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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 10 months

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the elitism in magic education

HELLO 🤡 I have come to you today with an analysis of Fellow Honest's motives and what they imply about the mages and non-mages in the world of Twisted Wonderland, as well as the state of magic education as it relates to one's social status. It's a doozy, so let's get right into it! ***WARNING: Spoilers for Stage in Playful Land!!***

Fellow's resentment of the elite harkens back to something I've always suspected but also something that Twisted Wonderland has seldom gone out of its way to shine a harsh spotlight on. That "something" is the discrepancy between the "haves" and the "have-nots" in terms of magic. With the main setting of TWST being a private magic school, of course the lens through which we view many events will be from this perspective as well... and that limits what we see and hear. Most of the NPCs we encounter (even the annoying ones, such as the Magicam Monsters from the first Halloween event) endlessly praise the NRC students just for attending a famous magic school. If we look closely though, we’ll start to see cracks in the shiny rose-colored lenses (which, coincidentally, is how Fellow’s UM name is written).

To begin with, we are told that only 10% of the human population (for the sake of argument, let's assume that most other races also have low magic rates) is even capable of magic to begin with. Of this 10%, the majority of people with the aptitude for magic only have enough to barely be able to lift a cup. In order to qualify for a prestigious magic school like Night Raven College or Royal Sword Academy, you'd literally have to be the cream of the crop and get lucky in terms of genetics. Magic cannot be learned by someone that was not born with the innate ability for it, and not everyone who is the child of a mage will be capable of magic themselves. This is already one HUGE barrier for entry. We now have more to consider.

Night Raven College is notably a private boarding school. This potentially means that students may need to pay a tuition fee for classes, room, and board. Perhaps this tuition doesn't exist, since NRC doesn't take applications but rather hand-selects its students. Additionally, NRC is based on a British school, and most European schools cost little to nothing to attend. However, it's hard to believe a school as fancy as NRC is a private institution that runs solely on the charity and goodwill of donors (though we do see Crowley happily accepting donations as well, specifically from the local town and from Kalim’s family). Realistically speaking, Stuff Costs Money, and if you Want Stuff, you also Need Money. NRC is not raising these mages of the future out of the goodness of their hearts, NRC is raising these mages because there is profit and prestige to be gained from the endeavor. What if there are students who are picked to go but end up having to leave because they can’t afford it?? This point is just speculative though; I won’t count it as actual evidence since there is no in-game lore which confirms tuition. We do know, however, that students do at least have to pay for their dorm uniforms, as Ruggie has mentioned he could not afford one—hence why he wears a hand-me-down from Leona. We also know students are on their own when it comes to paying for their food, as both Ruggie and Deuce mention being low on cash in reference to buying meals/snacks. Buuuuut even if we discount that money is a factor that gatekeeps some selected students from attending or having the cash to just get by on a daily basis, what we cannot ignore is that money inherently puts some people ahead of others before magic schools even recruit them.

Because the majority of those in Twisted Wonderland are incapable of using magic, magic is not typically included in general education. This means that if your kid manifests magic and you want them to be "ahead of the curve", you'd need to seek out resources for magic training and education. Now, this could mean reading materials, private tutoring, or reaching out to mages you know of. The problem with all of these things is that they tend to require money and/or connections, which are things not everyone has access to. Idia even says in book 6 that Riddle has an “artificially large” pool of magic due to how young Riddle started his magic training, meaning that the wealthy has the resources to just produce “better” mages. The rich also have more money to throw into items to help with magical training, such as bigger and better magestones (which must sell for substantial amount in the first place since Ruggie tries to save some to pawn off later in Vargas Camp) to keep mages healthier for longer (since magestones help absorb blot). This keeps power concentrated in an already elevated class. (Note: research has shown that money opens up and expands one's connections, which still puts the rich in an advantageous position compared to the less fortunate. There are also studies that show impoverished people who happen to have rich friends have a better chance of raising their own social standing just because of the doors and connections that rich friend can open for them.) Look at who in the main cast remarks on having formal magic training: literal royalty like Leona and the upper middle class like Riddle. Again, one could say that because schools like NRC appear to hand-pick students regardless of how much formal magic training they had prior to enrollment. However, the fact remains that it simply looks better to potential recruiters (using this blanket term because we don't know how magic schools besides NRC gets its students) and better prepares the child for magic school curriculum to get an early start on it.

Looking back at the 22 boys that make up the main cast, close to three-quarters or ~75% of them come from at least upper middle-class backgrounds and quite a few could classify as wealthy:

Riddle's parents are both doctors, with Riddle's mom in particular being well-known and well-regarded in their home community.

Cater's dad is a banker; his position is high enough up that he needs to relocate every so often (presumably to service their largest or most important firms).

Leona is a literal prince. Even if he isn't destined to be king, he still has access to the resources and wealth avaliable to a royal.

Azul's mom owns the most popular restaurant in the entire Coral Sea (have you seen how large the Coral Sea is on the world map???), and his stepdad is a lawyer.

The twins' family is said to be well-off; they are able to afford luxuries like fancy clothes and Mr. Leech stresses the importance of manners and presentation. He is implied to have business associates who are also well-off and would like to get in his good graces. (Popular fan speculation is that the Leeches are a crime family.)

Kalim is the heir to a massive family fortune and trading business. He also has relatives (by marriage, I believe) who are royals.

Jamil, as Kalim's attendant, is also from a reasonably well-off family; they receive benefits unique to being closely tied with the Asims, such as exposure to elite society and lessons to acquire various skills, albeit these benefits comes with being in the lower social position of a servant.

Vil's father is an A-list celebrity, and Vil is also one himself.

We don't know the specifics of what Rook's family does, but it must be well-paying, as we learn in book 5 that the Hunts have villas all over Twisted Wonderland, as well as permissions for international travel via warp pads.

Idia and Ortho's family run a secret organization that researches blot. S.T.Y.X. is so secretive that basically only those in super high positions like Crowley and Leona would know about them. Let's also not forget that the Shrouds have ties to the Jupiter Conglomerate and the Olympus Corp, which is a tech giant in the world of TWST.

Malleus is prince AND the heir to his kingdom’s throne. He is also one of the top 5 most powerful mages in the entire WORLD.

Lilia is a renown war general and a close friend of royalty. He raised a young Malleus as well.

Silver is Lilia's adopted son and is actually a prince himself.

Sebek's parents are dentists. They must make mad money. His grandfather is also a respected knight that served alongside Lilia.

Notice how all the dorm leaders are upper middle class or higher; the vice dorm leaders have ONE normal person (Trey); in Playful Land, Trey confesses to living a comfortable life so we know he must be at least middle class.

We can try to argue all we like that NRC doesn't discriminate based on social status for their selections, but if that's the case then why are so few of the main cast from impoverished or low-income families? Only Ace, Trey, and Jack count as squarely middle class. Ruggie is the only example we have of someone from a very low socioeconomic status rising up to be among "elites". The other example is Deuce, who comes from a single parent household and has implied they don't have a lot of money (for example: how the VDC/SDC earnings will help out his family). (Epel is kind of a ??? case because depending on where in the story you are, his family could be in financial trouble or not; in book 5, they imply his entire village is having difficulties selling product until Vil promotes Harveston apples on his Magicam.) Maybe it's unfair to say that 22 students out of 800ish is representative of the makeup of the entire NRC student population (or represents the composition of all magic schools), but Ruggie confirms in his Birthday Boy vignettes that a majority of the students at NRC are decently well-off. This single digit representation of low-income students is also true of real-life elite schools. They are private schools for a reason; it naturally gatekeeps who is and isn't "allowed" to attend, leading to the majority of its students being members of the elite.

Another thing to consider is legacy students. This term refers to the increased likelihood of people being accepted into a school if they had a relative that also attended that school. We know of two instances of this happening: Ace's brother and Sebek's brother also went to and graduated from Night Raven College. Ace even makes a remark during his sorting ceremony that he ended up in the same dorm as his older brother "as expected". If magic aptitude is genetic, then perhaps it makes sense to recruit from the same families--but again, this is inherently restrictive, as you would continuously be culling from the same pools generation after generation.

Back on the topic of bloodlines and family, what about Kalim, who has an extensive family? There will be no shortage of Asim mages going to NRC just because of legacy (Jamil even alludes to the fact that the previous Scarabia dorm leader was an Asim relative, and his recommendation is what got Kalim the dorm leader seat). And speaking of Kalim, consider instances where rich families are able to bribe faculty (lookin' at YOU, Crowley) or donate a large sum to get their kid ahead or to be given priority over others that may be more qualified than them (RIP Jamil). To continue off that point, NRC itself is structured as a "dog eat dog" world. Those with inherently more magical ability have the right to trump over others. You can duel and lose your dorm seat to a more powerful mage, even if you trump them in terms of merit or leadership qualities. Students feel a sense of duty to obey those who have bested them in battle (ie Epel's servitude to Vil). Everyone fears Malleus. Your magical power is respected above all else.

Attitudes surrounding magic have notably shifted from fear of it several hundreds of years ago (around the human-fae war, back when “witch” and “wizard” were used in a derogatory sense) to recognizing it for its strengths and actively seeking it or granting some favoritism to those who have it. There is, in fact, now class discrimination in based on whether or not you can use magic. We got an early instance of this as early as book 1 of the main story, when Riddle insults Yuu for their "pitiful" education and states that they were clearly "born to parents with no great magical capability". It’s something that clearly rubs Ace, who has a magicless father, the wrong way, and he stands up for Yuu. There are other subtle hints about this divide sprinkled throughout the lore. For example, Ruggie has a voice line which he indicates that the slums where he comes from doesn’t produce many magic users. Again, recall that magic runs in bloodlines. This could potentially allude to a past where those without magic were forced into lower income neighborhoods, which results in pockets like Ruggie’s hometown with a high population of magicless individuals living in poverty. This doesn’t appear to be a large scale issue (perhaps its only an isolated case?), but this is worth paying attention to.

This could all translate into the professional world too. Some jobs are entirely locked behind magic (ie you just cannot do them or pursue them if you don't have the magical ability for it). Some jobs DO require magic (ie medical mages like Riddle's parents, magic police force officers, technomantic inventors, etc) and probably additional training that goes with it. As a result, I'd imagine that these magic-intensive jobs pay quite a bit more. There may also be overall more job opportunities for those capable of magic, since magic is so much more efficient than doing things by hand. The magic police force in particular are described as “elite” and members are REQUIRED to be mages or else you don’t qualify. It means more retention of wealth and/or more upward mobility for the few impoverished that are able to enter magic schools. (This is, of course, not including the few and far between cases of regular people who get rich in select industries, such as Kalim’s father.) Recall too that NRC requires its students to take internships during their 4th years, many placements being with very prestigious groups and organizations such as pro-sports teams, labs, tech giants, etc. Being able to attend a prestigious school with connections grants those elite students even more opportunities than the average person.

Then think about what this means for people who fall short of these standards that these magic schools set. We actually have examples of them in book 5 of the main story: when Deuce and Epel are reconciling on the beach, a bunch of delinquents from another school come along and start checking out Deuce’s borrowed magical wheel. Through the NPCs’ exchange, we learn that one of them has enough magic to power a magical wheel, but not enough to do much else. This NPC also couldn’t keep up in class and dropped out of a magic school. He then becomes insulted when Deuce implies he is “a beginner”, so this is obviously a very sore spot for him. Riddle also has dialogue that implies students dropped out of NRC prior to his reign (and since then, no Heartslabyul students have left). Additionally, consider how magic can be used to oppress and lord power over others. Deuce himself is guilty for summoning cauldrons to crush rival delinquents in fights back in Clock Town—even if those delinquents lacked magic themselves. Similarly, Epel is implied to use magic to gain an upper hand against those that bullied him back home. This all implies a social divide between those with magic and those without, and begs of bigger questions.

What happens to the ones that don’t make it? The ones that get left behind? The ones without the magic to make it “big”? This is the root of Fellow’s anger; he’s mad at a system that cast people like him (someone with very little magic) and Gidel (a non-mage) aside. They don’t get the opportunity to make better futures for themselves. They’re looked down on by high-up institutions that basically tell them they’re not good enough.

Knowing all of this, the deck appears to be stacked against the poor and non-mages. It’s no wonder why Fellow is so mad.

THIS ACTUALLY RELATES BACK TO WHAT ROLLO SAID IN 5-2 OF GLORIOUS MASQUERADE… "When you have too little [magic], you're resentful. And when you have plenty [of magic], you're arrogant. You can never content yourselves." The NRC boys are arrogant (this is the side of the story we’ve always known due to seeing the world mainly from their perspective). They are the “haves”, and we see them constantly misusing their power by fighting each other over very petty things (even if it’s against the rules to do so). But everyone else??? They’re scrounging for the scraps. Fellow falls into that former category; he IS the guy that’s resentful because of his lack of magic and how something he cannot control has already determined where he and Gidel will stand in life no matter how hard they work. They can never hope to rise out of poverty, and there’s nothing they can do about it. That must be soul-crushing.

When Fellow praises the NRC boys in that overly exaggerated way, he’s obviously being shady and facetious—however, there is also a kernel of truth behind this behavior. Most other NPCs we’ve met have spoken about the NRC boys favorably just because of their affiliation with a prestigious school. It’s the same way people might be impressed if you walked around in an Ivy League branded hoodie or something. People automatically associate you with the school’s shiny and exclusive reputation, and thus assume you are also intelligent, talented, etc. Then, in the same way being constantly put on a pedestal like this might result in the students getting swelled heads, this only further feeds into the NRC kids’ egos. They so privileged they don’t even recognize it. And that makes Fellow fucking FUME.

Look back at Fellow's dialogue. He is constantly mentioning the prestige of the school the boys go to, or adding on extra compliments about their status and skills. He's ass-kissing to his boss, who is also wealthy or part of the upper class, then insults the boss once he hangs up. Fellow is always in a position where he HAS to be subservient to the upper class in order to make his money and get by, and he finds that entirely unfair. Imagine having to simper and placate people you absolutely despise and blame for your problems every day, people who are gorging themselves on luxuries, coasting by in life, taking everything they have for granted while you get by on pennies—that has to get frustrating.

I want to briefly mention here that, in addition to praising the NRC students to high heaven, Fellow also talks down his own skills. He cheerfully calls himself a loser and says that no matter how much he trains, he could never reach their caliber of magic. Yes, Fellow is exaggerating to get the kids to think they’ve won, but I also have to wonder if he’s parroting the same phrases he was told long ago, from people who doubted him and never thought he’d make it. If that’s the case, then I get the sense that Fellow is in a way “reclaiming” his autonomy and power by adopting those same cruel words and using them as a strength. He admits to being “weak” but is also proud of the fact that he can utilize his magic along with his natural charisma to get a leg up over others. It further fuels his new belief that going to an elite school doesn’t matter, it’s practical skills that will serve you well.

Okay, back to talking about his shitty work situation! Fellow’s employer clearly doesn’t treat him with decency. They berate him, make unreasonable demands, act impatient, etc. They are a typical depiction of a toxic workplace and boss. This can also be read as shorthand for the relation between the rich and the poor, and how that may have shaped (or worsened) Fellow’s views on others of the privileged class. He makes many assumptions about the NRC students without really getting to know them, calling them entitled brats. Why? Because these descriptors likely apply to the higher-ups Fellow has always slaved away for. This, in combination with his own experiences in being rejected from magic academia, has created a person who feels trodden on by society and by the upper echelons who run it and benefit off the system.

Fellow himself is the perfect example of someone who was failed by said system. He has dialogue stating that he was never given the chance to learn because his magic was not considered strong enough. Still, he tried to make an effort to earn that chance among to elites and to study among them. Fellow was rejected, ridiculed, and told he had “forgotten his place”, what he had been born into. There were expectations he couldn’t meet, and so Fellow was thrown away like a broken toy. He has failed not because he didn’t try, but because he was denied the opportunity to begin with. This is where is rage stems from. Fellow despises the students of those same kinds of institutions who kicked him down, students who don’t realize how fortunate they are for their educations and will likely continue to perpetuate the system.

What, then, does that means for his signature spell, which is closely tied to one’s identity? Let’s take a magnifying glass to it. As previously mentioned, the name for Fellow’s spell is written as “Rose-Tinted Dream”, but it is said out loud as “Life is Fun”. The chant for it is, “Come on to the theater” (notably said in English rather than in Japanese). Both the spell and the incantation are references to the song Honest John sings in Pinocchio, Hi- Diddle-Dee-Dee. And… well, the whole UM in of itself is one big cruel joke given his circumstances now.

I think this spell is representative of a young Fellow still full of hopes and dreams, looking forward to studying at a magic school. But then those dreams are shattered and he has to commit terrible crimes to survive day-to-day, and he seems to have given up on his dreams. He even goes so far as to protect Gidel from having the same hopes he once did, telling Yuu to not put silly ideas in his head when Gidel expressed curiosity about school. At the same time, he delights in crushing the hopes of those he deems his enemies (stating that he wanted to betray Kalim to “teach him a lesson” about how cruel the world is). Fellow knows the truth: that life isn’t fun, that it will disappoint you and will put you down. His actions are very cowardly as well—he uses tricks and deception, he runs away from his problems instead of properly addressing them, the NRC students remark on his lack of pride. Fellow has had to throw away so much to scrape by. Yet his UM symbolizes someone brimming with hope—so perhaps it’s a UM he manifested when Fellow still thought he had a chance?? And then people made fun of him for it being so weak?? Alternatively, maybe he didn’t get his UM until after his dreams were crushed so he’s looking back on those nostalgic days of blissful ignorance with rose-colored lenses (which is, again, maybe why his UM magic name is written as “Rose Tinted Dream”). A UM that is a reflection of one’s true self, yet that same identity is one that has been forced to be discarded. That’s the reason why, despite all the swindling and scamming, I don’t think Fellow’s enthusiasm for fun is a lie. That’s the one “real” part of him, but even that’s been repurposed to help him live on scraps, something innocent twisted 😭 and that’s really sad to think about…

But also??? You could argue that Fellow still has a little bit of that lost inner child and hope left in him. He tries to defend Gidel’s understanding of the world and has goals of starting his own school despite how poorly he originally spoke about these institutions. (So Fellow does appear to care about children and their futures.) He also has a childish streak despite being an adult, demonstrated by his use of cowardly tactics, taunting kids, and abruptly quitting his job to then destroy his workplace. Fellow himself states that he “just tries to live a free and fun life”, thus his pursuit of money and pleasure. This could all play into being what defines Fellow and thus his UM. It embodies a spirit of playfulness even when he has been crushed under the weight of an unglamorous life.

I’ve heard people saying that while Rollo is Idia’s dark mirror and Fellow is Ruggie’s. They have similar backstories but ultimately their fates are different and left the former two down far more sinister paths. Just as Rollo is an Idia that turned his anger outward instead of inward, Fellow is Ruggie had he not been given a chance to receive an education to elevate his social status and job prospects. Fellow and Ruggie both cling to rich, powerful benefactors/bosses and do their dirty work to get on by—a big difference is that Leona, while he does also work Ruggie to the bone, also has some conscience. Something else to consider is that while Ruggie prioritizes making a life for himself by studying and securing a stable, well-paying job, Fellow is focused moreso on the accumulation of wealth itself (as he suggests to Kalim he’ll take a bribe to let him go free and quits when there is no longer money to be gained from his boss). Both don’t really care how they get their money (even if it is by dirty means), but ultimately Ruggie’s way of making cash is more sustainable in the long run. Yet Fellow ultimately realizes the importance of school deep down despite constantly denying it when the NRC students tell him of it. Fellow is in denial because that’s the only way he can cope and justify his lifestyle. He’s confused when finally confronted with students who are his ideal of “happy and free”, even when they’re in an educational system that he views as shackling people into strict roles. The way he laments about not being able to go to school is also very reminiscent of an adult mourning a lost or unfulfilling childhood, which is quite a depressing scenario…

Fellow is the one that got the short end of the stick in life. Ruggie met Leona, and Leona technically uplifted him in his endeavors, tutored him into getting decent grades and giving him hand-me-downs and money in exchange for his services. Fellow never had that kind of support system, he was just insulted and bullied into giving up and had to find an alternative way to keep himself going 😔

Personally, I think Fellow could also be a dark mirror to Kalim, no?? They exist on opposite ends of a social spectrum. Kalim has everything and Fellow had nothing. What’s more, Kalim is still wide-eyed and trusting. He is the only one willing to try words instead of fighting him and instantly labeling him as the enemy. Meanwhile, Fellow has become bitter because of how the world has betrayed him. He wants to take that trust Kalim has and show him how cruel everything truly is. Why is he fixated on that? Why even offer in the first place if he never intended on going through with it? Why does he want to rub it in Kalim’s face in particular? Maybe it’s because Kalim seems rich and dumb, as Fellow claims, but maybe it’s because there is envy there. Sure, Fellow is upset about Kalim being a sheltered brat that faces no challenges in life, but I also feel like he’s jealous that Kalim can still afford to think this way. That he can still afford to be cheerful, that he can still be a dreamer. Fellow was alluded to be like that once—but he can’t be like that anymore, not when he has to look out for himself and Gidel.

Side note, another comparison! Recall that Kalim’s Oasis Maker is also a UM that uses a little bit of magic. However, Kalim does not know of many creative ways to use his spell, as there is no real reason to since his home country has lots of canals and irrigation. He therefore deems his UM as pretty useless. Fellow meanwhile has what most consider a weak UM but he fully utilizes it to his advantage and pairs it well with his natural charm to maximize its effects. He had to develop these skills because he was in pressing circumstances in which they would benefit him. This contributes to the “mirror” theme between the two.

Fellow and Kalim have a notable similarity as well, and this is where I feel they can connect. They are both older brothers to a child or children who are magicless. Fellow only has one, and Kalim has many—but the number here isn’t what is important. What is important is that Fellow and Kalim think the world of their siblings and want to support them. To that end, Fellow is willing to be cruel and step on others, and Kalim is all sunshine to keep their spirits up. Fellow has suffered through great poverty and insults and Kalim has survived so many attempts on his life, yet they’ve developed distinctly different approaches to the worlds that have embraced them. Kalim’s wealth could afford him protection and luxuries, so he’s able to live carefree with others tending to his needs. The same isn’t true for Fellow, and so he came out far more spiteful and resentful.

Thinking about it, it’s ultimately Kalim’s words that convince Fellow to turn on his employer. (The other boys certainly wore Fellow down and planted the seeds of doubt, but it’s Kalim that I believe fully resonates with Fellow.) He can so happily talk about why he loves school, even though he doesn’t do well at it (something I presume is also true of Fellow, since he is lacking in tons of magic). It’s not said in a particularly articulate manner, but it’s so candid in its presentation. Kalim is relating to him based on similar skillset (or lack thereof) and sharing fond memories of his time at school, reviving the hopeful “lost child” in Fellow. Kalim is probably the first wealthy person in a long time that was friendly, kind, and supportive to him. And here he is, reassuring Fellow his dreams are still possible, to not give up. That’s the final nail that allows Fellow to be “honest” with himself and his inner child. It’s what leads to that slew of irresponsible actions at the end of the event (letting people free, blasting the amusement park, driving a sinking ship, etc.).

At the end of Stage in Playful Land, we see that Fellow never really let that childlike side of him fully die. (It seems to have been concealed under a desire for money and appeasing his boss.) He shares his dream of creating his own great school to give educational opportunities to non-mages and mages with low magical reserves like Gidel and himself, a school that teaches practical life lessons. He wants to promote his own ideals and to change the system he hates from the inside out. This was never communicated to us before most likely because Fellow had renounced those ideas in favor of blind hatred and a lack of faith in the world and those that dominate it.

Fellow also acknowledges that life may be even more difficult for him and Gidel going forward, as now they lack the money for even food and no longer have jobs. Furthermore, they need to worry about their ex-employers coming after them for what they’ve done. Even so, Fellow faces it all with a smile and reassures everyone that they can transfer or visit to play… “on this shining stage called life”. He and Gidel are able to walk away with their whimsy preserved, and can still be that which they’ve always wanted to be: dreamers.

