second— The blonde Paramedic leans in to smooth a hand over his forehead and declares heatstroke and with the same snide tone criticises the venue as a whole and who even has a peak summer wedding without adequate cooling amenities and god even his voice is sexy the crisp undertone and its like yeah yeah definitely he’s absolutely addled by the sunbeams toogay Um today

Marco gets patched up and gets a nice IV for all his troubles, Fire Chief Portgas and Chief medic (chief paramed?) Portgas sit with him the entire time occasionally rotating out to check on the rest of the dumpsterfire of a wedding and tend to the other injured guests in the meantime, Marco realises hes utterly fucked when one the blonde slips a number in his suit jacket pocket but moments later the dark haired one scribbles his own on the back of his hand

Truly a goner when he witnesses them squabbling behind the back of the open wings of the firetruck over who had managed to give Marco their number first

The thing is the number is exactly the same, it takes Marco the trip home to realise that they werent just close working partners, not roommates or even brothers, but spouses theyd given him each the home number to their shared residence (as spouses)

Ofc he calls them, its Fire chief portgas who answers a little suspiciously at first but when Marco speaks up he can practically hear the fist pump from over the receiver

“So dinners on us.” Ace says warmly and Marco feels his heart catch on the melted insides of his ribcage, its been a while since hes had time to focus on himself and not his career—

How shall he dress for the occasion?

However you like, its tall blonde gorgeous whos taken over the call, but he does have a small request, the trousers he had worn at that now since annulled wedding, had made his behind look particularly attractive so perhaps those paired with some nice shoes?

So a fellow gentleman, Marco can dress to impress certainly, Ace will pick him up at 7 and Sabo will meet them at the venue