All of this is to say that Rollo was right all along about magic, he never misses—

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seiwas · 8 months

Text

₊˚⊹｡ (you were good to me) | nanami kento

wc: 2.8k

summary: nanami counts his chances and bets on this last one.

contains: implied f!reader but no mention of pronouns, canon-adjacent, exes, mentions of alcohol, swears, mentions of drunk calls, pov switching, angst, c.death

a/n: another brainchild from me and @augustinewrites, with song inspos: you were good to me, tequila, bourbon, already gone, all i want, and something in the orange

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: waiting for that call you know won't come

part 1 <- you are here

October 31, 2018.

Your company halloween party isn’t all that fun when you think about it.

The optional suggestion from HR to wear a costume has always been promptly ignored for as long as you can remember, pressed suits in dark neutrals coloring the celebration instead. Nothing exciting about it at all.

It used to be though, when you had Nanami to spend it with.

Liquid pools by the sides of your fingertips, condensation dripping down your glass of bourbon. One of the perks of being in a financial firm’s halloween party is that the alcohol is good, expensive to match the tastes and budget the partners can afford.

Calling it a party is overhyping it, if you’re being honest. It’s just another day at work, except without the alcohol restrictions; your coworkers still check the markets every five minutes (you do too, out of habit), and directors still ask for summary reports while attending to a phone call or two—one hand on a tablet and another on a drink, earbud slotted securely in one ear.

You and Nanami used to hide, even just for a few minutes, by the break room at the back, inside the pantry—a place now foreign but still filled with all your memories; you haven’t stepped foot in it since he broke it off.

It's a common notion amongst your peers that workplace romance is dead—it always has been (at least, outwardly). HR would have cut either of you out of the next payment cycle if they had caught wind of your mingling.

Workplace romance is dead, they say, but what you had with Nanami was alive, beating with every giggle muffled by the palm of your hand. No one would ever consider him a funny guy, but you did—all his snide remarks, comments unapologetically deadpan in a way so bluntly his.

The gray curtain separating you two from the rest of the office kitchen was thin, but it held every weighted moment you snuck with him—secret confessions a little before midnight, a hand or two you couldn’t possibly resist, sobs hushed down, bitten between your teeth with you tucked into him.

Workplace romance is dead—it’s supposed to be, but a few desks down and a sharp left turn from yours, it haunts you, still.

You take a sip.

Nanami has a sense for these things.

It’s always when something doesn’t feel right that the numbers start to click.

Clusters of sorcerers have been grouped to surround the vicinity, his own trio comprising of himself, Fushiguro, and Ino. The instructions are simple: to be on standby in case anything happens. The wait time should be a good sign; it’s highly unlikely that anyone can match up to Gojo, after all.

He checks his watch, each second ticking agonizingly slowly. It feels unsettling, like the calm before the storm—a deep unrest simmering. Unsafe is the first thought that comes to mind, then you second; it prompts him to call you, his fingers slightly trembling.

Your contact is still marked with a star, filed under his favorites (he knows he probably should have moved it).

One ring. Two rings. Three. A ‘toot’ at the end of the line—it makes him antsy.

Then, the veils go down.

The action is alarming; these opponents move themselves like chess pieces, he knows this much—all part of a bigger plan, always with an underlying motive.

His thumb hovers over the call button again, thinking. The expression on his face remains impassive, sharp angles and straight lines concealing the weight of each worry.

“Nanami-san,” Ino calls.

Fushiguro’s already started theorizing, rationalizing some sort of ploy behind this occurrence—all highly plausible, all probably true; it’s some sick play that the moment the calculations click, there isn’t enough time to call you.

“That’s why we’ve stopped standing by and started to act,” Nanami interjects, shrugging off his blazer, khaki cotton falling off his shoulders as he slips his phone in his pant pocket.

If anything, you should probably do your best to enjoy whatever you can from this year’s Halloween party—after all, it’ll be your last in this company. You handed in your resignation papers last week, and though your boss has pulled you aside for the nth time tonight, disguising pleas as empty promises, you know better than to believe it.

It doesn’t matter to you anymore; you’ve made up your mind.

The bartender mixes you another drink: 2 ounces of bourbon for a ball of ice, the same one you’ve been having the entire night.

A White Russian is your usual pick—a spiked latte as you call it. Nanami’s claimed that Bourbon On The Rocks is like its older, more mature cousin, and you’re afraid he’s right. He always is.

The hints of vanilla and caramel remind you of your morning pick-me-up, part because of the drink and part because of the man you used to spend it with.

Your phone vibrates from your inner pocket, but you don’t feel it, the alcohol dulling your senses.

“Na-na-na-na-na-na-min!”

For this reason, he thinks, it’s good that the nickname has stuck; a perfect identifier for whom and where it’s coming from.

Echoes of Itadori’s voice lead them straight to a rooftop, Fushiguro catching the boy’s attention to ask for the run-down. Mechamaru warns that it’s pandemonium deep within the station, curses of all grades mixed with scattered transfigured humans. There’s only one thing he knows can be responsible for that.

Nanami doesn’t do jokes, but he secretly wishes this is just a really bad one, because—

Gojo’s been sealed.

—the punch line isn’t funny at all.

Sorcery has prepared Nanami for anything, but this possibility lies in his 0.01%—if this has happened, it’s free game.

It makes sense now, why this unease has slowly been surfacing.

Keep people safe and survive—the single thought at the forefront of his mind.

He moves quickly, devising a plan for maximum efficiency; Ino is to stay with Fushiguro and Itadori inside this veil while he meets up with Ijichi to put down the other one. Time is running short, options even more so—there are only a handful of people who can do certain requests and being a first-grade qualifies him as one of them.

Eerie silence greets him as he steps out on the sidewalk, the streets practically swept. It’s instinct when his hand reaches in his pant pocket, fingers moving in memorized pattern as he calls you again.

You don’t pick up for the second time.

One of your co-workers almost trips down the steps to the taxi, your arm stretched out to catch her should she fall forward completely. Cool air nips at your cheeks; you’ve had more to drink but you handle liquor well—if managing to keep up with Nanami means anything.

The vibrations of your phone get lost in the commotion. You haul your co-worker into the cab and tell the driver her address, asking if he can drive you to yours soon after.

It’s shit.

Climbing up the steps to the overpass fills him with a sense of foreboding. A sickening dread. On the way here, he spotted four managers, dead.

The sight before him angers him more than anything—blood pooling around Ijichi’s frame, crumpled on the ground. He steps closer, crouching low to check for a pulse; it’s faint, but it’s there, accompanying the man’s shallow breathing.

He does quick work bringing Ijichi to the rescue team, hopefully fast enough to make it back to Shoko where she can fix him.

The casualties are rising.

It isn’t safe anymore. The radius of collateral damage is widening and this is just the beginning.

What will happen to you? If the events in here break containment?

How can he keep you safe if jujutsu society falls?

He crunches the numbers, sorting through each possibility; the phone in his pocket feels heavy, sinking with each step he takes on concrete. It’s not often that Nanami runs out of options—there’s always an answer to anything; but this, he thinks, has never made him feel more desperate.

His fingers hover over your contact again.

There’s not enough time—this is the only way.

He needs to get you out of here.

You’re left with a voicemail.

The key slips from your hand, falling to the ground again, like the many times it has before. You step inside your apartment, swiping through your notifications to find two missed calls and an email.

It’s confusing enough getting calls from the ex you drunk dial once a week; receiving a flight notice set to depart later tonight with a ticket under your name doesn’t make things any clearer.

You tap your screen, odd anticipation and nerves coiling in your belly.

“Hello,” the audio starts, “I’m assuming you received the email.”

His voice sounds different when you’re a little more sober; you’re not sure if that’s a good thing—if it’s worse or better, just that it aches the more you hear him clearly. You kick off your heels, letting the audio play as you pour yourself a glass of water.

Your ticket details stare at you from your screen.

(Shouting isn’t a quiet man’s usual and his throat hurts from the overexhaustion. His voice echoes across the sea, calling for everyone to hurry over. There’s only so much Fushiguro can take from beside him, holding open the simple domain for everyone to slip through simultaneously.

He supposes, this isn’t the first time he’s done something out of character today—moving your flight and hoping you get on it is the most reckless thing he’s ever done.)

“I’m sorry this is so sudden, I understand if you’re confused. I know most of our conversations have been unideal lately.”

Metal clinks in the recording, a sound so familiar to you—the links of his watch band hitting. Nanami has a habit of shaking his wrist when he’s uneasy about something, and you can almost hear it from the small breaths he takes before each sentence.

It should embarrass you, the amount of times you’ve drunk-called him, but you have reason to believe he doesn’t find it all that off-putting.

(He wonders if he’ll get another chance to sit through one more unideal conversation with you.

Blood drips down the side of his head, his shoulder slashed through his shirt. Adrenaline moves every muscle he barely has the energy to.)

“Do you… do you remember that vacation we planned?” he breathes out from the other end, a hesitancy uncommonly heard from him, “To Kuantan?”

You do, very vividly—a trip discussed some time ago with your head on his chest, scrolling through flight promos on your phone. Nanami’s dream has always been to be free by the sea; you don’t expect it from a man turned jaded, but it feels like a secret spoken truthfully.

So you take it and run, booking a flight two years down the line—a ‘when we have the time’ flexible enough to move and transfer whenever either of you would like.

(In a flash, he’s flushed along with the current, waves engulfing him as he’s washed out of the domain.)

“I’ve thought about it and believe now would be a good time,” his voice continues, “with your resignation and things. ”

The spray sunblock on your dresser is barely used, but you grab it knowingly. Nanami is pale and—

(—when he burns, he thinks of the Kuantan sun—how nice it would be to be under it, bathed in the deep orange afterglow next to you.)

“I…” Nanami rarely stutters, but you hear a slight shake to his timbre, “I know this is a tough ask, especially when I’ve been unfair to you. But…”

You can picture him clearly—hand running through his hair as he adjusts his lenses; he pinches the bridge of his nose before shaking his wrist, that familiar metal clinking.

It almost sounds pained, his acknowledgment of it, as if he’s long since regretted treating you any less than you deserve. Does it make you stupid? Or sad? That you still hang on to every word he says, that the spaces between your fingers still miss the way he used to fill them.

You drag the zipper of your bag shut, patting it down to flatten.

“...I hope you know the reason I left isn’t because of something you did.”

The Nanami you know speaks nothing but the truth, and you believe him each time.

It’s a contradicting mix of comfort and anxiety, like he’s freed you from the guilt that used to weigh on you heavily. If it isn’t because of you though, you don’t know what else it could be.

You sigh, pushing down on the door handle as you take one last look to make sure you didn’t leave anything.

(It’s a lie when he tells himself he can’t feel anything; the left side of his body is burned, charred down to his sinews—it's a surprise he can still move. The damage should have been enough to numb him, but it still hurts when he thinks of you.

Did you receive his voicemail? Are you on your way now?

Time moves slowly as he drags his feet across the station floor.)

“I’ll… explain myself more when I see you in a few hours.”

Your stomach starts feeling funny when you get in the taxi—the pauses in his recording are obvious.

You wonder what’s going on in his head.

(This is cruel, he knows, concealing the truth and feeding you false hope. He’s a liar, but there’s no other way. There’s no time to explain everything to you.

If this is what gets you out of here—)

Silence.

You hear his footsteps through the recording, the sound of his feet shuffling, contemplating.

He speaks again, hesitancy tinged with sadness you can’t decipher, “I apologize, if this is out of nowhere,” a breath, “but I hope I was good to you in the time we had.”

You shift in your seat, fiddling with your fingers. There’s a finality to his tone that you find oddly misplaced—the sound of a goodbye more than a second try.

It is wholly unlike him to be this sentimental.

Tears well up in your lash line as you think back to everything: how he used to wait for you after work despite it being past midnight, how weekends were filled with nothing but love, massaged into the soles of your feet; how he’d buy your favorite breakfast sandwich even though he’s a snob about the ingredients in it. He drove you anywhere as long as you had music control.

Nanami is an old soul, and you indulged him by buying records for that vintage record player he has. Songs from the 50’s, 60’s, maybe a bit of jazz from the 70’s and 80’s too—for a man so stiff, he sways smoothly to its melodies, holding you closely each time.

He has only ever touched you gently, attentive to every need you express lovingly; his kisses always form a line straight to your heart—from the top of your head to your forehead, down between your eyebrows to the slope of your nose. His lips are soft against yours, ticklish as they drag down your neck to your collarbones.

A patient and tender lover, the most wonderful man for the greatest years of your life.

He was more than good to you—you couldn’t have asked for any better.

(A mess of curses greet him on the floor—transfigured humans he has no choice but to take the lives of.

He’s exhausted.

His blade swooshes to the right, body following the path it glides to. He allows himself a glimpse of rest, to think of how it must feel to dance by the glistening seaside with you.)

“You were the best thing to happen to me in that shitty place.”

His honesty rings loudly in your ears, resounding even as you pull up your luggage to the check-in counter.

Oftentimes, Nanami would say things and they’d sound a lot like ‘I love you’.

“I hope I can be good to you now, too.”

(Saying it would have been selfish—it’s good he didn’t, even though he wanted to. Those 3 words mean nothing if there’s no guarantee he’ll be alive to prove it to you.

A hand presses against his back; a crack in his soul.)

“The details are in the email, I’ll be there when you land.” he pauses; it takes a beat before he continues again, “See you then.”

You’re half-nervous and half-excited as you board the plane. The voicemail sounds suspicious, his actions even moreso, but if what he’s saying is true—

(It flashes before him, too fast and too slow; Haibara smiling, the life he couldn’t save. Yuuji calling him from the corner, a ‘Nanamin’ one last time.

Then there’s you. Just as he’s about to give in to it all—the beach. How pretty you’d look, beaming up at him, pointing towards the sun as it sets into the endless sea.)

“Don’t forget to turn off the lights.” he says softly, like a reminder to be cradled safely.

You settle into your seat, the captain speaking over the announcement system.

“Flight MH 1730 to Kuantan, Malaysia from Tokyo, Japan. Departure time is 11:16 p.m. Estimated arrival…”

—you can’t wait.

(At least he’ll get to save your life, right?

Nanami Kento. Time of death: 11:17 p.m.)

a/n: writing this was really tough (because it absolutely gutted me), but it was a good challenge! a few info bits: partners = high ranking roles in the company; white russian = vodka, coffee liqueur, & cream + ice; the flight details are not real; the pov switching is real time, except for the voicemail, which acts as a voiceover to the events concurring between nanami and you.

thank you notes: to @augustinewrites OF COURSE. what would i do without you fr. this has plagued us for the longest time and we have been way too sad for too damn long bc of it 😭 thank you for half-mothering this, where would i be without your sad songs 🥹 + @mysugu and @soumies for running through this idea & the voicemail dialogue with me 🥺 very important opinions from very important people indeed 🥺 + @stellamancer for helping me with my grammar doubts 😭

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #kento x reader #nanami x yn #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami kento x yn #nanami kento x you #shotorus.writes #shotorus.events #in's and out's event

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foreverdolly · 5 months

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this is a self pitying post and i’ll probably delete it later- but when i’m sad i tend to write it out. i’ve used this blog like a diary of sorts for the last two and a half years. i’ve developed a relationship with a lot of you on here and i appreciate all the love i’ve received so far on my last post. my friends that i have in real life, no matter how long i’ve known them, don’t know too much about my upbringing or my parents. i hate the idea of trauma dumping- it’s uncomfortable for other people: so don’t read this if you don’t want to. i wouldn’t blame you.

my dad died from cirrhosis due to alcoholism. he died miserable and alone. he had no friends. his family was sick of him. i tried to call him as often as i could but sometimes he could be mean if he was drunk. i knew not to call him after 11:00 in the afternoon because he would start to drink. he lived in his youngest brother’s basement and almost never came upstairs because he was embarrassed. i haven’t seen him in three years because he lives fourteen hours from me, but i tried my hardest to call him every week and keep him involved in my life. he never saw any of my homes, never met any of my friends, and never even saw me drive a car (i’ve been licensed since i was eighteen). i cried to him almost every week, begging him to get sober.

he never recovered from my parent’s divorce, and for that i feel so sorry. he called my mother his soulmate and always spoke in past tense- talking about when me and my brother were little. he would tear up when talking about the first time he ever saw me in the hospital after my mother gave birth, and he was vocal about the fact that i was his favorite. we shared a lot of the the same interests and always had fun when talking.

when my mom made a suicide attempt two years ago he was there for me almost everyday, calling me despite the demons he was battling with himself.

the last time i spoke to him was thursday- a week from the day he died. he told me that he almost called a treatment facility but he got tired and took a nap instead. his doctors appointment was today at one and he was going to ask to be admitted and then go to a rehab facility. i told him i’d send him money while he was in there- he hasn’t been able to hold a job since i was still in high school.

my dad was a chef. a damn good cook- classically trained in french cooking. he had the loudest laugh i’ve ever heard, so much so that it used to make me cry when i was a baby. we used to wear matching costumes and he’d sign me out from school on halloween and call me out the day after. he took me to my first concert, but he couldn’t afford both the gas and the tickets (so i paid for the gas with my pocket change at the age of thirteen). he wore adidas strictly- shell toe was his favorite.

when i was little my dad was on night duty while my mom was away: tucking us in, reading us books. he refused to read to me and walked out the door but not before saying “bed bugs and stuff”. i thought it was so funny. it became our saying. every night we spent with each other we said “bed bugs and stuff”. so that was my last send off to him. i hope he’s finally resting well and isn’t depressed, ashamed or lonely anymore where he is.

he died in his sleep. they found a solo cup filled with vodka next to his bed and i can’t stop thinking about the fact that he was going to get help today. he was yellow due to jaundice. what a cruel world.

#i genuinely don’t know what to do

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tranzjen · 3 months

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🖤💙 4 days until my Surgery 💙🖤

(Picture taken Dec 9th, 2023)

I'm very very excited for my surgery (it's my second gender affirming surgery but this one is more significant to me since it'll be top and bottom surgery) and I'm obviously counting the days until it and I thought some people might be interested in my trans journey 🏳️‍⚧️ So see part 7 below the cut.

Part 1 here

As the summer was ending, I got really lucky! A lesbian hairstylist (who helped organize the drag show I went in the last update) gave my name to this sales lady who sold accounting work to like companies and she needed help with researching CEO and CFO types. And she paid me out of pocket and honestly it was pretty easy internet research using Google. I felt like a little rat scurrying across the Internet 🐀 So, thank you lesbians 🙏🙏

(Picture taken Nov 6th, 2022)

Apparently I really impressed her so she got me hired full time as a sales admin for her company (I wouldn't have gotten with my lack of a college degree without her) and I've had that job since! And a lot of my transition wouldn't be possible without the pay and benefits of this job. Also this is my first job where I get gendered correctly and I'm slowly getting less anxious about going to the bathroom at work 🥰

She honestly mom'd up on me and bought me a bunch of new business casual clothes for the job. And here's an example of one of my new work outfits 😁

(Picture taken Nov 14, 2022)

Bc of the new job I was able to afford a lot more things for transitioning! Like voice training. I remember when I first cracked I tried to just teach myself using videos but I wasn't good at it 😅 Also a friend during the summer of 2022 helped me and I did make some progress with her help. But, I started making a lot more progress once I started seeing a speech therapist. But, there was a barrier since I could tell she hadn't worked too much with trans people. I went to a speech therapist bc it was covered by my insurance but she moved and then I couldn't find anyone for insurance covered speech therapy. So, I eventually just paid for lessons Your Lessons Now. And, honestly it's going a lot better! It's really nice to be able to talk about my frustrations with voice training with another transfem. The biggest thing I'm learning from here is how to break the bad habit of pitching up my voice by squeezing my vocal chords.

(Picture taken Sept 8th, 2023)

I had also switched to injections and I highly recommend it! A friend even made my first two vials into earrings 🔥

I also got a lot lazier with makeup 😅 I do eyeliner wings, mascara, and blush for when I go into the office. Which for a bunch of accountants means I do about as much makeup that is normal for the women in the office 🤷‍♀️

(Pictures taken October 31st and December 2nd of 2022)

These were two notable exceptions. I really love the makeup I did for the Halloween of 2022 bc I decided to go as a ghost-type trainer. And the one on the right is when I learned how to use concealer to cover my 'raccoon eyes' as my dad liked to call them 🦝

Also this would be a good time to mention something I probably should've mentioned earlier 😅 I never learned how to use foundation. I know it's easy but I have a weird mental block around it 🤷‍♀️ But, in the summer of 2021 I started doing twice daily skincare routine for my face. Which took me from a very acne heavy face to people being surprised I'm not wearing foundation. Also the routine is really nice. Would recommend to those who want to get rid of their acne (send an ask if you want to know specifics).

(Picture taken Aug 20, 2023)

Romance update since I've been doing that lol: Well, things ended with all the girlfriends I had so I am down to 1 partner. And I got caught in a romance scam for a few months 😭 However, I can't really complain because I got engaged!!! It was so sweet in cute. My partner and I had this date the night before Valentine's Day under a statue outside of a local art museum. We read sapphic poetry by candle light and then they popped the question 🥰🥰

But, I say another big part of this era was I made a lot more local trans friends. Went to a good amount of house parties which would've surprised pre-transition me! And I really love my community of queer people I've been building 🥺🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️💕

(Picture taken July 21st, 2023)

Oh yeah!! I also started laser hair removal at the beginning of 2021 as well. Which was before this era but time is a lie. But the new job definitely made it easier to afford.

The biggest step for my transition was getting my surgeries set up!! And my FFS (facial feminization surgery) marks the end of this era. Below was the last picture I took before my FFS.

(Picture taken Feb 17th, 2024)

So, in my next update, I'll be showing my post-op pictures once most of the swelling went down. See you tomorrow!! 😁✌️

Next Part Here

#trans journey #trans #girlslikeus #ok to rb #transfem #tranzjen pics #transgender

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manicpixiedreamcurl · 7 months

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The More You Give ❧ (Part VIII)

Pairing | Eddie x shy!reader Warnings | 18+ only. Do not interact if you are underage. Roleplay (PrincessxWannabe Usurper lmao), sexual fantasies (including rockstarxgroupie), Eddie says some weird possessive stuff but reader likes it, oral (M receiving), P in V sex, dom!Eddie, sexual guilt as per, there’s aftercare. Word Count | 10,400 A/N | Nobody ask me about the timeline of this story, either in the fic or how long it takes me to write it. Taglist Previous Chapter

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

The air is stuffy, despite the growing chill outside. The last days of Summer are at least a week gone now, and with Autumn comes heated stores. An ABBA song is playing on the main floor, filtering through enough for you to make out the tune. It’s the sort of thing your Mom plays in the car all the time, your mind following the words even though you can’t quite hear them over the buzzing ceiling lights.

I try to capture every minute, the feeling in it. Slipping through my fingers-

The curtains pull back, the sound of metal over metal dragging you to full attention. May’s eyes are bright with excitement as she twirls, showing off how the strapless black dress fits around her waist and flares out at her hips.

“It’s perfect, right?” She says, smoothing it down only to twirl and puff the skirt up again. “Ooh, let me see with the jacket.”

You search through the bag at your feet for the cropped jacket she’d found earlier, then watch as she pulls it over her shoulders. She fluffs her hair and poses in the mirror at the end of the changing room hallway. “I mean it actually is perfect, right?”

“For sure, you can totally see who you are already.”

“Right? And then I can just backcomb my hair a little. My Mom’s gonna lend me her scarf. God knows what earrings I’ll wear, but I can work it out. Definitely can’t get anything new after this,” she finishes, turning her head and pulling at the tag on her back to double check the price. She pulls a face before tucking it away gingerly.

“That bad?”

“That bad. Even with 30% off.” May smooths her hands over the skirt again, turning once more to the mirror. Her smile lights up her pretty face. “But totally worth it.”

Once the dress is folded and wrapped in tissue paper by the woman at the counter, paid for with what seems like every spare penny in May’s purse, attention moves to your costume. “Okay, Fairy God Mother,” May says, linking her arm with yours. “Game plan. Where do we need to go?”

“I think just the costume store. I have a blue dress I can use. But I’d like some wings and a wand. Maybe a tiara, if I can afford it.”

“Ugh, you’re gonna look so cute. Are you sure you don’t want to come to Tommy’s party?”

“The whole reason I’m dressing up is for Grace,” you reason, spotting the orange banner reading City of Fright, which appears in the same spot every year mid-September and vanishes November first.

Gone are ABBA’s lilting tones, replaced with stock Halloween music, the occasional creepy laugh and thunder clap. The entire front of the store is complete costumes, wrapped up in plastic and hanging on metal rods, but once you reach the shelves at the back, you are surrounded by an array of vampire teeth, witches hats and face paints.

“Eddie’s renting Theatre of Blood,” you tell her, not waiting for a reaction before launching into a prepared defence. “It sounds really good. It’s about an actor who takes revenge on his critics by murdering them like Shakespearian deaths - drowning in Malmsey wine, that kind of thing. He picked it cause, you know, he thought I’d like it.”

“Okay, but she’ll be in bed by what? Eight?” May asks, wandering around the table of paraphernalia as you start thumbing through fairy wings piled next to fake blood bags, searching for the right blue. “You could come after.”

There’s a moment of silence, then she sighs softly. “Okay, I will say it’s kind of cute that he picked that. In a weird, not really that cute cause it’s a horror movie about gruesome murders, sort of way.”

You stifle a grin, chancing a look at her over the table. “That sounded…almost like a compliment?”

“Almost,” she agrees, walking back round to your side. Then, before you can answer, she has seized a shiny silver plastic tiara and is reaching out to place it gently on your hair. “There. Fit for a Princess.”

You shake your head, laughing. “What about a Fairy Godmother?”

May hums, grabbing a set of the net and wire wings and pulling them over her arms. “I’m the fairy now!” She declares, raising her chin and going up on tiptoes to whirl around the racks, wings shaking behind her. “Here to make all your Halloween costume dreams come true!”

Your heart warms, a giggle escaping as she peers curiously at the rubber masks and cat ears in character, mumbling about the strange habits of humans.

“Oh please, fairy godmother! I need a wand if I’m going to look anything like the real thing!”

“A wand, of course!” She cries dramatically. “No true fairy would be seen dead without their wand.” You watch her scurry on tip toe around until she comes to a display of wands of various colours, topped by stars and hearts, sequined tassels and glittery handles. She wiggles her fingers above them, picks out one with a simple silver star and travels back to you gracefully. You take it from her with a flourish. “There, and now your wings.” She helps you into your own pair, then turns and throws a graceful hand into the air. “Now, we fly!”

You flit about after her, laughing at her with every pause she takes to frown disapprovingly at fake scars and rubber spiders. She stops in front of a Tinkerbell costume, pointing with a surprised smile at the model on the package. “Hey, I know her!”

You snort a laugh and it sets her off, all attempts to stifle your laughter only making it worse. Your giggles are only beginning to settle when you feel the sudden awareness of being watched tickle the back of your neck.

“Uh, hi girls.”

Your heart drops. Caroline stands, a hand over her mouth, barely covering the smirk. “You look like you’re having…fun.”

Suddenly, the clear elastic of the wings is too tight around your shoulders. You can feel the crooked angle of the tiara atop your head, close to slipping off entirely. The wand in your hand isn’t silver now, just chipped paint on plastic.

Next to you, May is wrenching off her wings, laughing airily. “Just messing around,” she assures, folding them up and holding them with a tight fist at her hip. “You costume shopping?”

Caroline looks around at where you are. “I mean, obviously. Not for me, though, for Ethan,” she sighs. “You know boys, no interest in shopping.” She sets her stare on you, eyes scanning from the crooked tiara downwards. “Are you girls dressing up together?”

Your throat feels blocked, leaving you just to shake your head. May answers for you both. “No, no. Like I said, we’re just messing around. So we should probably put this stuff back.” She slides her wings into the space between some hanging masks before elbowing you into action. You’ve abandoned the tiara and wand and are in the process of sliding off the wings when she adds, coolly, “I’m actually going as Madonna.”

Caroline’s smirk falls, replaced at terrifying speed with a deep frown. “What? You can’t, I’m doing Madonna. I’ve got a veil and everything. Ethan’s going to be Sean Penn.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m going as her in Desperately Seeking Susan, so it’ll be, like, totally different.”

“But I don’t think there should be two Madonna’s,” Caroline continues, almost sounding sympathetic. She crosses her arms, shrugging. “You’ll just have to go as somebody else.”

“Oh,” May says, shoulders falling. “Um, right. I get what you mean.”

You’re not in the habit of arguing with Caroline. It’s been easier, historically, not to contradict her or answer back. But you can feel May deflating beside you, and it tumbles out. “But you won’t look similar or anything, they’re completely different costumes.”

“They’re not though.” She answers with finality. “They’re both Madonna, and the last thing we want is comparisons, right? People talking about who wears it better all night?”

May nods. “You’re right. Totally. I’ll think of something else. No worries.”

“But May, your dress! You can’t return it now, it was on sale!”

“It’s fine,” May snaps before smiling close mouthed at Caroline. “I can find something else to wear, no issue.”

“You could be fairies together!” Caroline says. “I bet the guys at Tommy’s party would love that.”

“No, no, like I said, we were just messing around,” May says. “Not really my thing. And anyway, she’s not coming on Friday.”

“Oh no!” Caroline pushes her bottom lip out into a pout. “But I haven’t seen you outside of school in ages!”

“I’m babysitting,” you explain, clutching your removed wings in your fists.

“Oh sure you are, not spending the night with your boyfriend. We hardly see you anymore, I feel like there must be so much detail we’ve all been missing out on. You’ll have to come on the next girls trip, right May? So we can hear all about you and…Eddie.”

Your heart pounds as May nods. “Yeah,” she answers. “Eddie can’t have all your time.”

“Perfect. Well, let me know what you end up doing, May! See you later, girls!”

She flounces away, and May hides her face in her hands. “I can’t believe she saw me doing that.”

“It’s okay-”

“It’s not!” She says, throwing her hands up. Her eyes shine with frustrated tears. “It’s not okay! Not for me, anyway. It’s different for you, people already think you’re weird.”

You blink at your friend. Then you look down at the speckled linoleum floor, watch the spots fuzz and blend into each other as the lump in your throat builds. Before five seconds have passed, her arms appear at your sides, pulling you into a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean that.”

But you know that she did. You know that’s exactly what she thinks.

For the moment you have to think about what you say now, you imagine calling her out on this. Pushing her away and telling her that she doesn’t have to spend any more time with you, given you embarrass her so much. You’d buy your fairy wings and your crown, walk out with your head held high.

Maybe she’d call after you, apologise again, say that losing you isn’t worth impressing Caroline or sitting at the cheerleader table.

But maybe any pain she’d feel at the prospect of your friendship ending would only bring out her anger. Maybe she’d swear to never speak to you again.

If you were somebody else, someone who didn’t love May, maybe you’d take that risk. But you are you, and you’ve loved May since you were five. To you, the only thing worse than feeling hurt yourself is the thought of hurting her back.

So you shake your head at her shoulder, blink away tears and squeeze her tight in your arms. “It’s okay,” you whisper.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you nod, pulling away from her collar that smells the way being seven smelled. You release her, and in turn her arms fall from you. “I get it, you’re just stressed.”

“I know! I don’t know what I’m going to do about my costume!”

Your heart pangs. You swallow the lump in your throat that’s trying to rise back up. “Well, at least the dress is black,” you say, sniffing quick and quiet. You drag your hands over your eyes, clearing away the wetness clinging to your bottom lashes. Stop it, you think. Stop crying. “Let’s return the jacket, yeah? Then you’ll have money for a witch hat or something.”

May nods slowly as she thinks it through. “Okay, yeah. Yeah, that works.” She gives you a relieved smile. “God, what would I do without you? Let’s go.”

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

“Well, I didn’t think I wanted glasses because Katie has glasses,” Grace explains, holding her plastic pumpkin, now close to overflowing with candy, in both hands at her stomach. She looks at you with a look too knowing for a seven year old, then continues. “Katie is a tattle tale.”

“I see,” you nod.

“But I want ones like Jessica’s!” She cries, arms extending with the weight of her treasure trove before she pulls it back up. “They go dark in the sun!”

“It’s not the same,” she whines. “And then when we went to the optom- uhm.”

“But you already have sunglasses,” you reason, picturing the little red plastic pair you’ve had to run back for when out on walks many times. Grace hefts the pumpkin again and you give in, lifting the bag from her grasp and burying your wand in with the candy. You soften when she grabs your hand with a deep sigh.

“The optometrist?”

“Yeah, when we went to see him, he said my eyes were perfect!”

“Well, that’s good.”

“No!” She yells, dramatically, pulling on your arm with her whole weight until you have to heave yourself back up. You stifle a giggle at her distraught expression. “Because now I’ll never get glasses, and everybody has them.”

“Well, first of all, I’m sure not everybody has them,” you say, smiling down at her grumpy face. “And secondly, you shouldn’t just want something like glasses because other people have them, even if it was everybody else. You can’t just live your life just trying to be like everyone around you.”

“I know,” she mumbles. Then, catching your raised eyebrow, “I know!”

You round the corner to her street, and by the time you’re approaching her house, she’s moved comfortably on to the next topic of her candy eating schedule for the next three days. “Because Jessica saves all her Skittles for last,” Grace explains, her position now firmly against being anything like Jessica. “Which is stupid, because you should have the best candy first.”

“Mm? Why’s that?”

Grace looks at you with a frown. “Because the best comes first,” she tells you, with the tone of somebody kindly trying to hold in their frustration with an imbecile.

“Of course, silly of me to ask. Hi, Mrs. Miller!”

Grace’s Mom was clearly waiting for you near the front door, already out and standing on the front steps as you walk up the front path. Grace holds her hands out to take her bucket back, launching forward when she’s got ahold of it. “Mom! Look at all my candy!”

“Whoa! There’s no way you’ll be able to eat all that!” Her Mom says, eyes comically wide. “Think you need someone to help you out, hm?”

Grace shrieks indignantly, running under her Mom’s arm inside and clambering up the stairs out of sight without a bye nor leave for you.

“Everything went okay?” Her Mom asks, smiling when you give her your usual answer, all fine. “Will you be okay getting home? I can get her back down if you need a ride.”

“Oh, um,” you check either side of the street, feeling suddenly warmed inside at the sight of Eddie’s van parked at the end of the road. Now that you’re concentrating on it, you’re sure you can hear the music blasting behind glass. “No, it’s okay. That’s my boyfriend.”

“Ah, Eddie.” She smiles, then smacks her teeth as she, too, registers his music. “Maybe tell him to keep it down next time? I don’t mind but I already get monthly phone calls from Mrs O’Hara about the sound of the lawnmower.”

“Oh, sorry. I’ll do that,”

“Okay,” she says, calling after you as you start up a fast pace towards Eddie. “You have a good night!”

You pull your cardigan sleeves down over your hands to fight the chill as you move, smiling when you can properly make out Eddie sitting in the front seat. He had a special D&D night planned when he dropped you off at Grace’s earlier. While your costume sat folded in your bag all day, he’d gone to school dressed all in black, even his white Reeboks swapped out for a pair of knockoff doc martens he’d launched himself towards when he caught sight of them at the thrift store. They’d fit him just fine with three pairs of socks.

This morning, sitting in his van, he’d barely managed to control his excited twitches while you lined his eyes with a cheap black pencil from the drugstore. Your work is a little smudged now, but on him, it looks even better than before. Which makes sense, you think. Eddie doesn’t suit neat lines.

“Hi Princess!” He calls, turning the music down enough that his excitement is just audible through the glass as you approach.

“Not a Princess,” you remind him as you climb in, turning your back to shake your shoulders and display the blue net wings. “A Fairy God Mother.” You settle back into the seat, shivering away the chill that had gooseflesh rising over your body. Eddie rubs your arm over your cardigan, and you take the opportunity to grab his hand. As much as you want to warm your cold fingers, it’s mainly just to touch him. “How was the game?”

His grin turns sharp as he leans back in his chair, chin tilted up. “So fucking good. I have them right where I want them. I thought for a second Lucas had me worked out. He hesitated when they were getting to the caves, but then he just went along with it. I can’t wait till next week.” He lets go of your hand long enough to start up the van before returning his open palm to the space between you for you to take hold of him again. “How is Princess Grace?”

“Increasingly despotic. She executed like five of her toys before we went out trick or treating.”

“Jesus,” Eddie laughs. “What for?”

“Well, her not-so-wise Fairy God Mother,” you start, gesturing to yourself. “Made the mistake of telling her about royal food tasters? Now there’s a poisoning attempt every few days.”

“Very active imagination, this girl. Violent, but active.”

“Mm, I think most girls play that way. When I was little- Well, me and May, we’d act like witches sometimes? And make potions out of mud and sticks and stuff. And talk about who we would curse.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. “And which poor soul had earned this spite, pray tell?”

“Did you ever have Mr Gilmour?”

“Oh, Gilmour, yeah, I fuckin' hated that guy!” Eddie yells. His eyebrows furrow. “I threw up during gym in seventh grade and the sadistic prick made me finish running a mile.”

“Yeah, I forgot about that till now.” His brows stay taught for a second longer, then he shakes his head a little, tapping his fingers along your knuckles. “Too bad I didn’t have you around then, coulda cursed him for me a little earlier.”

“Oh, Eddie, that’s horrible.”

“I would have,” you promise. “But you were telling me about the game. Did you get Dustin with the, um, venom troll?”

“Not yet. We didn’t get as far as I’d have wanted before they had to go. I mean, what fourteen year old has a curfew? I didn’t, and I turned out alright. But I’ll get him next week. I can’t wait to see his face - that little punk thinks he’s so smart, but he is pre-dictable.”

Eddie continues describing the campaign, the traps he’s set for them that he’s sure they’ll run into, the whole drive to his place, excited and animated as he usually is on the rare occasion you get to see him after Hellfire, wound up from the events of the day. He only slows down when you’re settled on his couch. Sneakers left at the door, wings, tiara, and wand abandoned on the kitchen table, wrapped up in his arms as the opening titles of Theatre of Blood play.

Eddie’s so warm, and unusually still when you sit with him like this. Being cuddled up to him puts you in mind of your aunt’s black cat. She spends the first couple hours of every visit pretending that she isn’t interested in being anywhere near you. Then, after letting her sniff your hand, rubbing gently between her ears, she darts up on your lap, her soft heat spreading through you.

Eddie might not admit it, at least not verbally, but he likes being petted the same way. You’ve seen his eyes flutter when you play with his hair, heard the gentle sighs he lets out when you touch his cheek. Now, leaning into his chest, rubbing lazily at his torso, you can feel the way his body relaxes into the couch under your touch. It makes you smile at the TV even as Vincent Price swears revenge on all his critics.

You turn your head just a little, trying to be subtle as much as possible so you can look at him properly. Eddie’s eyes, which in sunlight can be bright as copper, are dark and focused in the electric light of the TV. The light freckles that dotted the tops of his cheeks and nose during Summer have faded from the cloudy days and early sunsets, leaving only his soft pale skin. His lips, as always, are soft looking and pink, still shiny from the last time his tongue peeked out, set in a near constant subtle pout.

You sigh gently, and in turn breathe in the remnants of smoke and laundry detergent from his shirt, the fading spice of his drugstore aftershave.

“You know I picked this movie out special,” he says, only his eyes moving to fix you with a mockingly suspicious expression. “Vincent’s a master.”

You’re surprised to find you’re not ashamed at having been caught. “M’just looking at you.”

“Therein lies the problem, sweet thing. One minute you’re just looking. Next thing I know my head’s trapped between your thighs.” This time he leans in properly. “Wicked temptress.” He whispers it, his breath warming your face.

You think he’ll kiss you then, but instead he relaxes back into the couch with a sigh. “M’just lucky you weren’t dressed up all day.” His hand tugs at the hem of your skirt, then spreads out just above your knee. “I wouldn’t have been able to think about anything else. It’s a miracle I even got the movie playing instead of trying to touch you.”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” you answer, trying not to sound too eager.

“I bet,” he says, eyes shining. Then his face turns serious, palm coming to his heart. “But Eddie the Chivalrous would never touch a Princess without properly wooing her first.” His eyes scan over your face quickly. “I guess that means we need to finish the movie.”

He’s teasing you. He wants to push, see how much he can get you to say, if you’ll ask him outright to just touch you the way you want. Warring feelings compete to decide what you do next. Maybe months ago, when you first started dating Eddie, you would have pressed your thighs together and settled in to finish the film. A part of you still calls for that, screams that whatever you say won’t be right.

You stare at Eddie now. His eyes still lined dark, the smirk he’s trying to hide. Your toes curl just looking at him, and the thought escapes naturally. “You don’t look like Eddie the Chivalrous, right now.”

Eddie blinks slowly. His head tilts. “No? Who do I look like, then?”

Now, something like shame creeps back in, and you wish you’d just settled down to watch the movie.

You haven’t ever put a name to it before. In your fantasies, the ones that appear unprompted when you’re alone in your bed and you haven’t been able to touch him in a couple days, Eddie’s always Eddie, but sometimes just a little different.

Maybe Eddie the Chivalrous is the right name for how you first thought about him like that, calling you Princess as usual but meaning it. You thought about him as your knight and guard, sworn to protect you, breaking all the rules by laying you down and treating you gently, better than any lord or Prince you could be promised to.

Then you’d think about his laugh, the one that comes out when you moan a little loud, or lose your patience and try to direct his hands or his tongue to where you need him. The mocking gasp and teasing tone that often comes along with it, you want it bad, huh, Princess? You think about an Eddie who’s like that all the time, teasingly mean with you, dark and dangerous to everyone else, finding you alone in your soft bed, holding your hands above your head and- and-

People already think you’re weird.

You give in to the sudden hot shame, pressing your face to Eddie’s chest lest he read your expression so perfectly that he works it all out. You whisper into his shirt, more to yourself than him. “I’m so weird.”

“Well, s’a good thing you’re with me then, mm?” He says, big hand moving to stroke the back of your neck. “Cause if you got a fantasy, like, something you think about when I’m not around. You know I won’t judge you for it, right?”

“I know.” It comes out muffled against his shirt but it’s certain. It’s instinctual, now. You’re as sure that you don’t need to worry about Eddie judging you as you are that the sun will rise tomorrow morning. More and more, you find yourself talking to him the way you talk to yourself in your head. Easy and free, not waiting for the other shoe to drop. But this is different. “It’s just- It’s like-” You sigh, searching for the words that won’t come.

He hums, still rubbing your neck. “Maybe I could- I mean, do you…wanna hear one ‘a mine?” You emerge from your hiding place, leaning back into his hand to gauge how serious he is. Eddie’s eyes crinkle at the sides at having coaxed you into looking at him again. “Yeah?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes. Eddie searches his side for the remote first, pausing Vincent in the middle of another monologue. “Okay. Well, yeah, sometimes I think about- Wait no, gotta set the scene. I’ve just played maybe the best show of my life. Nothing too big,” he continues, giving you a serious look. “I’m not a sell out. We’re talking the smaller arenas, you know? Anyway, after, when I get backstage, feeling like hot shit, there’s this girl. Prettiest I’ve ever seen. And she’s wearing the band’s shirt.”

“And she’s a little shy. Can barely look me in the eye-” He catches you just as your gaze moves to his collar, pulling you back to staring, helpless, into his dark eyes. Eddie takes your hand from where it was playing with the hem of his shirt, weaving your fingers together. “She’s kinda fidgety, too.”

You swallow. “Me?”

“You, sweet thing. S’always you.” You bite the gum behind your bottom lip, holding back from grinning too much. You squirm a little under his gaze, waiting for him to speak again. “And you tell me you’ve been waiting for me,” Eddie says, voice smooth and quiet. “You tell me you’re my biggest fan. And you can’t quite say everything you wanna say, but it doesn’t matter, cause I’ve got you worked out. So I get real close,” he says, his face disappearing as his mouth moves towards your ear, “and I ask if you want me to touch you?”

“And I do,” you continue for him, shivering again at the little groan Eddie lets escape from his throat.

“Mm hm, real bad.” His eyes reappear, scanning over each part of your face. “So bad you wanna earn it. Wanna show me I was right to pick you and not some other girl. You get on your knees for me.” Eddie licks his lips quick. “And I know you’re kinda inexperienced, but it’s good, the best I’ve ever had. You know why?” You shake your head, gaze darting between his eyes and his mouth. You watch his lips move around his words. “Cause you’re so fucking grateful for it.”

“Mm. And when I decide you’ve earned it, I lay you back on a couch somewhere. A green room or a tour bus or something. And I show you you were right to wait for me.” You shiver. It’s a delicious thrill to picture Eddie that way, completely new to you, a total stranger, yet so sure of what he can take. “And after that?” He says, giving the back of your neck a squeeze. “I keep you.”

“Eddie.” You feel your heartbeat between your legs, wishing he would touch you there now, or even put you on your knees the way he wants so you could show him you’re as grateful for him here and now as you are in his fantasy.

The fantasy fades when Eddie kisses you. With the press of his lips, the taste of Dr Pepper on his tongue, he’s your Eddie again, familiar and perfect. You’re still floating back to Earth when he pulls away. “Your turn.”

You flinch, crashing to the ground instead. “What?”

“You like Latin, right? It’s quid pro quo, sweetheart. I show you mine, you show me yours. Tit for tat. That was the deal.”

“It was implied.” Eddie answers breezily. Then, with his thumb rubbing gently at the back of your hand. “C’mon. Try? You liked mine, right?” You give a barely noticeable nod, but Eddie catches it. “Yeah. And I bet I’ll like yours.”

“There was no deal!”

“I can’t- I don’t have it all, like, thought out the way you do.”

“Well, I’m a storyteller by trade,” he says, pressing his free hand to his chest. “All my sex fantasies have lore. And we can build on yours, if it needs it.Alright. I’m not Eddie the Chivalrous right now. Who am I?” He tilts his chin to where you have started playing with his rings, twisting each round his fingers in turn. “Apart from Eddie the Stress Toy.”

“It’s not- You’re just-” You swallow, rubbing your thumb over the metal skull sitting where a wedding ring would go. “You’re just somebody…somebody I shouldn’t want.”

“Intriguing. And you are?” Your face flames. You mumble it, barely opening your lips, and Eddie squints. “Mm?”

You sigh. “Princess.”

“Always,” Eddie replies, ducking his head to make sure you see his face, reassuringly still smiling. “Okay. I can work with this. Maybe I'm…Eddie the Banished. I tried to take power for myself by force but I failed.” He brings your hand to his mouth, kisses the thin skin at your wrist. “And I’ve returned, because I realised I don’t need to win a battle. I just have to…take the Princess?”

You clench around nothing. “Yeah.”

“Fuck, yeah. C’mon, sweet thing.”

Your gaze follows him as he stands. “You want- Right now?”

“Why not? We’re all dressed up. The time is now.” Eddie pauses his excitement when he registers the fact you’re still sitting. “If…if you want.”

“I do,” you breathe. “But I can’t, y’know, talk like you.” You just know Eddie already has some dialogue thought up, things he can say as the character he’s just come up with that will make you dizzy. “I’ll get stuck.”

“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t,” Eddie says, squatting down in front of you, hands spread out on your knees. “I don’t mind taking the lead. Besides, the Princess would be kinda nervous anyway, right? If you’re not supposed to want me. The outlaw, the traitor. You’ve been told about all the terrible things I’ve done, what I tried to do for power. Now you feel guilty about what you really want from me. And I’ve been thinking about you while I’ve been on the run, living rough- You know, this is good stuff,” he says, interrupting himself and looking round. “You got a pen? I should maybe write some of this down- No. After, sorry.” He gives you a sheepish grin, then leans in close. “Don’t think there’s much chance I’ll forget this, anyway.”

He stands then, hand extended to you with wiggling fingers for you to take and let him guide you through to his room. Eddie hums when his door is closed, shutting out the world beyond the frame. “Shoulda done this at yours,” he says, sitting you down on the mattress. “In your pretty Princess bed.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say breathlessly, meaning it entirely. All that matters is it’s him. He’s the only person you could do something like this with.

“Okay, I need a little more. You shouldn’t want me, I’m…morally grey, let’s say. Chaotic neutral. Am I mean?”

“Kinda,” you answer. “You’re…selfish?”

“Selfish,” he repeats.

“Just like, y’know. It’s like-” Eddie’s hands spread at the sides of your thighs, teasing the skin at the hem of your skirt. You want them everywhere. “You know I want you. That I’ll…do things for you. And you take advantage. ”

There’s a pause. “I think I’m following. Things somebody like you shouldn’t do?” You nod quickly, cheeks burning as you watch him work it out. “You wanna get your mouth on me, Princess?”

You fight the instinct to hide, the urge to look away, the voice telling you to deny everything, take it back. Instead, you start playing with the hem of his shirt again, soft cotton between your fingers.

“Mm hm.”

“Shit. Okay. Anything-” His voice cracks a touch, and he clears his throat before he speaks again. “Anything else?”

“It’s not like- Even though you’re mean, you still- With me, you feel-” Now you do have to look away, staring at where your fingers are fiddling with the black fabric. He can read you too well, and you don’t want him to see exactly what you want from him. “You-”

You love me.

“I feel…how I feel about you?” He suggests.

You bite the gum behind your lip to stop yourself asking exactly what that means. “Yeah.”

“Okay, good. Hard to pretend anything else.” Eddie leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, long enough that your whole body relaxes into it, your mind settling on Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. When he pulls away, it’s easy to answer his question. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Eddie stands to full height, his shoulders back. He tilts his head, expression shifting. From your Eddie, with chestnut eyes and his perfect, dimpled smile, to a smirking man with a dark gaze excited to ruin you.

“I’ve been looking for you, Princess,” he says, voice smooth and confident. A thrilled shiver runs up your spine. “Knew I’d find you eventually, but I could only hope I’d find you like this. All alone.” He takes a step towards you. “Unprotected-”

“Eddie,” you whisper.

Softness peaks through with raised eyebrows. “Good?” You nod quickly, and it disappears again as he slinks closer towards you. “I missed you, while I was away,” he tells you, soft and teasing. “Did you miss me?”

“I-” You swallow. You’re used to repeating back what Eddie says to you, in times like this, letting him guide you through everything he wants to hear from you. But you don’t want to just watch him do this for you. “No.”

Eddie blinks, surprised, then he puts on a mockingly hurt face, hand over his heart. “No? You wound me, Princess.” That same hand reaches for your face, cupping your cheek. His thumb strokes gently under your eye and you can’t help but lean into him. “Or you would, if I believed you.” He tilts your head up to see him properly, standing over you. “You think I didn’t see the way you’d look at me, before I left?”

Your fingers twitch to reach out and brush at the ends of his hair as it falls towards you, but you keep them at your sides on the bed, curling into the sheets. “You didn’t leave, you-”

“Left, banished, driven out; it all comes to the same end, mm?” His eyes scan your face, down your dress and back up. “That’s you and me, Princess. Here, alone together. You gonna pretend you never wanted that?”

His thumb, callused and warm, keeps rubbing over your cheek. “I can’t want it”

“No, you can,” he presses. Eddie, your Eddie, would sit with you now, squat in front of you to talk to you at the same level. Now, his grip on your jaw tightens just enough to remind you that he could stop you looking away if you tried. “Cause I’ve had time to think about it.”

“While you were hiding in the woods?”

“While I was regrouping,” he corrects. “I realised something. I went about it all wrong.” he tells you. “It was foolish of me to try and use force to get what I want. Not when you were right here. Waiting for me.”

His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, then presses inside to the tip of your tongue.

“If I make you mine, everything else follows. That’s right, isn’t it?” He nods slowly until you copy him. “The throne, power, vengeance on everyone who tried to hold me back. And you, in my bed every night. All day if I wanted.” He pulls at your lip again as he steals his thumb back, leaning in until his breath is warm against your cheeks. “That sounds nice. Doesn't it, Princess?” You glance at his lips, wanting him to kiss you now, to take it from you. Eddie shakes his head, drawing your gaze back to his. “I wanna hear you say it. You wanted me to touch you, just like this, and more, didn’t you? Wanted me to show you how to make me happy?”

You can feel your heartbeat heavy in your chest, your breath coming quicker. Only Eddie could do this, have you convinced of a story which before tonight only existed half formed in the fantasies of your bedroom. You can feel the internal conflict as if it really is your duty to say no, and your heart’s only desire to give your next answer.

“Yes, Eddie.”

He gives you a kiss that’s half teeth, dragging at your bottom lip. Even this is different. You’re used to the gentle start, feeling him smile on your mouth. He breathes deep through his nose, pulls from you so suddenly that you make to follow him until he presses a hand to your shoulder.

“And I will. Get on the floor.” Eddie steps back, and it doesn’t even occur to argue with him now. You slide off the mattress easily, knees falling to the carpet without looking away from him. There’s a pause. He speaks quietly, as if he doesn’t want an invisible audience to hear. “You comfy? You want the pillow?”

“No,” you answer, heart aching. “I’m okay.”

“Okay.”

You watch the way he steels his face again, looking at you on your knees in front of him like that’s where you’re meant to be. His hands work at his belt, a soft hiss escaping when he presses his palm down the front of his pants. His head tilts back, displaying his thick neck, the rising pinkness across his pale throat, and he breathes a laugh. “Now, Princess- Wait!” You jump at the suddenness of Eddie pulling his hand from his pants only to clasp them at his waist as he half-jogs towards the door. “Just a second. Don’t move!”

Eddie disappears through the door, mumbling to himself. His words are faint but it’s clear enough that he is looking for something. You close your eyes, focusing on his voice, however fuzzy. You never thought you could have something like this. Someone like Eddie. Someone safe. So safe that you can abandon yourself to fulfilling a silly fantasy thought up under the covers of your bed.

Something catches your hair and you open your eyes to find him standing over you again. The tip of his tongue curls over his top lip as he places the plastic silver tiara just so on your head. When it’s as he wants it, his teeth show with his smile. “Perfect,” he says, pressing two fingers to your chin and turning your head each way. “My Princess, mm? I’m going to show you what it is to be mine.”

Eddie reaches into his pants to pull himself free. His hand drags over the shaft, quick and dirty, just for a moment’s relief if the clench of his jaw the second he stops is any indicator.

You think you know what to do now, tipping your chin, opening your mouth, ready to take him. Only he angles his head away from your tongue. You peer up at him in confusion, watch the way his excitement plays out on his face. “C’mere, Princess.”

Cupping your cheek with his spare hand, he guides you to the base of his cock, where he is softest. Your lips graze the fuzzy skin of his balls and Eddie makes a noise that has you squirming for the lightest touch between your legs. You kiss delicately, blinking up at him, watching his thumb rub over the head of his cock, catching wetness to ease the slow movement of his hand. He taps his fingers on your cheek gently. “Open up. Want your tongue.”

Your toes curl. You want to taste him here, aching at the smell of him; like his neck at the end of the day in Summer, his sweat and musk, fading body wash. You want to make Eddie feel good so badly, you think you might do whatever he asks as long as he looks at you the way he is now.

You reach for him, palm settling on his knee where denim meets exposed skin. Opening your mouth, you lick quickly at the seam of his balls, taste salt on soft skin. He groans, fingers flexing around your jaw. “That’s it,” he encourages. “Fuck yes,” Eddie bites out when you lick broad and wet up to the base of his cock, thinking of his wide tongue drawing upwards from your pussy to your clit. “Fuck, yes.”

He draws you back, smiling down at you. It makes your face burn, but you struggle between looking him in the eyes and staring at his cock. His balls are pink and wet from your attention, his hand moves steadily over his length, drawing folds of skin over his thick head and back.

“Want you to suck on them a little,” he tells you. The pause he leaves gives a moment for you to squeeze at his knee, as if presenting your open mouth wouldn’t be enough to show your agreement. He drags the weight of his balls over your chin to your wet tongue, listing off curses when your lips close just enough to suck gently. Eddie’s hand moves faster over his length, the curve of his fingers brushing your forehead with each tug.

Eddie’s groans are all that matter now. His sack is heavy, falling past your lips the wider you open your mouth. “So fuckin’ full cause of you,” Eddie bites. You hum, closing your eyes, his hips stutter. First towards the warmth of your mouth and then away entirely, replacing his sack with the head of his cock tapping against your tongue.

Eddie gasps when you lap at his leaking tip. “Can I-” He pauses, rephrases, puts on the right tone. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth now, Princess.”

He watches you carefully, gives you time to tell him no. You squeeze his knee once more, gaze moving from his dark eyes to his cock. You press a quick kiss to the swollen head, a darker pink than the rest of him where it peeks through folds of skin, then let him press your head back against the mattress.

Eddie’s cock glides smoothly over your tongue to the top of your throat. “Fuck,” he breathes, rolling his hips. “M’starting to think this is what you wanted the whole time.” He eases further, just past the entrance of your throat. It’s easier, like this. You are more open to him with your head tilted back this way. He holds himself in the warmth of your mouth, watching you blinking back tears to try and keep him clear in your gaze. Finally your throat protests, and Eddie draws back till you can suck at his head, the exposed length of his cock shining with your spit. You gaze at him, wanting him to be proud of you for taking him deeper than you have before. He makes a soft encouraging noise, but Eddie like this won’t give you the validation you want so easily. “Teased me for so long. I think I deserve to take what I want, now.”

Eddie thrusts slowly at first, easing you in despite his words. The hand that was on your cheek now stroking at your heated forehead.

You like it like this.

You liked having him in your mouth the first time, and every time after that. Like watching him shake, hearing him groan and whine, and knowing that you’re the one making him like that. You like focusing on him; lick here, nip there, let him feel you moan around him. Now, you don’t even have to think about how best to please him. You can focus on your breathing, taking air in through your nose when he pulls back enough. And on Eddie and how he looks as he takes his pleasure from you.

Eddie’s so beautiful. His dark hair frizzes around his face, eyes crinkling at the sides when he closes them and groans into the air. His neck is pink, a pretty blush crawling up to his cheeks as his thrusts speed up. “We’re gonna do this all the time, Princess, you hear me?” He grits, fingers curling into the sheets at the side of your head. You moan in answer, pleased when it makes his cock twitch in your mouth, his tip dipping deep enough past the entrance of your throat that you can’t blink away the wetness that springs to your eyes. “You’re gonna be in my bed all the time, maybe I’ll tie you up, mm?” He presses deep again, then holds steady. When the tears collected at the corners of your eyes start to fall, he wipes them away before they can reach the apples of your cheeks. “Keep you here, just for me. Don’t need to see or talk to anyone else ever again.”

If your head weren’t fuzzy, you’d start questioning why that makes you ache. Eddie withdraws his cock from the top of your throat and you only take a second to gasp in the air you need before following him, reaching up to touch the inches of his cock your mouth still can’t quite cover. Eddie laughs through a moan at the feeling of you jerking his cock into your mouth, licking wet at the end of him. “You want that, huh? Hey-” He drags you away from his cock, leaving you with wet, pleading eyes looking up at him. “You want that?” Your mouth opens, then closes. Your hips roll, seeking friction you can’t get while kneeling like this. Eddie’s eyes flick down, lips turning up at the sight. “Get on the bed for me, mm?”

Eddie reaches a hand out to help you sit up on his mattress. Then he pulls his shirt off over the back of his head, exposing all the soft pale skin and dark ink of his torso. You pull your dress up too, knocking your tiara in the process. When the dress is off entirely, Eddie’s there in an instant to fix it for you, his fingers caressing your cheek when he’s done. “Hey, uh. Am I doing alright? Is this the sort of thing you imagined?”

“This is better,” you tell him earnestly, loving how pleased he looks. You’re learning that this, the pleasure gained from praise, is something you and Eddie share. You love it when Eddie calls you good, or smart, or sweet. When he tells you that you’re good at something he’s teaching you. In turn, Eddie likes it when you tell him how good he makes you feel, that he’s doing everything right, that he’s looking after you exactly how you want it.

He kisses you, and it’s softer this time until he bites gently at your bottom lip as he’s pulling away. “C’mon and lie down, Princess,” he says, guiding you to lay down. You press your legs together, knees bent and feet flat to the mattress as Eddie climbs up after you. His hands stroke up and down your thighs, making you giggle softly as he passes ticklish spots. It relaxes you enough to let him guide your legs open and back, allowing him closer. Eddie tilts his head, thumbing the little blue bow at the waistband of your panties. “You really want me to tie you up?”

Without thinking, you glance quickly at the handcuffs hanging from his door. You feel the beat of your heart against your chest, wondering if you’re ready for that, knowing really that you’re not. Eddie’s hand cups your cheek, directing your gaze back to him. He kisses your knee. “Not tonight, Princess.” He leans in, whispers. “And only ever if you really want, okay?”

“I know, Eddie,” you answer. And you do. You know that as much as Eddie is teaching you, seemingly leading you along to each new experience, in truth he’s making sure you set the pace.

“Take this off for me,” he says, pulling at the strap of your bra. You reach underneath your back to unhook it, shimmying it off your arms and letting it drop to his floor. Once you’re settled, he takes both your hands in his, pulling them up over your head. You can’t help but giggle, feeling both nervous and giddy. “Hold onto the headboard?” You follow the instruction, wrapping your fingers around one of the wooden slats. Stretched like this, chest presented to him, you feel open and exposed, your nipples tightening from the cold air and from Eddie’s attention. “Don’t let go, mm?”

He leans down, kissing from the base of your neck down the skin between your breasts, his hair dragging behind him, tickling the sensitive skin. He leaves a wet mark on the curve of your left breast, the sting of his teeth quickly soothed by his tongue. When he takes the tight bud of your nipple between his lips, your whole body tenses. It’s a test of your submission, if you can last with only your memory of what it feels like to tangle your fingers in his hair. If you can bear not to tug at it when he flicks his tongue like that.

Your hands tighten around the wood, hips tilting to find his cock where he tucked it back in his boxers, still hard and throbbing between your legs. The friction, however light, against where you have been waiting for him all evening, is too good to give up, and you keep searching for his hardness to rub against.

Eddie releases your breasts with a grin. “You want it bad, huh, Princess?”

You whine, melting when he presses his hips forward to give you more delicious friction along your pussy. He huffs a laugh, sitting up and quickly reaching out for the pack of Trojans on his bedside. You watch him kneel between your legs, the way he fists his cock while he tears at the foil square with his teeth, his desperation to roll the condom over his length. Eddie shuffles forward on his knees and presses his wide hands to the back of your thighs. He gently guides your legs back, hitching your hips up for better access to your pussy, wet and swollen under his gaze.

“Wanted this for so long, Princess,” he says. “You’ve been waiting too, hmm?”

“Yes, Eddie. Been waiting so long.” You nearly cry from relief when his cock latches at your entrance, then from despair when he stills instead of filling you. The headboard creaks from your squirming. “Please,” you whisper, sounding pathetic in a way that would embarrass you if you weren’t aching from the emptiness.

Eddie stretches you perfectly as he presses inside your slick cunt. The tease of pain feels good now that your body recognises what it means, where Eddie filling you up leads. “Good?” He asks, once he’s deep enough inside that the curls of hair above his cock are teasing your clit.

You mean to answer properly, but the intention is overtaken by the need for him to move. Waiting for him, your fingers tighten around the wood so much you swear there will be marks from your nails. “Eddie.” It comes out whinier than you intended, but he certainly doesn’t mind.

“Eddie,” he mimics breathily, his teeth showing as the heat of pleasant humiliation crawls up your spine. He doesn’t keep you waiting any longer, snapping his hips to draw back and press deep again through your clenching cunt.

You’ve been under him every time, but like this you feel helpless. Hands voluntarily useless, body tilted up and legs opened by his hands, your body presented to him and positioned perfectly for him to set the pace. It feels right for this - you know now what the romance novels you hide under your bed mean when the heroine is taken.

Your toes curl when Eddie’s hips roll just right, the heavy head of his cock hitting the end of you. When he reaches between you to press a thumb to your clit and rub in tight circles, your body tilts, hips trying to chase the pleasure, only for Eddie to press you back down to where he wants you.

“I like it,” you answer. “I like it, Eddie.”

“You like it, like this, hm?” Eddie asks. You blink at him slowly, wondering if it’s your boyfriend or Eddie the Banished asking. “Tell me.”

He shakes his head like he can’t believe it, hair shaking. “Knew you would. Pretty Princess just needed to be fucked right, mm?” You shudder, tightening around his cock enough that he gasps, “fuckfuckfuck. S’good. It’s so good, honey.”

You breathe a laugh. “Princess, to you.”

“My apologies,” he says, snapping his hips to land heavy against the spot at the back of your pussy. You gasp, legs kicking out against his grip involuntarily only for him to tighten his grip and push them back to where he wants them. You can hear how wet you are, the sound of him moving inside you as loud as the bed springs, as loud as your moans. “Mine now, aren’t you, Princess?”

You nod easily. “Yes.”

“Gonna give me everything I want from now on, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes-”

“Made it so easy for me. Should have just done this in the beginning, just taken you for myself.”

“Yes. Yes, Eddie.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, head tilting back as his hips speed up. “Fuck, I can’t- Can’t get enough of that.” When he looks back to you, the detached, mocking look is gone. He’s all intensity and warmth, your Eddie again. Your whole body tightens. “Tells me everything I need to know when you say my name like that.” He gives you a mean thrust, tongue peeking out as he watches where you’re connected, the slick coating his cock, before his gaze returns to your pleasured, sweaty face. “You’re so fucking good, you know that? So fucking good, the way you talk to me. Telling me what you want. Not gonna hide anything like that from me again, are you?”

“Nuh,” you manage, legs twitching. “Eddie.”

”Again,” he gasps. “Please. My sweet girl-”

“Eddie. Eddie-”

Maybe you keep chanting his name, maybe you cry it out, maybe you stop altogether to scream out instead. You don’t know. You just know he’s all you’re thinking of as the pleasure crests, spreading out from the back of your cunt through your body until it’s intense enough you think you might cry. Then it fades to the gentle delight of Eddie still moving inside you, the warmth and weight of his cock when he buries himself deep. You hear him groan, feel the potential for bruises blooming where his fingers dig into your thighs. Then it’s his weight easing down on top of you, the ache in your shoulders and your legs as you let them relax before wrapping yourself around him.

You finally get your hands in his hair. The roots are damp from sweat, his curls tangled in knots. Eddie’s face is pressed so fully to the space between your breasts that you’re not convinced he can be breathing. He mumbles something that’s lost to your ears, then tilts his head up till you can see his face, and his goofy smile. Your heart aches even as you giggle. Then he’s crawling up your body to kiss you, his mouth warm and tasting like the sweat from his upper lip.

“I’m gonna pull out now but I want it known that it’ll take amazing strength of will on my part.”

He does so, disappearing from the bed for less than five seconds to throw out the condom before flopping next to you again and opening his arms to let you clamber into his hold again, you try to fight the rising worries by pressing your face into his neck. He hisses at the scrape of the plastic tiara under his chin, taking it off himself before returning to stroke at your temple with his fingers. “How do you feel, sweet girl?”

It takes you a minute to answer, sorting through all the complicated feelings that emerged the second Eddie wasn’t inside you anymore. “Good,” you murmur. Then, “weird.”

You hate how fast it all happens so soon after something so special. You feel overwhelmed and tired, like you want to scrub yourself raw under hot water, like you want to curl up in Eddie’s arms and smell like him forever. You feel like you don’t want to ever be touched again, but the thought that Eddie won’t makes your heart sore. You wish you were normal. You wish you didn’t have weird fantasies. You wish you didn’t feel guilty about what you want.

Eddie holds you tight against him, and you let yourself feel the comfort of that. Eddie doesn’t think you’re weird, or gross, or immoral. Eddie won’t ever leave you alone to cry and scratch at your crawling skin.

He presses his lips to your forehead, mumbles against your skin. “Gonna let me look after you?”

He keeps you with him while he runs a bath. You’re wrapped in a towel while he runs around naked, giving you mock coquettish looks over his shoulder every now and then until he gets a giggle from you. As steam starts to rise from the tub, he searches through the cabinet under the sink before emerging with a bottle filled with suspiciously bright orange liquid. “We don’t have bubble bath but, uh, this is six-in-one.”

You try sitting in the water together, wrapped up in him, but the pins and needles come too fast, eight limbs not quite fitting as they should. You end up facing him, legs tucked up to your chest, watching the water drip from dark ends of his hair.

“Not as romantic as I’d hoped,” he says.

“It’s okay. I like looking at you.”

His dimples show. Sweetest boy on Earth. He splashes at you a little, waiting for you to smile before talking. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” you answer honestly. Somewhere between giggling at Eddie rushing to his bedroom to fetch towels for you both, a hair tie for you, with his hands covering the crack of his ass while leaving his dick uncovered and him quietly insisting on taking the side of the tub with the tap at his back, the grey cloud hanging over you faded. “Cause of you,” you say, splashing him back.

Eddie smiles, resting his face against his knee. “Is there anything I can do, you know, to make it better, like, before it happens?” He reaches for your hand in the water. “Cause it hasn’t, in a while. I know that this was, like, different, but if I did something-”

“No,” you interrupt. “It wasn’t you.” Eddie lets that sit for a while, waiting for you to continue. “When it’s just me and you, it’s like-” You swallow. “Sometimes I feel like I’m being really, actually myself for the first time in my whole life.” Eddie’s eyes are so soft, looking at you now. “And I know that you won’t ever judge me for…my fantasies, or whatever. But then it’s like, it’s almost like- Like without even wanting to, I imagine what other people would say, if they knew the stuff I told you. If they saw how I am, when it’s just us. And then I just feel like, even though they’re not there, it’s ruined it.”

Eddie squeezes your hand, sighs with his whole body. “That sounds exhausting.”

Tears prick in your eyes even as you laugh without real mirth. “It is.”

“Well, you know this stuff really is always going to be just me and you. Right?”

“I know, Eddie.”

“I wish I could fix it for you, sweet thing.”

You close your eyes tight, trying to force back the tears. You swallow the lump in your throat, thinking, me too. Instead, you sigh, remind yourself that however hard it is now, you’re sure it used to be worse. Before you had Eddie and his humour, his touch, his kindness. “You make it better, Eddie. I promise.”

He’s perfectly gentle with you the rest of the evening, curling back up with you on the couch when you’re dry to restart Theatre of Blood. You let yourself sink into his chest, playing with his rings. You are just about engrossed in the story again, watching with sick fascination as the first critic is stabbed like Julius Caesar. Then, a thought suddenly occurs.

“Did…did you say the soap was six-in-one?”

“Sure did,” Eddie answers. “Face, body, hair, laundry, pets and dishes.”

“That’s why it smells like the terrier next door.”

Eddie hums, lifts your hand to his face and sniffs. “You mean that’s why we smell like the terrier next door.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x shy!reader

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juyeonszn · 1 year

Text

SAME DREAM, SAME MIND, SAME NIGHT

PAIRING kim younghoon x f!reader

WORD COUNT 3.60k

GENRES smut ﹒little bit of fluff ﹒little bit of crack tbh

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, fawn when she can’t get enough of the brothers best friend trope, hyunjae and jacob are side characters that never actually make an appearance, younghoon is wearing a ghostface mask for 2 seconds 😵‍💫, reader is down bad, younghoon is also down pretty bad, size kink — the obvious yk, he’s big everywhere tbh, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, missionary/lowkey mating press towards the end LMFAOOOO i’m sorry i got carried away, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, pussy drunk!younghoon (i lied he’s down horrendous), creampie, the couch is a paid actor, last scene is kinda silly kinda cute, lmk if i missed anything!!

SUMMARY hyunjae really shouldn’t have left you home alone.

MORE and day 3 of fawntober has made her entrance 😈 i’m curious,,, how do we feel about these so far? i feel like i’m focusing on this challenge more than i am my school work 😭😭

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri

Being home alone has never been much of an issue for you. All throughout high school, you stayed home by yourself when your parents worked late and your brother had practice. And even now, well into adulthood, you’d never really been afraid of being alone.

If it were up to you, you’d live all by yourself. But unfortunately, rent was way too expensive to afford on your own. More fortunately, your brother had a spare room in his apartment for you. Pros included low grocery costs, low monthly rent, and free parking. Cons included living with your brother, living with one of his best friends, and having to deal with two grown men who sometimes acted like children.

It was a Friday night and both Hyunjae and Jacob were out, attending a Halloween party one of their friends was throwing. The holiday was only a few days away, so almost everyone you knew was hosting parties this weekend. Along with being content to stay alone in your home, you were even more so to never leave it. Going out and getting black out drunk or worse didn’t sound very appealing to you.

Nights like these were the rare occasion you got to be with yourself and some movies, snuggled with a blanket on your couch. Living with only men did not provide any luxuries except maybe someone to kill a spider every now and then. So you were abusing the fuck out of the opportunity, dressed in nothing but an oversized sweatshirt and some crew socks, a mug of hot cocoa in your hands as you watch the second installment of the Scream franchise. (Might as well get in the holiday spirit.)

There’s a knock at your door, causing you to raise an eyebrow. It was half past midnight and your brother mentioned that he and Jacob would be crashing over at Sangyeon’s after the party. You were also very much single, so you weren’t expecting anyone to come over either. The only other possible explanation was maybe a food delivery, but you hadn’t ordered anything.

You assume it’s someone at the wrong apartment and choose to ignore it, putting your focus back on the movie. Your mug raises to your lips, taking a long sip of the now lukewarm drink just as the movie’s plot begins to progress. Before you can fully revert into your concentration, there’s another knock.

A sigh escapes your mouth, setting down the mug and pausing the movie. Your sock-clad feet trudge over to the front door, expression flat as you undo all of the locks and swing it open. You jump at the sight in front of you, nearly dying of a heart attack on the spot.

A tall figure, dressed in all black and wearing a Ghostface mask stands on the other side, one arm resting on the threshold of your doorframe and their body weight leaning against it. When they realize they’ve almost killed you, they gasp.

“Oh my god, I forgot I was wearing this stupid thing.”

The person hurriedly removes the mask to reveal one of your brother’s other friends, Kim Younghoon. The tall male rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, apologizing for nearly making you faint. You clutch at your chest as your breathing stabilizes and your heart rate returns to normal.

“Jesus, Younghoon. Couldn’t you have said something before I opened the door?” You hold the heel of your palm to your forehead.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he bows slightly, his eyes drifting off to something behind you. “Woah, wait, are you watching Scream 2 right now?”

“Uh, yeah?” At that moment you notice the silly coincidence that his costume happened to be Ghostface. “Do— um— do you wanna come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” He smiles, tucking his mask under his arm and following you into the apartment. He shuts the door behind him, making sure to hit all the locks as well.

As the two of you sit at the couch and you resume the movie, you purse your lips in confusion. You were curious as to why Younghoon was here in the first place, seeing as your brother was not. He had to have known that information himself considering he was dressed like he’d just come from a Halloween party. It only made sense that it was the same one Hyunjae and Jacob attended.

“Wait, so what are you doing here?” You ask, fiddling with the hem of your sweatshirt. Shit, you weren’t wearing any pants…

“Oh! Right,” he nods, ruffling his hair a bit. “I woke up really early this morning and it was starting to catch up with me so I decided to leave Sangyeon’s party to head home. Hyunjae asked if I could stop by to check on you since it was on the way.”

A simple call or text from your brother himself couldn’t suffice? You guess the fact that Younghoon really did live close by coupled with Hyunjae’s intoxication might’ve been a factor in asking his friend for the favor. All you can do is hum in response.

You weren’t all that upset by Younghoon’s sudden appearance either, and you were more than happy to invite him into your apartment any time. Out of all of your brother’s friends, excluding Jacob, Younghoon was probably your favorite. Aside from having a little crush on his handsome face, he was the easiest to get along with and you felt comfortable around him. Sometimes you wish he was your other roommate instead.

But then again, the thought of him being so domestic around you was enough to send you into cardiac arrest, much like his accidental jumpscare from earlier. Just imagining waking up to him making coffee and breakfast in the kitchen, wearing your Hello Kitty apron, had your pulse quickening. Oh God, bumping into him exiting the bathroom after he’s showered? Nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his hips and droplets of water decorating his no doubtedly sculpted chest?

Did someone crank up the thermostat?

“Y/N? N/N. N/N… Y/N!”

You blink, snapping yourself back into reality. Younghoon waves his hands back and forth in front of your face, a cute pout on his lips. He really was not making this any easier for you. You clear your throat, hoping your face isn’t as red as it feels.

“Y-Yes?” Why did you have to stutter, you fucking loser? There you go, blowing your cover.

“I was just wondering if you’ve seen the movies before. But you kinda spaced out on me there. You okay?” He asks, face full of concern. It doesn’t do much to quiet the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. If anything, it makes it ten times worse.

“Oh… Um. Yeah, I have,” your voice wavers. “And I-I’m fine, I swear. Don’t even worry about me.”

Your efforts to convince him are futile and instead of de-escalating the situation, you just add further fuel to the fire. He leans in to you, permeating your personal bubble as he examines your expression. If he moved even closer, his lips could land on your own, and the idea of that has you shrinking in on yourself.

“Are you… nervous around me?”

Did he have any sense of self-awareness? Did he think he wasn’t intimidating in this proximity to you? Kim Younghoon’s new talent just dropped; driving you to the brink of insanity!

You swallow thickly, eyes a little wide like a deer caught in headlights. Your line of eyesight falters to his lips, even more kissable now that they’re so close to yours. You shake your head when you realize that you haven’t responded, praying and hoping you were keeping your composure.

“I don’t really believe you, Y/N,” he says, tone no louder than a whisper, but so voluminous in your empty apartment. “So, I’m gonna rephrase my question. Are you nervous to be alone with me?”

When you process his words, you come to the conclusion that, yes, you are nervous to be alone with him. Your brother and Jacob were usually around when he was, so you’d never been in this position before. You’ve never truly been alone with Younghoon. Perhaps that was because you knew you couldn’t keep your feelings to yourself, afraid you might fuck up and say something stupid to him.

A few seconds pass with nothing but the noise of the movie still playing in the background, your lips pressed together. His eyes bore into yours, dark and swirling with something that looks a whole lot like lust. Your silence is a sufficient answer for him, one of his hands coming up to support his weight on the armrest of the couch behind you. The other trails up your thigh, the sheer size of it big enough to nearly cover the expanse of your skin.

Younghoon’s lips part when he slides under your sweatshirt and finds that you’re not wearing anything underneath. His eyes flutter shut with a sigh, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

“Tell me you don’t want this, tell me no before I lose all of my self control and I can’t hold back.” He lets his forehead fall to your shoulder, voice hushed.

The better, rational part of you wants to say no. It wants to tell him that you shouldn’t do this, because what would your brother think? Hyunjae would beat his ass if he found out about the two of you, especially on the living room sofa. Hell, he’d beat your ass for sleeping with one of his friends. But the part of you that was unhinged and has dreamt of this moment for years wants to say otherwise.

That part is what has you spreading your legs, taking Younghoon’s hand and leading it to where you need him most.

“Don’t hold back.” You breathe into his ear, your free hand coming up to the back of his neck and pulling his lips onto yours.

You whimper into his mouth as he kisses you, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your lace covered clit simultaneously. He’s by no means gentle, tongue tangling with your own roughly and desperately, as if he’s been dreaming of this just as much as you. He halts his motions, creeping further under your sweatshirt to palm your bare breasts and grind his hips into yours.

Your back arches off the couch, the feeling of his large hand on your chest goading your arousal. Younghoon presses open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, sucking and nipping your supple skin, licking the abused area to soothe any pain. You can feel him even through the material of his black cargo pants, already hard for you. Without seeing it, you have an inkling of what you’re working with.

Younghoon’s always been tall, standing at six feet with broad shoulders. As long as you’ve known him, his height alone was enough to scare people away, despite the fact that he had the personality of a hyperactive puppy. But now, his body looming over yours and his touch all over your skin, you can’t help but feel turned on by his size alone.

“Can I finger you?” He asks suddenly, slowly pushing up your sweatshirt so he can expose your cute panties. You nod frantically, biting the hem of your top to keep it out his way as he pushes your underwear down your legs with one hand. “Wanna prep you as best as I can, baby.”

He smiles at you again, and in spite of being in such a compromising situation, he looks so stunning. You remember the reason why you’ve had a crush on him this long, because aside from his beauty, he was also doting and caring, willing to go above and beyond for those near and dear to him.

You squirm a bit beneath him when his middle finger glides through your folds with ease, you slick providing enough lubricant for him. He all but groans, inserting the digit into your entrance. Your moans are muffled by your sweatshirt in your mouth, his long finger so deep inside of you it brushes that one spongy spot you could never reach yourself.

Younghoon uses his thumb to circle your clit as his finger thrusts in and out of you, kissing along your jaw. He glances down and moans at the sight of your tits jostling around with each pump of his finger. He lowers his head to attach his mouth to one of your nipples, tongue flicking the sensitive bud.

There’s so much going on, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head when his finger curls and his teeth scrape the swell of your breast. If his slender middle finger wasn’t enough to send you over the edge, then the sound of him being so vocal was, vibrations spreading on the surface of your skin. Younghoon adds the slightest amount of pressure to your clit when he sinks his pearly whites into your collarbone, coaxing your orgasm.

He swallows your whines, waiting until you’ve stopped spasming under him to slow his assault. He pulls his hoodie over his head, helping you remove your sweatshirt afterward. Your chest heaves, watching with heavy eyelids as Younghoon scoots himself further down the couch. He brings himself eye level with your cunt, experimentally blowing air on your core. You shiver, biting the inside of your lip and running a hand through his hair.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he makes eye contact with you, pressing a sweet kiss to your clit. “Can't believe you’ve been hiding this from me.”

Younghoon pushes your knees up to your chest, hands digging into the fat of the backs of your thighs. The position gives him better access to your glistening cunt. He licks a long line from your hole to your pelvic bone, flattening his tongue against you and repeating once more.

“Fuck, Hoon,” you mewl, holding the back of your hand to your forehead. “That feels so good.”

He hums, lips wrapping around your clit and giving it a harsh suck. That particular action rips a loud moan from your vocal cords. He doesn’t get any gentler, sliding both his middle and ring fingers into you as he continues making out with your pussy. Your head feels light and airy, your brain incapable of producing any coherent thoughts aside from how badly you need his cock inside of you. His thick fingers aren’t enough, you need more. You need him to fill you completely.

The pads of his fingers continuously brush along your velvety walls, inching you closer and closer to your tipping point. You aren’t sure you can last much longer, especially with the promise of having him fully following this. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he wound you up and knocked you over the ledge again, like he was already so familiar with what you needed.

He swirls his tongue around your clit, alternating between curling his fingers and straightening them. It’s as if he’s doing a come-hither motion. Your whines are uncontrollable at this point, tugging at his hair with every suckle of your engorged skin. The sting on his scalp has him moaning against your cunt, the resonance shooting through your whole body.

“Shit shit, I’m cumming— I’m—“

Your hips buck up towards his mouth, his skillful tongue and fingers still working your overstimulated pussy until you’re begging him to stop. Good God, you already finished twice and he hadn’t even properly fucked you yet. You’re a panting mess beneath him when he parts with your lower lips, chin shiny with your release.

“You can give me one more, right?” Younghoon licks his lips to taste the remnants of your sweetness, wrapping them around his fingers to do the same thing. You let out a strained moan, nodding and connecting your mouths to kiss him roughly.

He laughs into the kiss, pulling back to tuck your hair behind your ear. His eyes resemble crescent moons, crinkled at the sides. His duality gives you whiplash. How could someone so sexy be so adorable at the same time? It was beyond you.

He goes to unbutton his pants, kicking them along with his underwear off his legs as he leans down to kiss you again. You gasp when you’re finally given the opportunity to see his dick, hard and flushed for you. You reach down to stroke him, reveling in the hiss he makes when your thumb glides over his sensitive tip.

You guide him to your entrance, but he pauses. “Wait, I don’t have anything on me.”

“It’s okay, Hoon,” you place a comforting hand on his cheek. “I trust you. I’m clean, I’m assuming you’re clean, and I’m on birth control. I wanna feel you— all of you.”

His head falls to your shoulder once more with a groan, his cock prodding your hole almost instantaneously. You exhale through your nose heavily, the stretch burning so good that you’re raking your nails down his back. Even the feeling of his broad shoulders and back muscles beneath your fingertips sends you into a frenzy. He’s just so huge. You’d never wanted to be ruined by someone as much as you wanted to be ruined by him.

Younghoon coos when you start to whimper, slowly pushing himself all the way in to his pelvic bone. He massages the back of your thighs, still pushed to your chest, pulling out gently before ramming his entire length back in. He does this a few more times to ensure your cunt has adjusted to his size, but the thought of you wrapped so tightly and warmly around him is enough to make him bust without going through the motions fully.

Your sweet pussy is so inviting, sucking him in like a fucking aspirator. He risks a glance down to where his hips meet yours, moaning so uncharacteristically at the sight of you enveloping his cock, coating it with your previous release. You clench when the sound hits your ears, provoking one of your own.

His thrusts are calculated, dragging them out so they’re deep rather than shallow. Despite not pounding into your brutally, like you were used to with past partners, you think you like this better. You can feel all of him this way. Every vein, every pulse, every fucking graze along your insides— as if he was meant to be there.

“You’re taking me so— fuck— so well, baby,” he breathes, voice hoarse in the crook of your neck. “Don’t know how much longer I can last.”

“G-God, you’re s-so b-big,” you cry, sinking your fingernails into his shoulder blades. “I feel so— oh my god— feel so full.”

You look so pretty underneath him, he doesn’t even care that he might go to hell for fucking you. He’d let Hyunjae murder him any day of the week if it guaranteed his spot above you, cock buried to the goddamn hilt. He places his forearm behind your knees, pressing your legs flat and practically folding you in half so he can speed up his tempo.

Younghoon throttles into you at a near animalistic pace, skin slapping on skin echoing throughout your apartment. You’re fucked stupid, noises that you can’t comprehend leaving your mouth to punctuate every single drive of his dick in your cunt and eyes fluttering shut. His tip kisses at that one spot that scratches your itch each time.

One particular gyration of his hips snaps that cord in your stomach and you’re cumming a third time, jaw going slack as your body spasms with the force of your orgasm. You produce no sound, the wave of your release cresting like a jolt of euphoria to your head, Younghoon following suit. However, his reaction is the opposite, so cacophonous and pornographic that it prolongs the twitching of your velvet-like walls, milking him dry of everything he can offer.

As both of you come down from your peaks, oxygen recirculating in your brains, Younghoon sighs and slips out of you. You wince, still so very sensitive from all three of your orgasms and how aggressively he was hitting it those last few minutes. You watch with choked groans as a combination of your cum flows out of your cunt onto the sofa.

Hyunjae was going to lose his mind.

“Shit, we gotta clean this up,” you panic, finally sobering up and moving into a sitting position. “I’d prefer to live long enough to tell you how much I like you.”

“Woah, wait,” his eyes widen animatedly. “Y-You like me?”

You gape at him, confused how after everything you just did together, he would think you didn't have feelings for him. “I just let you fuck me on the couch I share with my brother and Jacob. Do you think I’d do that if I didn’t like you?”

“I dunno. Maybe you were just really horny?” He shrugs, scratching the back of his neck shyly, like he hadn’t just rearranged your insides six ways to Sunday. You get on your knees, capturing his lips in a soft kiss that portrays all the words you could’ve ever wanted to say and more.

“Does that answer your question?” You ask, pecking them once again. “I like you so much, Younghoon. I have since, like, my freshman year of uni.”

He smiles warmly, cupping your cheek and caressing it with his thumb. “That’s funny because I’ve liked you since then, too.”

“That makes me so happy to hear,” you giggle, nuzzling into his palm. “Okay, now get up so I can deep clean this fucking couch.”

#the boyz #the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #tbz #tbz x reader #tbz smut #the boyz younghoon #tbz younghoon #kim younghoon x reader #kim younghoon smut #younghoon x reader #younghoon smut #juyeonszn #fawntober.2023🎃

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 2 years

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Yandere Best Friend

Tw: childhood abuse, divorced parents, bullying, violence, angstt, parental neglect

ageless blogs n minors DNI blease tq <3

my masterlist

hi guys after a long hiatus i come back , coping mechanism time

i wrote this like from 11pm to 3am in a frenzy so dont exepct much , ridden wih typos, contradiction,grandma misrake and idk if the reader here is fully gender neutral or i accidentally sprinkled some afab in there

thersras like a part 2 to this so eyah stayetuned

enjoys

He was there from the very beginning, that quiet boy from elementary that you shared your sandwich with when no one bats an eye at him.

He was quiet, you were considered uninteresting. Both of you are somewhat outcasts and the other children held no interest towards you and him. Perfect match for each other, instant best buddies, bonded by mutual loneliness.

Well, maybe, not instant. He was weary and so were you, it took a while before you gained his trust. He made sure you didn't stuff nasty, gritty bugs in that sandwich like how all the other kids would do. You made sure he didn't accept it just to throw it in your face.

Once it was established that you didn't add an extra ingredient and he isn't going to play bread frisbee, the door to a long and strong friendship was established. He doesn't have much to say, but he's never short on kind gestures when it comes to you. Are your bags heavy? Let him carry them, he's a strong boy; he drinks his milk and gets his healthy amount of sleep. You forgot to do your 5th grade long division homework? He is going to swap his completed homework sheets with your empty ones, he's okay with being scolded. He has some stupidly thick skin from what goes on at home.

Your yoyo is really cool, you said. You own that yoyo now. No, really, it's okay. He doesn't really need it and it made you happy when you had it in your small hands. Yes, it took him months of begging his busy, overworked, broken, divorced, struggling, knee-deep in debt dad and a couple of missed lunches to get that shiny yoyo, but he loves seeing your surprised expression and dazzling smile.

Oops, you spilled your drink all over another classmate's book, or you broke a window, or you dented a teacher's car. It doesn't matter how many people witness it, it doesn't matter what you say, he's responsible and will gracefully accept all repercussions and punishments even if that means receiving a couple more ugly bruises on his body that night.

Who doesn't like candy? He sure loves them. That's why, he uses up all his already scarce pocket money to buy you some. You protest, he's confused, don't you like candy? Yes, he knows he won't be eating a lot these few weeks because he can't afford it, but don't you like candy?

Are your hands dirty from eating all that chocolate? Here, use his white shirt as a napkin. No, really, it's okay! He's your friend, he would do anything for you... are your shoes muddy too?

Happy birthday! It's a very special day for you and him too, that's why, he saved up enough to buy you a tasty cake and a pair of beautiful promise rings made up of gold! Isn't that cool? Don't worry about how he got the money and please ignore the giant, bloodied cotton gauze on his head, please ignore his black eye, please ignore the strange burn marks on his limbs. His extra injuries are due to... him falling off a bike. You know that's not true. That's not how he got them. He is going to be really sad if you don't accept his gifts, better just shut up, smile, say thank you, kiss the boo-boos away, stuff your face with delicious cake and wear the damn ring.

Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, good night, goodbye, I love you and all the other greetings are something you hear everyday from him. Hm, the teachers are complaining that he isn't that polite to them or to the other children, all they get are silent blank stares at best, a scowl and a spitting hiss at worst.

Halloween's here, you're dressed up as a generic bedsheet ghost because its the cheapest to do. While he's dressed up as a horror movie survivor. Wow, the cuts, tattered clothes, blood, abuse marks and limping walks really sold the costume. But you and him both know very well that these aren't done using makeup or prosthetics.

You and him went on trick and treating quietly.

Aww, you both are so adorable. Candies for days. Your pumpkin buckets filled up quick, that's because your friend keeps piling his candy into yours.

Aren't chocolate bars his favorite? Yes, of course. They're so expensive, delicious and very unafforable. But why does he keep giving them to you and leaving none for himself? Because they're everyone's favorite, including yours, duh!

Such a young gentleman, he is the type to lay his coat over a puddle of water for you to cross over it.

Middle school is where children usually begin to explore the concept of romance. Maybe you saw him as a brother, maybe you weren't attracted to him at the time, maybe you wanted to put his devotion for you to the test. Whatever the reason was, you consistently friendzone him whenever he tried to court you.

But it's okay, he is willing to wait. He is willing to have his eyes sting with tears, heart broken over and over again. He is willing to grit his teeth and clench his fists while forcing a smile, watching you experiment with the idea of having a boyfriend or girlfriend with other people. He is willing to be the third wheel to every single one of your dates with other kids. Your friend is always going to be there for you no matter what, he is your unyielding safety net, he is your second choice, he is always the best alternative or default when the puppy love didn't work out. And, he found solace in that. Others come and go, he is the fucking constant.

Then, he is going to try his luck. He will do it over and over again. You're going to accept it one day.

Your friend loves flowers. He speaks the language and gives you bouquets of red roses and pink Camellias. You usually chuck it in a vase filled with water and let it wilt, they're going to be replaced anyways.

He found that the food in the cafeteria can be awful, with goopy expired milk, to half frozen pizzas, they're bound to cause some poor kid to puke their guts out later in the day. He is making sure you're not that kid, so, he dedicated what precious free time he had to hone his cooking skills. He is a busy boy, working god knows how many jobs a 12 year old can work in a day, just to fund this essential skill of his.

Middle schoolers can be so cruel, your friend may not look the most feminine, but it's the actions he does out of love that makes the children pick on him for being different. Ew! He likes flowers and cooking! Gross! Evil! Unnatural! Independent! So not Alpha!

It starts off rocky at first, bullies will sabotage him whenever they can, kick him while he's down. Ruin his stocks, call him names and vandalize his belongings, but he gets the last laugh when he makes fucking bank by selling warm, hearty, tasty meals. They're a big hit among the staff who have no time to cook for themselves and have half a brain to know eating from the cafeteria is a bad idea.

Of course, his beloved sweetheart gets to eat for free. And has the privilege to go for seconds, thirds, fourths, however much your stomach desires. Yours are always personalized to fit your palate and presented in the most appetizing way.

Soon, other children began buying his meals too. As it turns out, they fucking slap.

He began expanding, selling resold candies at a ridiculously marked up prices, but the way he marketed and packaged them, gave an illusion that he's selling a premium product. They sold out like hotcakes, while you ate wrapper after wrapper without needing to pay a single cent.

Hey, he really has a knack for business! He is raking in profits, bringing you out to eat, spoiling you with riches a self made, young entrepreneur would have, excelling in Business studies, Accounting, Mathematics and Psychology.

He began testing the limits of his trading empire, he began dabbling in service based business such as delivery, doing homework for a price, obtaining blackmail material... that is how he knew your homeroom teacher had an extramarital affair with the principal. Hmm... the principal seems to kiss his ass a lot and you get a bunch of privileges. You wonder why that happened.

His reputation grew as his shrewdness grew. Your friend was too intimidating to be bullied, as one of his business ventures includes hiring others to do some dirty work for him. You don't know the full extent of his giant conglomerate enterprise, and you don't want to know.

You remember seeing a female teacher handing him a wad of cash, her hair tousled, her clothes were messy, her lipstick smeared and weird stains were all over her body. For sure, she didn't just find it laying around in the boys' bathroom... and, there were a lot more boys requesting a bathroom break that day.

Your friend bought you the latest smartphone model on the same day too. You were disturbed with what you saw and the implications, so you asked if she even got anything out of working under him and... if she even agreed to work as... whatever she was. He just smiled, cup your cheek and told you to never, ever, ever, cheat in a relationship. Especially not with him.

He then followed up with his probably hundredth love confession for you. Which you promptly friendzone him again. Your friend would simply sigh and change the subject. Do you like your phone? He asked as you began unboxing it, the loud chatter from the mall's food court drowned the voice of doubt in your head.

His wallet is growing wider, he is growing taller, posture disciplined, voice deeper and he lost the majority of his baby fat. Giving him a sharper, meaner, leaner look, his physique is nothing to scoff at either. All those pastry batter mixing, soup stirring, skull bashing hustling and bustling sculpted those perfect abs and ass. His hair now has a healthy sheen to it since he can afford better things, his skin had no flaw and the protruding ribs on his chest is now covered up with muscular pecs.

Being pretty does have its' privileges, he observed a sale boost in his balance sheets.

Time waits for no man. Before you know it, the both of you are in Graduation togas. Smiling for the camera, you gave your friend bunny ears.

Your friend started worthless in everyone's eyes, something to poke fun at, a punching bag, forgettable and nothing serious. He transformed into this feared, revered, worshipped yet hated entity. Your friend no doubt made as many enemies as allies, that's just how it is in the business industry. Cold blooded, ruthless and absolutely bizarre to you.

He has obviously put some of the staff and students in horrible situations for his benefit and sometimes for your entertainment. They seem to genuinely see him as some sort of god, someone to cleanse them from all their sins. They... loved him. What a manipulative motherfucker.

As for you... your situation is pretty strange too. You are clearly the only person he cared about, the only person he truly ever loved and cherish. No one seem to conjure up the idea to use you against him. You seem... invisible, for the most part. And you are so grateful for that.

At least, that's what your friend wants you to think. You have no idea how many strings he has to pull to keep you safe and oblivious and innocent. You have no idea how much he had to spend to keep you pure and untainted. But, yeah. Keep believing its' due to some sort of cosmic karma system where you didn't incur any karmic debt.

It was the first time seeing his parents at this graduation ceremony, he never liked having you over at his house. They looked like how you imagined them; miserable, horrible, unhealthy and volatile. They really should not be seated next to each other, his parents looked like they're about to strangle each other and your friend at a moments' notice.

His father was smoking, plumes of grey wafted up in the open air. Ashes crumbled and dropped down to his lap. His necktie was undone and his office shirt was disheveled, much like his belt and scuffed shoes. It was a wonder how he's not escorted out of the venue yet.

His mother... she aged horribly. She looks irritated yet distant, she doesn't want to be here. Or does she not want to be with her ex husband? Maybe if they were separated by an opaque wall, the mood would be much more lifted. His mom wasn't mentioned a lot during conversations, you knew close to nothing except the fact that she gets him on the weekends.

Perhaps his mother is simply neglectful and not active, he did mention that its easier to prepare his sellable inventory during the weekends.

You're nervous to meet them, they're really unfriendly and they don't seem to care that much about their son's accomplishments.

Your friend gently wrapped his arm around your shoulders and rubbed his hand up and down your arm. As if to soothe you from the sight of his less than ideal parents.

To you surprise, he just shot them an indifferent look before leading you away. Their relationships must be unsalvageable.

The event comes to an end, your friend mingled with everyone who, the majority, had clenched fists behind their back. He then went to socialize with your parents, he knew them well and they also knew them well. Their opinions on him are lovely.

He continued his endeavors, trying out many different ventures. It was extremely dizzying with the sheer amount of businesses he had. Your friend moved out of his parents' house(s) and struggled with finding a place for a while. So he stayed over at your parents' house with you for the time being. You get to wake up to the smell of deliciousness every morning, the plants would be watered, furniture dusted, home sparkling clean. Though, he was rarely around.

Eventually, he found his footing and lived in his own place. It's a little cramped and it could qualify as a weapon of psychological warfare, but that was all he could afford at the time.

He fought tooth and nail to obtain a massive bank loan for his main business plan, he was stressing over opening his first restaurant. The logistics of it all, the raw materials, the hired help, the equipment, the advertising-- the pressure of it all was enough to break the average person, but not him. Oh, he thrived on this. He was calculating, he knew the costs, the risks and he saved up enough for a rainy day.

It took him many months, many trips to the bank, many meetings, many phone calls, emails, uncountable hours working 3 jobs a day, an eternity in the kitchen, in the sweltering heat of lit stoves heating up pots and pans, many times where he would lose his voice from aggressive marketing, persuasion, severe sleep deprivation, starvation, networking, tears, blood and sweat. There were more times than you can count with your hands that he was almost driven to insanity if it wasn't for you.

The thought of you alone was more than enough to ground him and keep his eyes on the prize, he is going to make so much money that, you and he wouldn't ever have to work ever again. You both would live happily ever after as a married couple, comfortable and never needing to worry if he could afford the next meal or keep the lights on.

That's nice. You wouldn't need to know what he went through, he doesn't want you to go through a life of hardship like how he did. You wouldn't ever need to work a day in your life.

Your friend rubbed his aching, calloused hands, ridden with cuts and scars. The golden promise ring sits around his finger, it wasn't his to begin with, he stole them from his parents when you both were kids. He found solitude knowing that your hands will never be like his, your back will not ache from overexertion, your muscles will be relaxed and your mind will be quiet, at peace. But only if he kept going. Only if he does not give up.

Everything he does, he does it for you. He thought to himself, as he rubbed his bloodshot eyes staring at the screen of his phone. It's showing that 5 more customers placed an order for his famous party platter through a popular social media app. Your friend sighed as he tucks his phone away before opening the door to his mini fridge containing all the ingredients needed for the orders. It's 11pm, he has to be at one of his workplaces at 6am tomorrow.

The day finally came where he would open the doors to his very own restaurant. There was a crowd waiting in front of the shiny, polished glass doors.

His team of service crews, cooks and baristas anxiously watched on as your friend glanced at his old, marred and cracked wristwatch. His hand was tightly gripping on the door handles as he watched the minute hand twitched. His eyes and mouth were dry, probably due to the dehydration he endured for a while now.

As soon as his accessory shows that it's time for the grand opening, he opened the floodgates.

Customers come rushing in like a torrent of water in a river. Some new, some old, some here to do their jobs as a journalist, some are his other associates, some are his estranged relatives, some are his rivals. It was an assortment of people, a mixed bag.

The Chefs are cooking up a storm in the kitchen, the wait staff are serving customers left and right, bringing them to their tables. Baristas are whipping up as much drinks as they can, as perfectly as they can. Not a single foam bubble out of place, or else all those training would have gone to waste.

It was loud, busy and fiery. Chaos yet it was controlled, Disorder but it was ordered.

Your friend was leading the flow, the rhythm. The pulse of the restaurant depended on him. He made sure everything is in line, satisfaction at an all time high and disappointment non existent. He barked commands, firm and domineering, he controls the scene with an iron hand.

Waitstaff were trained to strike up friendly conversations with customers whose orders will take a longer time, to give the illusion of speed. Cheery faces, toothy smiles, giggles and laughter filled the establishment's air, alluring aroma of cooked goods filled everyone's nostrils, making many stomachs growl. It was colourful, it was tumultuously harmonic, expression of glee would made its way to the patrons' face when their dishes gets served. All the meals go beyond their expectations, in terms of smell, texture, taste and plating.

Your friend made sure that the cooling system was working perfectly, as he works in a kitchen, the easiest way to get snappy and grumpy is to be hungry in an oven. Calming music that's faintly playing in the background also helps, but its' mostly for him and the other staff. Everyone else is too occupied with their own matters to notice.

Today should be a day of accomplishment, happiness and gratitude. Why shouldn't it be? Revenue is projected to be high, profits are guaranteed and expected to go through the roof. Logically, this restaurant will be sustainable for many decades to come.

But your friend... he is getting antsy, upset, distressed, unhappy. His staff is noticing that he isn't all there, he's getting crabbier by the second. They were baffled, everything is going well, he is handling it wonderfully and the pressure is actually slightly dying down.

Where are you? He had scanned the dining area many many times now. No sign of you... but your parents were there. That somewhat calmed him down a bit, if they're there, you should be there too... right? You're probably at the salad counter or the bathroom. He anxiously massaged his hands, where are you?

He trusts his staff to handle everything on their own. He decided to take big strides towards your parents. Your friend greeted them with a warm smile, an animated Hello. Your parents mirrored him and returned the affability.

He was desperate to see you again... oh god, how long has it been since he last saw you? Hear your voice? It must have been months. As this realization dawned on him, he felt the coldest chill run down his spine.

Did he... unintentionally neglected you in the process of building the perfect life? No, that can't be. He sent you texts everyday.

He clenched his jaw and pushed his gnawing thought away momentarily. He made small talk with your parents. It was fine until he abruptly cut them off and got to the point; Where are you?

Your parents glanced at each other and a look of discomfort washed over them. Your friend was using the table to support his weight as he leaned forward. His knuckles turning white from gripping the edge of the furniture too tightly.

They're studying abroad. They said. Your friend froze in place and widened his eyes.

What? Why didn't you tell him? Why didn't he know? Why--

He hastily whipped his phone out and frantically tapped on his cracked screen.

He trembled as he realized you never received his texts, let alone read it.

Your parents explained to him that you changed phone numbers two years ago when you left to continue your studies abroad.

Two years...? Its been two fucking years?!

Your friend began hyperventilating, his face was flushed and he was gagging and gasping. No, no, no this can't be. He is nothing like his parents! You meant everything to him, he had never intend to ignore you, he had never meant to neglect you! Your friend is losing grip on himself, he is shaking like a leaf. No one paid any attention to him, as he is simply insignificant at the moment.

Please... I-I need to call them, please let me call them! He was choking on his tears that were streaming down his face, dripping onto the pristine floors below.

Your father handed him his phone, your new number already dialed.

They're probably having an exam today. Your father tried to warn your friend, but he didn't hear a word. All he could think was you.

Your friend snatched it out from his hand and made a dash past all the staff, customers, chefs...

Until he reached the back door, upon which, he exited through it.

He sobbed, pressing the device against his ear, listening to it beep indefinitely.

The call eventually dropped because it wasn't picked up. His face was scrunched and his sniffles were bouncing off the walls and green dumpster nearby.

He tried again. The call dropped. He tried again. The call dropped.

He tried again,

Your friend crouched down to the ground and pulled his knees to his chest. His cries unheard by anyone, everyone else is in the restaurant. He is the only one at the back.

The call dropped.

I'm sorry. He mumbled repeatedly to himself.

He tried again.

I'm so sorry. He sobbed much harder this time, he cradled his face in his hand.

The call dropped.

Please forgive me. He squeezed his arm, his fingernails digging into his flesh.

He tried again.

You're always my number one. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have neglected you. He drew blood from piercing his skin with his nails.

The call dropped.

I'm sorry, I was only trying to build a better life for us. He took much shallower breaths.

He tried again

I would give up everything just to hear from you again, it means nothing to me if you're not here... with me. Please, I'm sorry. He was growing despondent, desolate. He was clutching his head, a ball of quivering mess.

The call dropped.

I love you. He whispered as he broke down completely. Angry at himself, angry at the world, angry at everything. Life isn't fair. He has done everything he needed to do and yet he the only reward he ever wanted isn't granted; you. He ruined everything, all of it, all his hard work, all of it was worthless. He felt worthless. The guilt and remorse and anguish of being a neglectful friend and partner was crushing him to death.

He wasn't there at the very end.

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yoongiseesawmp3 · 2 years

Text

marigold - hongjoong (m)

part of the frat boy series.

summary: annoying frat boy!hongjoong. your best friend and the bane of your existence is probably the love of your life, and you’re not sure how to tell him. your mutual friend seonghwa knows about your true feelings for hongjoong, and he does everything in his power to get you two together. one halloween party, one rainy car ride and one emotional rollercoaster later, you finally get a taste of what you’ve been waiting so long for.

word count: 12.7k

warnings: smut!!!! protected sex. some alcohol use. afab reader, gendered pronouns. kinda unedited!

“you’re joking right?” you ask with a scoff. “you can’t be serious right now.”

“but i am!” your best friend, hongjoong, says with a devious smile. “it’s a cute costume!”

“joong, it’s barely a costume,” you insist, pulling at the strands of fabric he’s dangling in front of you. “i’m not sure i could get into that let alone wear it at a party all night.”

“cmon, you’re gonna find the perfect man wearing this,” hongjoong says, wiggling his eyebrows and nudging your arm. “no offense my love, but you need to get laid.”

“no offense, my love,” you emphasize with a shove back against him, “but i’m not wearing that even if you paid me.”

“name your price.”

“oh baby you can’t afford me,” you tell him, and he rolls his eyes.

“FINE,” he sighs dramatically. “but you owe me.”

“just like you owe me for setting you up with that girl from my japanese class?”

“ahem,” a voice cuts in, pulling your collective focus away. seonghwa is standing in the doorway of their shared room, eyebrows raised. it seems like he quirks them further when he sees that you’re sharing the futon under hongjoong’s lofted bed, your feet draped over his lap and his hand casually on your knee. it’s comfortable, because you and hongjoong are so close, but seonghwa knows what’s really going on.

seonghwa knows that you’re deeply, madly in love with your best friend. you’ve been into him since you met at work a few years ago, and you drunkenly confessed to seonghwa at a party last month that you’ve been waiting for hongjoong to make a move for about....two years now. super casual, no need for alarm, but seonghwa has been a little mad at you ever since he found out because he knows you’re aware of how slutty hongjoong is, politely. he knows that you know hongjoong will never be a relationship guy, and you’re not necessarily looking for something long term, but you’d want to hold onto hongjoong longer than he’d like to stick around. that’s why you’re fine with being friends, at least you still get to see him all the time and share all the exciting parts of your life with him. but seonghwa is still pissed, because he thinks you’re better than that.

“hey seonghwa,” you say first, and he slowly walks into the room.

“hope i’m not interrupting,” he says as he dumps his clean clothes onto his bed.

“not at all,” hongjoong replies, pushing your legs off him to go show seonghwa what he thinks is the perfect halloween costume. “look at this.”

“did you get into a fight?” seonghwa asks. “how’d your shirt get ruined?”

“it’s not mine,” hongjoong says. “it’s y/n’s. i think it’d be a great costume, but you disagree, don’t you?”

“i don’t want to be a sexy mummy,” you insist, taking up the space hongjoong left and sprawling out over the futon. “i’m sleeping here tonight, by the way.”

“we knew that,” hongjoong says, and seonghwa nods in confirmation.

“you don’t want to wear that, y/n?” seonghwa asks, making you sit up and glare at him. “it could attract the right attention.”

“what do you mean by that?” hongjoong questions, eyes whipping back and forth between you and hwa. “y/n’s into somebody?”

“no,” you say quickly before seonghwa can reply. “hwa’s just looking out for me like you are.” hongjoong holds your gaze a moment longer to make sure you’re not lying, and while he’s staring you down you see seonghwa rolling his eyes. hongjoong turns around to ask hwa a question and you stick your tongue out at him, making him laugh.

“hey, i don’t like it when you guys have jokes i don’t understand,” hongjoong whines. “y/n’s my best friend, we should have inside jokes.”

“sorry man, i guess i just see a different side of her,” seonghwa says, and now it’s your turn to roll your eyes.

“ok, whoa, don’t tell me you have a hard on for my best friend, man,” hongjoong replies defensively. he looks between you both and then his face softens as he goes on, “actually, you two would make a cute couple. have you ever thought about-”

“no!” you and seonghwa shout in unison.

“ok, ok, sorry!” he says defensively. “but, like, have you thought about it...? even just a little bit?”

“i’m going to take a shower,” you say simply, standing up and grabbing a clean towel off of seonghwa’s bed. you ignore his protests as you head to the en suite that connects them to more of the boys living in the frat house, and you make sure the bathroom is free from frat-goers (or guests) before you get undressed. you hear seonghwa and hongjoong arguing through the door, but can’t make out the words. you choose to ignore it and turn the shower on, humming a song as you search for yunho’s body wash (it smells the best, sh!). maybe you’ll catch the end of the argument when you come back out.

“seriously, do you have a thing for y/n?” hongjoong asks seonghwa as soon as the bathroom door shuts.

“why are you so concerned? you don’t have a thing for her, do you?” seonghwa quips back, and hongjoong stutters out a response.

“i, no, i’m just saying, if you were into y/n i wouldn’t be opposed. you could dick her down-”

“stop talking.”

“-and maybe she’d get off my dick about how much i sleep around!” hongjoong finishes. “she needs to be reminded of the simple pleasures of being human.”

“why is she even friends with you?”

“you’re friends with me,” hongjoong points out, and seonghwa stares at him with a half folded shirt in his hands.

“and do you think that’s by choice or by proximity?”

“careful or i’ll piss in your bed the next time i’m drunk.”

“do you two need to be left alone?” you ask, poking your head out of the bathroom to hear the end of the worst possible conversation ever.

“hey sexy, sleeping without clothes on?” hongjoong asks, referring to your towel clad, post-shower body.

“no jackass,” you say, cheeks heating up ever so slightly. “i forget this house is run by elderly rats so i left my clothes on the floor and now they’re soaked. i need a shirt to sleep in or something.”

“here,” seonghwa starts to pass you one of his clean ones, neatly folded into stacks on his bed. hongjoong beats him to it though, making it to his closet in two steps and pulling a shirt out for you.

“you can wear this,” he says, tossing it to you and you thank him quietly but linger at the door. “need something else?”

“am i supposed to sleep commando? all my clothes are sopping wet,” you reiterate. “so i need. boxers. or pants.”

“you want em to match the shirt?” hongjoong asks, and you laugh even though he’s completely serious.

“yes please,” you reply just to give him the chance to make something cute for you out of this awkward situation.

“hmmm, ok,” he says, looking through his underwear drawer before pulling out a pair of boxer briefs for you. “these are probably clean.”

“probably?!”

“kidding,” he says as he slingshots them your way. miraculously you’re able to catch them and you thank him again before you duck back into the bathroom. when you come out a few minutes later, seonghwa is busy putting his clothes away and hongjoong is messing with pillows and blankets on the futon.

“i could’ve done that,” you tell him, and he shakes his head.

“nope, i’m doing this for me,” he says. “you’re taking the bed.”

“hongjoong no-”

“no protests!” he insists. “let me be nice to you.”

“ok,” you reply meekly, gratefully taking the pillow he hands you.

“now give us a spin, let me see the fit,” he teases, and you roll your eyes at him.

“it’s just pajamas, it’s not a fit. it is cute though.”

“yeah, when you said you were giving her something that matched i thought you were gonna pull out your spongebob set,” seonghwa says with a sneaky smile.

“you have spongebob pjs?!” you ask eagerly, and you catch hongjoong blushing.

“only because hwa gave them to me!”

“because you asked for them! you liked my patrick ones so bad you wanted your own!”

“you guys have matching pjs?” you ask with a smile. “now that is just precious. maybe one day i’ll get sandy pjs and we can all match.”

“hey, that’s a good idea!” hongjoong says, a mischievous spark in his eyes.

“what is?”

“us wearing matching costumes,” he continues. “for halloween.”

“no, don’t involve me in this,” seonghwa says with a shake of his head.

“no,” you and hongjoong both whine.

“it would be cute, hwa!” you insist.

“cmon, we’ve been friends long enough i think we’re long overdue for a throuple costume,” hongjoong agrees.

“don’t call it that,” seonghwa says, “and maybe i’ll consider it. if you come up with a good idea and find the costumes, i’ll do it.”

“deal,” hongjoong says happily, grabbing his phone to no doubt look for costume ideas. “turn the light off when you’re done being anal about your sock drawer?”

“fine.”

the next day, you wake up to the sound of seonghwa tripping over hongjoong’s shoes as he’s getting ready for class. a quick peek over the side of the bed lets you know that hongjoong isn’t in the room, did he have an early class you didn’t know about? you lift yourself up, alerting seonghwa of your presence, and he nods at you with a yawn.

“how’d you sleep?” he asks with a smack of his lips.

“pretty good,” you reply, absentmindedly playing with the corner of hongjoong’s pillow. “these sheets are really soft.”

“yeah, hongjoong pays for designer bedding,” seonghwa says. “he’s a weirdo.”

“yep.”

“what do you see in him?” seonghwa asks bluntly. “i know you’re super into him, but why? why is he the guy you’re hung up on.”

“maybe hongjoong was right,” you start. “maybe you are into me.” a pillow flying at your head tells you you’re wrong. “hey!”

“i’m in a relationship, you dipshit,” seonghwa says.

“since when?!”

“for about a month,” seonghwa brushes it off. “we’re not talking about me. we’re talking about you and your sadistic interest in your best friend who, to my understanding, you just set up with one of your friends?”

“so you heard that?”

“why’d you do that?” hwa asks, sounding disappointed. “why don’t you just tell him how you feel?”

“i don’t know,” you shrug. “i know him better than anyone. i would know if he liked me back. so i guess i tried setting him up with my friend to trick myself into moving on? like maybe if he was really into someone else then i could finally get him off my mind.”

“y/n,” seonghwa sighs. “you deserve more than this. you can’t just wait around for him, or wait for yourself to get over him. maybe you do need to get laid.”

“you and joong make a charming pair, did you know that?” you ask with a smile. “i’ll try my best.”

“you know san-”

“always hits on me, i know,” you cut him off. “but he’s so much worse than hongjoong. you look up fuckboy in the dictionary and his picture is there instead of a definition.”

“i’m not saying you need to find mr. right, you just need something..fun,” seonghwa says carefully. “san could be that thing.”

“i’ll think about it,” you assure him. “is he here, do you know?”

“is who here?” hongjoong asks, busting back into the room with a carrier of coffee and a bag from mcdonald’s. “i’m right here baby.”

“i knew you didn’t have an early class,” you say, reaching down for the coffee you know is yours. seonghwa always gets hot chocolate (child) and joong drinks cold coffee even in the snow (madman) so it’s easy to distinguish them all. the first sip is heavenly, and you thank hongjoong as he climbs up into his lofted bed with you.

“hwa i didn’t know if you were hungry so i just got you a biscuit,” he starts, tossing the food down. seonghwa has to act fast, but thankfully he catches it. “and i got you that weird sandwich you like. it confused the poor girl in the drive thru though, i don’t think anyone ever orders it.”

“well i appreciate the effort,” you say as you snatch the delicacy from his hands.

“so what did i interrupt?” hongjoong asks, mouthful of hashbrown. “who are you looking for?”

“did you see san downstairs?” seonghwa asks, and hongjoong thinks for a minute.

“he might have just come home, yeah,” he says finally. “why, you lookin for him?”

“no, y/n is,” seonghwa smirks, and hongjoong stiffens next to you. “i’m trying to convince her to stop ignoring his courtship and just let the guy take her out.”

“why?” hongjoong asks defensively, and you look to him quickly, trying to read his expression. he turns to catch your eye, and you almost see...panic? worry? but it vanishes before you can identify it. “he’s a dick.”

“he’s your friend,” you say.

“yeah, and he’s a dick,” hongjoong repeats. “he just wants to get in your pants.”

“i’m sorry, didn’t we have a whole conversation last night about how you wished someone would blow my back out?”

“OH!” hongjoong shouts, shuffling around for his phone. “that reminds me, i figured out our costume!!!”

you and seonghwa share a look, noticing how hongjoong ignored your question and changed the subject so quickly. the side glance is interrupted by hongjoong’s phone being shoved in your face, and you cackle at the picture in front of you.

“ok, that’s it,” you gasp through another laugh. “you can’t pick our costumes for anything, ever.”

“what is it?” seonghwa asks, scurrying over and standing on his tiptoes to see into the bed better. hongjoong shows him, and a slow smile creeps over seonghwa’s face.

“NO,” you say, “you LIKE it?!”

“what? it’s cute!” seonghwa says.

“thank you!” hongjoong shouts. “two against one, y/n, sorry.”

“ok, then it can be a couple costume,” you tell them as you shake your head. “i’m not doing that.”

“but we love this movie,” hongjoong pouts. “you’ll be boo, i’ll be sully, hwa will be mike wazowski, it’ll be perfect.”

“that’s what you said about the mummy.”

“i mean it this time.”

“wait, why am i wazowski?” hwa asks.

“because of your big beautiful eyes. or should i say eye,” you joke, and hongjoong laughs, falling over into your side as he does. when he regains his composure, you feel like he’s closer than he was before, but maybe that’s just your imagination. “plus, your new little boo thing could be celia!”

“seonghwa has a celia?!” hongjoong asks, eyes wide. “ok, i officially don’t like you two knowing more about each other than i do.”

“aw does baby have main character syndrome?” you tease, pouting in joong’s direction. “hwa and i can be friends, shut up.”

“no,” he snips. “you hurt my feelings. and to make up for it, you have to be the boo to my sully.”

“fine,” you sigh dramatically. hongjoong leans in and pecks your cheek, thanking you profusely as he dives back into his breakfast, thrilled about the frat’s halloween party this weekend because the three of you are “totally gonna dominate the costume contest.” you don’t hear him though, too focused on the heat lingering on your cheek. you smile to yourself as joong blabbers on, and return to the food in front of you. maybe the costumes will be fun after all.

“hongjoong, no,” you insist, getting deja vu to the other night. “that can’t be my costume! why do you keep doing this to me?”

“why do you hate having fun?” hongjoong counters, pouting behind the shirt he’s holding up. this is supposed to be your entire costume?

“it’s freezing and you want me to wear a shirt and nothing else?”

“i got biker shorts!” he says, scrambling through a bag on his futon. “they look like boo’s shorts, so you can wear those and the shirt. what’s wrong with that? may i remind you that you agreed to this.”

“yeah, but i thought you were gonna get actual costumes.”

“these are costumes!”

“these are just clothes!” you argue, pointing to the goodwill bags on his bed. “you made it seem like you were gonna be in a full sully suit, so i thought i was gonna be in that fake monster suit boo wears. not clothes that could still get me hypothermia.”

“y/n please,” hongjoong begs. “i worked really hard to find these outfits, and i’m really proud of them. we’re gonna look so cute! and you’re ruining it!”

“i’m not ruining it,” you grumble, snatching the shirt from his hands. “i’ll do it.”

“thank you thank you thank you!” hongjoong cheers, kissing your cheeks repeatedly in gratitude. he finishes with one last peck on the tip of your nose, and you can’t help but smile at your annoying best friend.

“you’re welcome,” you sigh, grabbing the shorts too. “but move, i need to go to the bathroom and change.”

you shuffle past hongjoong and he says he’s going to find seonghwa to give him his pieces, and you nod before sneaking into the main part of the bathroom. you turn around and almost jump out of your skin, not expecting to see san in there. especially not a half naked san, because he’s in...red leather pants? and nothing else?

“jesus, you scared me,” you say, clutching your chest.

“well i do live here,” he says with a smirk, eyeing the items in your hands. “costume?”

“yeah,” you nod. “you?”

“nah, this is just my loungewear,” he teases, getting you to crack a smile.

“so what are you?” you ask, not so subtly checking him out. what kind of costume is just red pants? sexy santa?

“i’m the devil,” he responds, holding up a headband with horns on it to complete the look.

“dressing in character i see,” you tease, and san pretends to look offended.

“do you need help getting into your costume, love?” he asks, motioning to your clothes, and you shake your head.

“no, thank you,” you say sternly. “but i might need help with the pigtails.”

a few minutes later, you’re in full boo (and freezing, why don’t they turn the heat on in here?) and san has you centered in the mirror with the most concentrated look on his face. he’s trying to get your pigtails to be the same height. the left one is done, perfect, and now he’s working on the right, his tongue tucked between his lips in concentration. for once he’s quiet, not trying to hit on you, and as he smooths your hair to add the elastic, hongjoong comes bursting into the bathroom, causing san to let the hair tie go and slingshot against your head as a result.

“ow!” you shriek, elbowing san in his very warm, firm and exposed midriff.

“sorry,” he says quickly, kissing the side of your head that got the hit. “all better?”

“what are you doing?” hongjoong asks coldly. you look at him through the mirror, san’s hand still gripping your hair and restricting your movement. you notice hongjoong leaned up against the bathroom door in his subtle sully costume, arms crossed over his chest.

“i’m helping y/n get dressed,” san says simply. “can you hand me another elastic, doll?”

“why, did the other one ricochet off my head and sail to the moon?”

“hey, i didn’t fling it that hard-”

“i can help her,” hongjoong cuts in, moving behind you to push san out of the way. “looks like you’re not dressed yet yourself.”

“nope, i’m all good,” san replies, winking at you in the mirror. “being a sexy devil doesn’t need much work.”

“who said you were sexy?”

“people,” san shrugs, catching your eye again. “i bet y/n agrees.”

“i’m not feeding your ego, san.”

“ugh, such a tease,” he whines. “i’m gonna go check on the drinks. i’ll see you down there?”

“maybe,” hongjoong answers for you curtly, slighting pulling your hair as he finishes the pigtail. you mutter a quiet ouch that goes unnoticed by the two men, and you roll your eyes. frat boys are so dramatic. hongjoong finishes your hair, adjusting a few things before patting the top of your head to signify he’s done. you turn around to face him, and the proximity almost takes your breath away. you stare at him closely for a second before speaking.

“so could you have been any ruder to san?”

“i wasn’t rude to the kid,” hongjoong says with a wave of his hand. “he’s a big boy, he can handle it anyway.”

“hm.”

“what?”

“nothing,” you shrug, pushing past hongjoong to go back into his room. you see seonghwa in there, adjusting his hair in the mirror on their door. he checks your costume and smiles.

“you look cute,” he says sweetly. then he sees hongjoong behind you. “you look mad.”

“hongjoong is jealous,” you tell him, gathering your phone and the cheap white sneakers you’ll wear tonight, even though it’s not necessarily part of the costume. you refuse to attend a frat party in just socks.

“i am not jealous!” hongjoong says defensively. is that a blush you see creeping up his neck?

“of who?” seonghwa perks up. “san?!”

“yeah, he was flirting with me and joong didn’t like it,” you explain.

“i’m liking this,” seonghwa says with an evil smirk. “operation get y/n laid is in motion.”

“no!” hongjoong shouts, pulling your attention.

“and why not?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow as you wait for a response. hongjoong sputters for a moment before he can get a real thought out.

“i...he...i don’t....ugh. fine, yeah. go fuck him, who cares.”

hongjoong doesn’t know why you and san being so buddy buddy has his blood boiling, but he sure doesn’t like it. he knows he started this whole "operation” but the thought of you spending the night at the frat and not ending up in his bed was...strange.

wait, not like that though. like, you ending up in his bed as in he’s letting you sleep there while he’s on the futon. not like..fucking. or maybe that’s what his subconscious is trying to tell him? why else would he be so jealous? no. don’t even go there.

it could just be the fact that you’re such good friends and hongjoong doesn’t want to watch you get hurt by someone he knows will lose interest in you as soon as he gets his dick wet. yes, that’s it! that’s his story. not the him wanting you in his bed one, no. that’s weird. so he’ll just play up the protective friend card, and everyone will be happy in the end.

that’s what leads to hongjoong following you around all night, at least more than usual. typically he’ll slip away at some point to chase some ass, but tonight he’s everywhere you turn. you’re not complaining, you like the extra attention from him, but you also really enjoy the way san keeps checking you out, and hongjoong is preventing anything from happening there.

“hey, i think my friend from class is here,” you say, pulling hongjoong down to your level to make sure he hears. your lips just grazing his ear has the hair on the back of his neck standing up, but he just shrugs it off.

“oh really?” he asks, looking over your shoulder to see the girl he was chasing earlier this week. you must not be that close with her, otherwise you’d know how brutally she turned him down. she looks good though, so good that he almost abandons ship and risks the humiliation of another rejection. but he sees san move closer out of the corner of his eye, and he refocuses on his main objective for the night. “i think i’m good right here.”

“while i’m flattered you want to spend time with me,” you begin, “i don’t need a babysitter. you can go talk to her, i don’t mind, really.”

hongjoong tries to object, but you actually start to push him away, so he decides he has to at least disappear for a minute or so to make you think he went to shoot his shot. thankfully she went into the dining room where there’s germ filled bowls of snacks, so he heads in that direction and passes right through to the kitchen to grab another drink. he makes too, one for him and one for you, and he’s working on his story as he walks back but the sight he returns to stops him dead in his tracks.

you’re in the same spot, except now you’re pinned to the wall by none other than choi san. and even though it’s dark, and hongjoong doesn’t have the best view, it looks like san’s trying to fuse your lips together by sheer force. hongjoong decides in a split second whether he should back off (he did say you needed to get laid) but he realizes it can’t be by choi san. forget whatever he said earlier, he’s stepping in.

he walks up to you and feigns innocence, letting out an “oh!” once he’s within ear shot. your eyes shoot open and find his, and san notices your attention being pulled away. he doesn’t separate his lips from yours as he turns to follow where your eyes are looking nervously, and when san sees hongjoong he pulls away but places his hands firmly on your hips.

“hey man,” he says casually. “you having a good time?”

“i was,” hongjoong spits. “y/n i brought you a drink.”

“we’re kinda busy man,” san says a little more sternly. “we’ll catch up with you later.”

“y/n?” hongjoong asks, ignoring san. you look between the two men awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

“i’m not thirsty,” you finally say, politely pushing the cup hongjoong has offered you away. “thanks though.”

“sure thing,” he grumbles, stomping off to god knows where. you watch him go, but san pushing your chin up to meet his sultry gaze pulls you back to the moment.

hongjoong huffed his way through the party up to his room, trying not to think about what might be going on downstairs. only when he opens the door to his room, he sees seonghwa getting busy with his new girlfriend (hongjoong wasn’t sure she was real, this confirms that for sure).

“oh god,” hongjoong groans, closing the door and shouting “sorry!” a few times for good measure. he doesn’t know where to go now, so he trudges his way to the stairs and plops down on the top step. he poured your drink into his own before heading to his room, and now he downs the double before sighing and leaning his head on the wall. he closes his eyes for a moment, unable to process his thoughts with all that’s going on around him. a drunken stranger stumbling out of the hall bathroom brings him back to reality, and he scoots out of the way as they walk treacherously downstairs. hongjoong watches them go, wondering how everyone else is having a better time at this party than him. when the partygoer reaches the end of the stairs and turns right to head back into the fray, hongjoong notices two people scurrying to the bedrooms on the main floor. he recognizes the pink shirt and red leather pants, and you make eye contact with your best friend as san leads you into his room. hongjoong just watches on as you get pulled in, and after moping for a moment longer, he stands and heads back to the party. if he can’t stop you from getting seduced by his new mortal enemy, then he’ll just go drown his sorrows until hopefully seonghwa and his girl tire out so he can just sneak into bed later and hate himself for getting into this situation in the first place.

“so,” san starts, standing in front of you in his dimly lit room. there’s one line of led lights on the back wall, lit red to keep up with his devilish theme tonight. “what now, love?”

“what, you talk a big game and then when it comes time to take off my pants you just back down?” you laugh, and san shakes his head.

“no, i’m very familiar with what happens next,” he assures you. “i just didn’t know if this is what you really wanted. if i’m what you wanted.”

“what do you mean? my tongue down your throat didn’t confirm that for you?”

“no baby,” he laughs. “i just...got a vibe from hongjoong earlier. a few times tonight, actually. he doesn’t like this.”

“no, he’s never been this..protective before,” you start, and san cuts you off.

“he’s not being protective, he’s jealous y/n,” san says. “has he told you he likes you yet?”

“no?” you scoff. “he doesn’t like me. what makes you say that? no, no. he’s not into me like that.”

“but you like him,” san says as more of a statement than a question, and you just nod.

“i love him, actually.”

“wow,” he whistles. “i’m honored to have been in the running then.”

“you weren’t a bad distraction,” you say, and san smiles, his resolve almost breaking. but he’s nothing if not nosy. and now he needs every little detail.

“so tell me. how long have you been into hongjoong?”

“about since the day i met him.”

“wow,” he whistles again, and you whine.

“it’s pathetic, isn’t it?” you ask, and san shuts you up quickly.

“no! no,” he says, “it’s sweet. it’s frustrating though, because, as a completely unbiased third party, i’d say hongjoong has had a thing for you about as long.”

“he has not-”

“no, hear me out,” san says. “you probably never heard this, but anytime he met someone new he would always make a comment about how something they did or said or wore reminded him of you. he’d stop seeing people because they weren’t “more like y/n” and when he wasn’t talking about clothes or stupid guy stuff, he was talking about you. the man is obsessed with you my dear. i just think he’s oblivious. and a little dumb, for spending so much time with you without making a move, but that’s just me.”

“i don’t know,” you mumble, playing with the hem of your shirt. “i know him better than anyone else. i would’ve known.”

“ok, lemme ask a question,” san tries a new approach. “have you ever told him you liked him?” you shake your head no. “have you ever done anything to explicitly show him that you were into him as more than a friend?” again, no. “and why is that?”

“i know he doesn’t feel the same,” you say simply.

“ok, and? what if he feels the exact same way? what if he’s so sure you couldn’t like him back, and that’s why he hasn’t shown any of his true feelings?”

“that could be possible,” you nod, and san nods in agreement.

“so,” he nudges you. “what now?”

“i don’t know,” you whine. “i’m nervous. and joong is in a mood. i think we really pissed him off.”

“yeah we did,” san smiles proudly. “so you have two options, methinks.”

“methinks?”

“focus.”

“sorry.”

“you can either go find him and tell him how you really feel and make sweet sweet love-”

“don’t say it like that-”

“or you could stay here, and we could make him a little more jealous? maybe make him confess first?”

“...i’m listening.”

while you and san had a come to jesus downstairs, hongjoong had stumbled back to the steps in front of his room, dissatisfied with the party downstairs and how everyone there wasn’t you. all he wanted to do was lay down and go to sleep, but just because he was having a crappy night doesn’t mean he should bring seonghwa down with him. he’s trying to wait it out and give them a respectable amount of time to...finish up, and then he’ll politely knock and put some headphones in and blare music until the shots he did with some strangers knock him out for a few hours. he’s planning this in his head when someone sits down next to him, and he’s surprised to see seonghwa.

“hey,” he says casually.

“hey?” hongjoong replies, confused. “you um, you all done in there?”

“gross,” seonghwa groans. “but yes, thank you very much. she’s asleep, so don’t be a dick if you’re going back in there. i wanted to come check on you.”

“i don’t need to be checked on,” hongjoong grumbles, nursing the beer he brought with him to pass the time. “i’m just tired, ready for this to be over.”

“y/n got with san, i assume?” seonghwa asks, and hongjoong can’t even be surprised that he knew. san had been plotting this for a while, it was a long time coming. even more reason for joong to be mad at himself, he could’ve stopped this weeks ago. instead here he is, drunk and hurt and a little angry.

“yep.”

“and you’re mad about it?”

“yeah, hwa i am.”

“and why is that?”

“what is this, a therapy session?” hongjoong scoffs. “i’m fine dude, go back to your girlfriend. i’ll go to sleep in a second.”

“fine, if you won’t admit you like y/n and you were jealous of san tonight, maybe we can do this tomorrow then,” seonghwa says as he stands. hongjoong looks up in shock, and seonghwa nods. “yeah man, you weren’t subtle about it.”

“i fucked up man,” he says and seonghwa sits back down, nodding. “i shouldn’t have talked about setting her up so much, i feel like this is all my fault.”

“it is,” hwa agrees, and hongjoong pushes him slightly. “don’t get mad at me for pointing out what you know is true. you’re in this position because it took you too long to realize your own feelings, and that kept you from noticing how madly in love y/n is with you.”

“she is not-��

“is too!” seonghwa insists. “she told me! and i have eyes, it’s not hard to see. except if you’re you, i guess.”

“so what do i do now?”

“well, you could go talk to her.”

“i’ve already walked in on one couple having sex tonight, i’m good thanks.”

“sorry about that,” seonghwa says sheepishly. “but you don’t know that they’re fucking-”

“i watched her follow him into his room,” hongjoong cuts him off, and seonghwa nods.

“i still say you should try to talk to her tonight,” seonghwa says, “even if it means...waiting.”

“i don’t think i want to tell y/n how i feel when i know san has just fucked her though,” hongjoong counters, and seonghwa just shrugs.

“ok, then i’m back to what i said originally. go talk to her now. just don’t open your eyes immediately.” hongjoong sits for a moment, thinking it over, and then he crushes the rest of the beer in his hand before he stands. he doesn’t need to tell seonghwa where he’s going, he just watches on with veiled concern. hongjoong stomps downstairs, stopping in front of san’s door, and just as he raises his fist to bang on it and get you out of there, it swings open with another sight that makes his stomach drop.

you’re on your way out, which should be a good sign, except your hair is down (and a little messy, like someone’s hands were running through it) and you’re no longer wearing your costume. in fact, your costume is clutched in your hands, and you’re wearing what hongjoong can only assume is san’s hoodie and sweatpants. he’s too late, he thinks. he’s caught your walk of shame, leaving san’s room after...he stops himself. hongjoong takes in the sight before him, and he holds your confused gaze for a moment longer. then he turns, and he’s gone.

after halloween, you don’t hear from hongjoong for days.

no calls, no texts, and certainly no visiting the frat house to hang out. it was complete radio silence from him, but you weren’t making an effort either. you’re not sure how you feel about him currently, so the space might be good for the both of you.

while you’re upset, but mostly doing okay, hongjoong is a wreck. he didn’t get out of bed until seonghwa and yunho sat on the futon and kicked hongjoong’s bed from down below until he got annoyed enough to leave. then he only went to class because another guy in the frat, jongho, was in there with him and literally pulled him out of his room and towards campus. no one’s sure if he’s even eaten, but food disappears from the fridge every once in a while so he must be getting some nutrition. san has laid low too, not sure hongjoong knows the full story and worried there would be hell to pay if hongjoong got within swinging distance.

you’re walking home from class one day, contemplating a coffee break, when you almost physically run into seonghwa. you start to mumble an apology and a “see you later” but suddenly he’s grabbing your arm and pulling you down a hallway.

“well hello to you too seonghwa, how are you? i’m doing fine thanks for asking,” you huff, resetting yourself once he’s done manhandling you.

“what happened between you and san?” he asks bluntly.

“why do you care?”

“you know why,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “you know he saw you go into san’s room.”

“yeah, i saw him too, sitting on the stairs not doing anything,” you counter, and now seonghwa rolls his eyes.

“i’m tired of the two of you complaining about no one doing anything. you need to do something!”

“i did! i made out with san!”

“made out with him?” he asks. “is that all?”

“yes,” you answer quietly. “i...i couldn’t do it. and for what it’s worth, san apparently clocked that me and hongjoong had something going on so he wouldn’t have let me try anything anyway.”

“but hongjoong said you left in his clothes,” seonghwa says, confused.

“yeah, because i wasn’t gonna stay there and i needed something warm to walk home in,” you explain. “hongjoong didn’t plan for weather when he bought my costume. san was just trying to help.”

“well he helped a lot,” seonghwa says. “hongjoong thinks you two slept together and now he’s moping around like his life is over. you need to talk to him. tell him what really happened.”

“he’s not talking to me.”

“gee, i wonder why!”

“fine,” you sigh, giving seonghwa the side eye. he can be a little bitchy when he’s in problem solver mode. “i’ll call him when i get home.”

“good. i’ll know if you don’t,” he warns you, and you nod.

“we’ll talk, i promise,” you assure him, and he pretends to believe you as he says goodbye. he starts to walk away and you stop him, calling out, “is he home right now?”

“yep,” seonghwa shouts from further down the hall. “better go now, before any of the guys come back from class. i’ll spend the night somewhere else.”

“thank you,” you say with a meek smile, and seonghwa gives you one back. he keeps walking, and you take a deep breath before making your way to hongjoong.

seonghwa said none of the boys would be home, so you spend some time on the front porch psyching yourself up to see hongjoong. you practice what you’re going to say, and after a few minutes of weirding out the neighbors, you finally knock. it takes a second for the door to open, and you’re expecting hongjoong but instead you see san. he gives you a small smile, a questioning look in his eyes. you open your mouth to speak, hongjoong’s name on the tip of your tongue, when you see him heading downstairs over san’s shoulder. he catches your eye, and your heart stops. he looks awful, like he’s been sick. is he really like this because of you? hongjoong looks at you, and then who he assumes you’re here to see, and anger flashes over his features. he gives you one hard stare before he’s stomping back up to his room, leaving you still sputtering at the front door. san watches on, a little worried, and when you look up at him he asks if you still want to come in. you shake your head no, waving goodbye as you turn and walk back home.

unfortunately for you, it’s hongjoong’s birthday. it’s unfortunate because he’s still not talking to you, but he’s your best friend, so it would look really weird if you weren’t at his birthday party. you don’t want to go because it’ll be awkward, and you don’t wanna burden his special day with that. he’s decided he wants to go to the fall festival just outside the city, opting for a walk through an apple orchard and then a pumpkin patch so the boys can gather the discounted gourds for some weird prank they’re trying to pull on a neighboring frat. it sounds like a fun day, and you only know about it because you were added to the group text, which stings a little. usually you’d help hongjoong plan, or you’d be organizing some sort of special surprise for him. none of that this year.

you agree to ride with seonghwa and his girlfriend, who seems really sweet. you’re excited to get to know her on the short ride over, and it starts off as a pleasant day. hongjoong is nice to you when he gets out of the car with his brother and some of his friends from home, introducing you to the ones you don’t know and still giving you a tight hug when you hand over your poorly wrapped present for him. you all putter around as you wait for some of the other boys to show up, and hongjoong makes a subtle effort to keep at least two people between you at all times. bless seonghwa’s girlfriend though, maybe she knows what’s going on between you two, because she keeps talking to you and you like her more and more.

once everyone has arrived, hongjoong explains that you can all pick apples in the orchard and then take them back to the cidery where they’ll press what you picked into your own cider to take home, and while you wait there’s drinks you can sample. there’s also a wildflower field to take pictures in, which seems very on brand for hongjoong (he’s got a new camera strapped around his neck, must have been a present) and once he’s done talking you all mingle for a moment before going off in twos or threes to the orchard. seonghwa swoops his girlfriend away first so they can go be cute together, and you would go join hongjoong’s brother to catch up with him but he’s nowhere to be seen, so you consider just heading straight to the cidery to drown your sorrows. you turn in that direction and see hongjoong waiting for you, awkwardly clutching your present in his hands.

“i uh, i didn’t want to carry this through the orchard,” he starts, “don’t want it to get lost. so uh, i was gonna open it before i left, is that ok?”

“yeah,” you nod. “go ahead. i hope you like it.”

“i’m sure i will,” he says as he tears into the old newspaper you used as wrapping paper. he sees the corner of what’s inside, and recognition instantly lights up his face. “y/n you didn’t.”

“didn’t what?” you ask, trying to fight a smile.

“you bought me the beat pad i wanted,” he says in disbelief. “it’s the special edition one and everything. how did you know?”

“gee, it’s not like you didn’t talk about it for weeks before and after it dropped,” you tease. “i got one of the first releases.”

“there’s no way,” he says, shaking his head as he unboxes it further. “it’s beautiful. thank you.”

“you’re welcome,” you say with a genuine smile. “just remember me when you’re a big famous producer. or when you start your own fashion line, whatever.”

“you’re not gonna be by my side when it happens?” he pouts, and it almost tears your heart in two.

“i don’t know,” you say. “i’m not entirely sure where we stand right now.”

“that’s my fault,” he sighs. “i’m really sorry. i hope you can forgive me for being a dick, but i understand if it’ll take some time.”

“you never let me explain what actually happened,” you say, and he nods, telling you that seonghwa filled him in. “so i guess you know.”

“about you and san? yeah, like i said, hwa told me-”

“no, i mean,” you start, and you stop to take a breath before you continue. “so you know that i like you. that i’ve liked you for a while. years, actually. i hope that’s not weird.”

“it’s not weird,” he says sweetly. “i’ve liked you about as long, so. there’s that.”

“cool, so everyone’s caught up,” you nod. “coolcoolcool.”

“yep.”

there’s an awkward moment as you stand there and hongjoong plays around with his gift a little more, but he gets distracted by the camera around his neck and thankfully interrupts this terrible silence.

“oh! let me get a picture of you,” he says. “i want photos of everyone who came today. go stand over there.” you follow his orders and pose simply as he snaps the photo, looking on proudly at the result. “cute. cmon, let’s go get some more further into the orchard.”

“yeah, you’re missing out on your party, birthday boy,” you say while he carefully puts your gift back in his car. when he rejoins you, you offer your hand, and he smiles brightly as he grabs it and gives it a squeeze. “ready?”

“just a second,” he says, tongue poking out between his lips as he tries to take a photo of your intertwined fingers, and you laugh.

“cmon, stop being a simp and let’s go,” you give his arm a tug and he shrieks over you messing up the picture, and how he only has so much film and you just ruined a perfectly good moment, but you shoot him a silent glare and he smiles a dopey smile and shuts up. you start walking and you think fast, grabbing a basket for any apples you may grab on your walk. hongjoong explains how the website said there were different types of apples in certain areas, and you listen on in fascination as you watch him talk. you’re admiring how cute he looks with his bangs peeking past his beanie, and you stop him abruptly. “hand me the camera.”

“why?” he asks defensively, yanking it away like a child.

“joong, let me get a picture of you,” you beg. “you look handsome, and we need a picture of you too.”

he grumbles over being careful with his baby, and he quickly shows you how to use it. he waits for a moment, assuming you’ll take the picture then and there, but you eventually tell him that it needs to be candid, like when the inspiration struck you. he whines and you distract him by asking what kind of apples are in the tree behind him, and he says they might be honeycrisp so this would be a good spot to pick from. you hand him the basket and let him reach for the best lookers, and you let him get focused before you call out for him.

“hey baby?” you try out, and hongjoong turns, apple in hand and a shy smile on his face.

“baby?” he asks, not sure he heard you right but hoping he did. that’s when you snap the photo, cheering about how perfect that picture is gonna be.

“ok, you can have this back now,” you say happily, returning his “baby” back to him. he gives you a sweet smile and grabs your hand before you continue on. you stop shortly after to grab some golden apples, and at the next cluster of trees you finally catch up with the group. they’ve found the wildflowers, and everyone is stopping to take pictures, which hongjoong quickly barges in on. as soon as he leaves your side, seonghwa appears, giving you a look that says he wants to know what took you so long.

“we made up,” you tell him, and he let’s out a sigh of relief.

“thank god.”

“don’t be a dick.”

“well! it took you long enough!”

“i know that,” you hiss, smiling at hongjoong posing for a picture with his brother.

“he looks happy,” seonghwa points out and you agree. “you made him like that, with your womanly wiles and whatnot.”

“hey, speaking of womanly wiles,” you begin, “your girlfriend is really nice.”

“i concur.”

“maybe we could-”

“y/n!” hongjoong shouts, waving you over. “cmere!”

“your boyfriend wants you,” seonghwa says with a smirk, and you push him a little.

“he’s not my boyfriend yet.”

“beg to differ, but ok!��

“what’s up?” you ask as you approach. “i thought you already got a picture of me?”

“yeah, but i want a picture in front of the marigolds,” he says like it’s obvious.

“there’s marigolds?!” you ask, looking at the colors behind you and smiling when you spot the buds you love so much. you turn back to hongjoong and say, “you know those are my fav-”

“your favorite flower, right,” he says, pulling you into his side. “come closer, act like you like me.”

“actually, they’re not flowers,” you tell him, “they’re weeds. you’re supposed to pick them or else they’ll take over.”

“smile,” he says, and yunho snaps the picture for you. hongjoong bends down, pulling up a bundle of marigolds before handing them to you. “thanks for picking me.”

“oh that was so corny,” you groan, a smile threatening to split your face in half. “what happened to the suave frat boy? who brought their dad here?”

“watch it or i’ll take them back-” he starts, but he stops when you place your hand under his chin and pull him closer.

“no, i love it. i love them,” you assure him, centimeters away from his lips.

“i love you,” he whispers, and you lean in to finally, finally, kiss him. and suddenly it feels like everything is right with the world.

while you’re distracted by hongjoong’s lips, the hoots and hollers of your friends drown out the sound of another camera shutter, and yunho boasting about his perfect shot pulls you back to reality. you try to ignore the smug looks of your friends but apparently everyone knew about your crush aside from you, so this positive shift is shared throughout the group pretty quickly. no one dares break the two of you up, and that’s how you end up riding home with hongjoong at the end of the day.

while there was the most beautiful weather during your time at the orchard, the ride home is trying to completely ruin your day. it gets so bad once you and hongjoong are driving back to the city that you insist on pulling off for a while to let the storm pass, but hongjoong insists on driving farther.

“we’re almost at our exit,” he says. “so if i can just get to your house then we can go up to your room,” he continues, wiggling his eyebrows at his last comment.

“sure, but i don’t think this storm is gonna let us do that,” you tell him. “slow down a little so i can see this exit sign.” hongjoong doesn’t let up on the gas, so you don’t quite catch the sign passing by next to you. “okay genius, my spidey senses aren’t working, maybe we should just pull off here.”

“are you sure?” hongjoong asks. “we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“i’d rather be in the middle of nowhere than stuck on the highway waiting for a tow truck with a bunch of other people who can’t see through the rain driving by super fast,” you oppose, and hongjoong quickly agrees. he waits until there’s a track of highway well lit by streetlights, and he pulls off under a tree in full view of the exit. just in case you get snatched he wants there to be witnesses.

“do you wanna play i spy?” he offers, and you just laugh.

“are we five?”

“i spy something pretty.”

“that’s not how it works.”

“well too bad,” hongjoong insists. “i spy something pretty.”

“your eyes,” you guess, and he shakes his head. “your smile.”

“how conceited would i be if i made you guess something about myself?” he asks. “keep trying. don’t focus on me though.”

“is it something nearby?” you ask, and hongjoong shrugs. “is it in the car?” he nods furiously. “and it’s not you? you’re very pretty.”

“no,” he insists, “keep guessing.”

“if you’re trying to make me guess myself it’s not going to work,” you warn him. “i’m not falling for your tricks.”

“darn,” he sighs. “you ruined my whole move.”

“that couldn’t have been your whole move,” you say unsure. “what’s your go to?”

“well,” hongjoong begins. “i don’t do this often, if that’s what you’re wondering. i usually start off with a comment about the place, so i say whatever we’re doing is really cool or the paintings are beautiful, whatever. and whatever the compliment is, i work it back to my date. everyone always eats that up.”

“i’m glad i’m here to keep you on your toes,” you tease.

“yeah, whatever,” hongjoong rolls his eyes. “what’s your move then?”

“it’s simple, really,” you assure him, turning to look directly in his eyes. “i just make sure to really look at whoever i’m talking to, really listen to what you’re saying, y’know? then i pull them in,” you say, grabbing hongjoong delicately by the chin and bringing his lips closer to yours. “and then i usually tell him something important, our lips barely touching. and then, if i’m feeling it and he hasn’t moved away, we kiss.”

“i’m not moving,” hongjoong says confidently, and you smile.

“i see that.”

“and we’re gonna be here for a while...”

“mhm.”

“so i think we should do something fun,” he says, pecking your lips quickly. he notes how you chase his lips as he pulls away, and he makes a proposition. “we could go into the backseat...”

“should we really have sex on the side of the road?”

“well what do you want me to suggest!” hongjoong whines. “we have nothing better to do, might as well try it out now!”

“wow, how romantic this man of mine is,” you joke, and hongjoong laughs. he’s still staring at you though, waiting for a response. “you really want to?”

“what did you think we would do when we got home?” he asks shyly. “i’m just trying to use our time wisely.”

“wow, really, if you’re trying to get me hot with all this talk-”

“baby,” he whines, kissing you once so quick you barely notice. “please. let’s at least go make out or something. it’s my birthday after all.”

“oh not fair,” you whine back. “you can’t pull the birthday card on me!”

“cmon baby, for my birthday?” he pouts again, finally getting you to crack.

“okay, but don’t look while i climb into the backseat, it’s gonna be awkward.”

“i’ll look as much as i want, it’s my birthday,” he says as you pull your way over the console. while you’re brushing aside his jacket from earlier, he takes this opportunity to caress and smack your ass, and you laugh a little at the sound of glee he makes in response.

“you are such a guy.”

“i’m your guy,” he says with a wink as you plop down in the backseat and reach for him quickly.

“move with a purpose please,” you urge, and he moves to join you as fast as he can. once he’s seated as close to you as he possibly can be, he pretends to yawn and puts his arm around your shoulder. you watch in fake disgust at the old school move but lay your head on his shoulder anyway. “hey.”

“hey.”

“so now what?” you ask, not moving from this very comfortable position. hongjoong hums in response, and you turn to place your chin on his shoulder and watch him as he thinks. he catches you off guard, kissing you before you even know it’s coming, and the sound of surprise has him letting out a laugh from deep within his chest.

“do you know how cute you are?” he asks.

“no, tell me.”

“i’ve always wanted to just wax poetic about about how everything you do drives me insane,” he starts, “and now i can. hope you’re ready for it love.”

now it’s your turn to steal a kiss, your heart swelling at hongjoong’s words. only this time neither of you pulls back, and what started off as innocent is quickly turning pg13. it registers in your mind for a moment that, wow, you’re in hongjoong’s car making out with your best friend, but that only makes your heart warm even more. you’ve wanted this moment for so long, you’ve wanted him for so long, and he’s finally here. he’s finally yours.

you’re pulled from your thoughts by hongjoong mumbling into your mouth that he wants you in his lap so you maneuver yourself to straddle his legs. before you settle back down he shakes his head, breaking from the kiss.

“no, not like that,” he tells you, lifting you up by the hips and placing you back down so you’re just straddling one leg. you don’t think anything of it at first, and you go back to kissing joong’s swollen lips. his hands stay on your hips, gripping tighter and tighter until you feel a change in pressure and you realize he’s guiding you to grind along his thigh. you take the hint and brace yourself on his shoulders, gasping as he bounces his leg under you.

“what’s wrong baby?” he asks in mock innocence. “don’t like it?” you just whine and shake your head, grinding down harder as hongjoong lets you set the pace. the layers of clothes between you are making this infinitely more frustrating, but hongjoong has captured your lips again and doesn’t seem to be interested in removing anything yet.

“joong,” you whisper between kisses. “need more.”

“what, can’t come like this?” he asks, and you shake your head. “too bad.”

he dives back into another kiss, his hands leaving your waist knowing that you’ll keep up the pace for him. instead he focuses on pulling your shirt up just enough to trace under your bra, and you moan into his mouth when he slides a finger under the fabric and just barely grazes your tit.

“you’re so sensitive,” he smiles. “i like that.”

“please baby, i need more,” you say again, and this time he gives in.

“fine,” he sighs. “get undressed.”

“will you help me?”

“so needy,” he complains, but helps you anyway. as you pull your shirt off, he works on undoing your pants. he cups your head so you don’t hit it on the ceiling as you raise up to slip your pants off, but before you can get rid of your panties honjoong is pulling you back down to his thigh. “that’s enough for now,” he decides, fingers tracing along the outline of your bra before trailing down to your panties. his hand dips to your core, finding the wet spot on the fabric and grinning. “man, you are sensitive. all this and we’ve barely started, baby.”

“are you gonna fuck me back here or do i have to keep getting off on your thigh?” you ask.

“hmm, you’ll come on my thigh and then we’ll see if you deserve to get fucked.”

“are you always this mean in bed?” you whine, and hongjoong chuckles in response.

“are you always this difficult? i said get off on my thigh,” he demands, and you don’t know if it’s the temperature of the car or his words that sends a chill down your spine. you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him once before you lock your hands and get back to work, grinding down on his tensed thigh. you’ve shifted slightly so now you can feel his boner nudging your leg with each roll of your hips, and you can tell hongjoong is holding back whimpers at the contact. he bounces his thigh again unexpectedly, giving you a jolt that sends your forehead crashing into his. you both start laughing, but even that slight movement has you shaking in his lap. you keep your forehead pressed to his as you move again, gasping at the feeling of his hand sliding from your waist down to ghost over your clothed clit.

“touch me,” you beg, eyes pleading, and hongjoong can’t deny you what you want when you’re asking so sweetly. he holds eye contact with you as his hand dips into your panties, collecting some of your arousal before connecting with your clit. you keep dragging your hips, doing most of the work but hongjoong helps by rotating little circles on your bundle of nerves, sending you closer to your high with each touch.

“that’s it baby, gonna come for me?” he asks and you can only nod. “need you to use your words.”

“yes baby, almost there,” you whine, hips moving faster to chase the feeling. hongjoong picks up speed rubbing into your clit, and his encouraging words help you come crashing down with a gasping breath. “need to do that again, need to make you feel good.”

“if you insist baby,” hongjoong says. “doing so good for me.”

“how do you want me?” you ask, lazily kissing his neck as you catch your breath. hongjoong squeezes your hips in response and helps you situate yourself so you’re sitting down next to him.

“i want you several ways,” he says with lust in his eyes. “not sure how i wanna start.”

“ok, you think and i’m gonna take a minute,” you tell him as you close your eyes and try to regulate your heartbeat back to a normal pace. being with hongjoong has your senses heightened, so even though it was a little orgasm you feel like you just ran a marathon. while you’re trying to remember how to breathe normally, you feel hongjoong nudging at your legs so you let him move you where he wants. your eyes remain closed, until you feel hongjoong’s lips kissing over your soiled panties and you gasp, sitting up and instinctively pushing him back. “get outta there!”

“baby i don’t know how this is gonna work if you’re saying shit like that,” he laughs, looking up at you through hooded eyes as he rubs your thighs to calm you down. “what’s wrong? want me to stop?”

“no, no,” you assure him. “i just. it surprised me a little. i still can’t believe this is happening. doesn’t feel real.”

“it’s very real baby,” he says, pulling your underwear to the side to start stroking your entrance. “can i try again?” you simply nod, a whimper threatening to escape. hongjoong lets his finger gather some of your slick before he’s pulling your panties harder, exposing your clit to his hungry gaze. he gets to work rubbing soft circles on it while his lips kiss up and down your thighs, making you squirm. you want more, but this is almost too much for you, so you don’t want to ask just yet. you just let your head fall back on the seat and let out a shaky breath, but hongjoong doesn’t like that. he stops all movement and slaps your thigh, sharply pulling your attention back to him. “nope, eyes on me the whole time my love. need you watching every move i make or i stop moving.”

“ok,” you agree, eyes meeting his. he looks like he’s ready to devour you, and as you hold eye contact with him he starts to do just that, his tongue replacing his hand on your clit. he starts with kitten licks that have you whining for more, and when he thinks you’ve had enough he swipes his tongue all the way down to your core.

“mmf, you’re the sweetest birthday cake i’ve ever had,” he mumbles into your pussy.

“ew hongjoong,” you laugh, and he literally growls into your core.

“it’s true,” he says, eyes meeting yours again. “i could eat you out every day for the rest of my life and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

“promise?” you ask, getting cocky too soon because he moves back up to suck your clit and brings a finger back to your core, slipping it in quickly. he only pumps once or twice before he inserts another, curling them both to find your g spot. he’s frantic but in a practiced way, like he definitely knows what he’s doing but he can’t wait to feel every part of you, taste every part of you. he keeps making out with your clit and starts scissoring his fingers to open you up, and you let out a shriek at the new sensation.

“more of that baby,” he says, “let me hear you. there’s no one around to stay quiet for, let me know how good you feel.”

“it’s good hongjoong,” you tell him, hips bucking to meet the stroke of his hand. you’re stuffed with his fingers, his tongue on your clit, and it’s still not enough. “i want more. need more of you. need it all, baby.”

“no i wanna eat you out-”

“hongjoong!” you whine.

“y/n!” he whines back, but one look at you tells him he’s lost this fight. he licks from your core up to your clit one last time, swirling the nub for good measure and making you jolt. he sits up from his cramped position and huffs. “i don’t know how to get you where i want you for this.”

“fucking in the car was your idea,” you point out, and he groans, head falling against your thigh.

“just gimme a second,” he says and you groan. “patience baby.”

“let me at least see some of you,” you beg, grabbing for his pants and trying to undo the button. he lets you work him out of his pants as he thinks, and when you start cupping his bulge through his boxers his hand covers yours on instinct and guides you to touch him the way he likes, squeezing your hand over his balls and his hips buck in response.

“fuck,” he whispers, pulling you up as much as he can. “ok, you lay like this,” and he moves you to lean against the door with your hips up, and he pushes your legs to your chest. “hold these. now let me get my pants off.”

he finishes undressing rather awkwardly, and you have to laugh. a blush creeps up his neck as you giggle and pull him in for a kiss, mumbling about how cute he is. his demeanor breaks for a moment and he giggles back, sending you straight to the moon. hongjoong is yours. he feels the same way you do, and he’s about to show you how much you mean to him. he rolls a condom on quickly and climbs over you, pushing your legs further into your chest. he lines up with your entrance, eyes flicking up to yours to check that this is okay. you nod and blow him a kiss, and he’s smiling as he finally fills you up. his first full thrust leaves you with your mouth open in a silent moan but the next few thrusts pull the most pathetic whines from deep within your chest and hongjoong is eating it up.

“does it feel good baby?” and you can only nod, not sure words will come to you as he’s hitting your g spot and filling you so perfectly. he was made for you, and you know that now in this moment. he reaches up and plays with your tits, cupping them and flicking your nipples to earn himself extra moans from you in your fucked out state. all you can think of is hongjoong, all your senses filled with him and the way he’s making you feel. you come unexpectedly, moaning out his name so beautifully he almost comes with you. he slows down as you clench around him, trying to last longer to fully enjoy this moment. he leans down to kiss your chest, and you whisper his name to get his attention. he looks up at you delicately, and you smile in return.

“i love you,” you say so quiet you don’t know if he heard you. a smile spreads across his features as he kisses his way up your chest to your lips, kissing you sweetly.

“i love you too,” he says into your lips, brushing over them as he speaks. “you’re perfect, and i love you.”

“show me,” you encourage him, and he takes it as a challenge. his speed picks up out of nowhere, and you moan into his mouth as he captures your lips in another kiss. he helps you hold your legs in place, your arms falling to his waist as you try to pull him in closer. he’s fucking you so fast your head starts bumping against the door, but he quickly pulls you closer so you’re laying down completely and he’s hovering over you. the angle has him hitting you perfectly, and you reach down to rub your clit to come with him. you can tell he’s close, but he smacks your hand away, replacing it with his own. you wrap your free leg around his waist, keeping him close as he picks up speed on your clit.

“i’m gonna come baby, want you to come with me,” he says breathlessly.

“i don’t know if i can yet,” you whine, and he shakes his head.

“you can and you will. my baby can do anything,” he says, and you clench at his words. “see? you’re almost there baby, you can do it. count to three for me.”

“one,” you start off, and he slows his thrusts but keeps his pace on your clit. the change up has you seeing stars, and you almost forget you’re meant to be counting. “two.”

“good girl, come on, come with me-”

“three!” you shriek, a surprise burst of euphoria hitting you as you come. hongjoong came with you, groaning into your neck and sucking a hickey into what you assume will be a very visible spot tomorrow. he chuckles as he pulls back, appreciating the mess between your legs.

“when i said you could do anything i didn’t think it would make you squirt,” he says with a devilish grin. “made you feel that good, huh?”

“don’t be cocky,” you say, smacking his chest but shying away from his eyes nonetheless. “it was nice.”

“nice? baby i need us to do that every day. like a lot,”

“hongjoong!”

“y/n!”

“how am i supposed to clean this up,” you groan, changing the subject from hongjoong’s insatiable appetite.

“don’t, i like what you’ve done to the place.”

“you’re disgusting.”

“kidding,” he laughs, pecking the top of your head. “i’ve got a gym towel in the back, i hope that’s enough.”

“i hope it’s clean!”

“no promises!”

hongjoong cleans you (and the backseat) up to the best of his ability, and you spent some time pillow talking, laying on his chest with the sound of the rain in the background. eventually it dies down enough, and you’re able to convince hongjoong that no, you can’t just lie naked in his backseat for the rest of the night. so you’re finally on the way home, hongjoong driving extra careful but refusing to let go of your hand in his lap.

he took you back the long way so you could spend more time together, forgetting the turn to your house and instead taking the main road back to the frat. he starts to turn around, but you tell him it’s fine.

“i can just sleep there,” you tell him. “but this time you’re not taking the futon.”

“but won’t the bed shake too much if we fuck again?” he asks with a pout.

“you never quit do you,” you laugh, and he just shrugs.

“don’t hate the player hate the game.”

“i can hate both.”

“don’t,” he pouts, making the turn onto frat row. you both laugh at the first house, the obvious remnants of a party lingering in the yard. the rain destroyed whatever fun they were having, and now there’s just one sad dude passed out in the grass who’s definitely waking up with a cold and a hangover. hongjoong parks in his usual spot in front of his frat, and he rushes out of the car to open your door for you. you start to remind him of his presents in the trunk when he kisses you, halting your train of thought. his lips distract you so much you almost forget it’s actively raining on you right now, and you squeal into his mouth to get him to stop.

“baby we’re getting soaked,” you cry and he just locks you in tighter, kissing you again. “mmf, joong, we’ll get sick,” you try again, and he doesn’t listen. at this point your clothes are drenched, so is it worth still fighting? but you take your final shot, promising him no more sex until his next birthday. you watch him move with a quickness you’ve never seen before, grabbing his gifts from the back and covering them with a jacket before he starts running toward the house, leaving you behind. you laugh as you run to catch up to him, watching as he hops from foot to foot trying to unlock the door with his gifts still in his arms. you gently take the keys and unlock the door for him, earning a quick “thanks babe!” and then he ducks inside. you follow him into the living room and who do you see but seonghwa and san sitting on the couch watching a movie. seonghwa watches in disgust as you both track wet footprints on his clean floor, and san smirks as he notices the dopey look on both of your faces.

“had a nice brithday bro?” san asks, and hongjoong nods.

“took you a long time to get home,” seonghwa points out and you clear your throat.

“we, uh, well, i got scared actually, and made him pull over,” you try to explain, but your cheeks heating up give you away.

“likely story,” seonghwa sighs. “go take a shower before you both get sick, i’m not taking care of two cry babies.”

“yeah don’t come upstairs for a while man,” hongjoong says as he starts pulling you toward the stairs.

“dude, gross!” seonghwa shouts. “i’m moving out.”

“but then you’ll miss us too much,” you tease, shooting him a wink as hongjoong pulls you away. you both giggle as seonghwa grumbles about never sleeping here again, and hongjoong stops you at the top of the steps to kiss you for the millionth time today.

“i can’t get enough of that,” he says with a smile. “of you. can’t believe it took us this long.”

“me neither.”

“you’re never getting rid of me now, you know that right?”

“ditto.”

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