#Am I going to be able to fit all of this into six chapters? It is looking increasinly unlikely | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chocosvt · 6 months ago

Text

HER | part three (m).

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

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 24.8k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

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

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

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

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

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

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

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

THE MIDWAY POINT 🎉 now i've just gotta prepare the last 3 parts! this is a chunkier chapter. it contains one of the longest scenes i've ever written (not even the full thing lol, it had to be split). but you'll see why, a lot had to "occur" :p

happy reading!! 💕

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

“Holy fuck—you really did lose your shoe.”

He hadn’t actually noticed until you were both inside his dim apartment, puddles of water now forming on the floorboards.

“I told you!”

Looking down, you had on just a black, sodden sock. With a suctioning and uncomfortably wet squelch, you managed to toe off your remaining sneaker, flinging it carefully onto the shoe mat.

Wonwoo did the same.

Thunder continued rumbling outside, with lightning hitting no more than a few seconds after. The strikes were like white knives in the sky, ripping and shearing apart the storm clouds of summer humidity.

“Jesus,” you huffed, hands moulding down your face to wipe away all the droplets, “I can’t believe you got me to run, first of all. Second of all, I can’t tell if I absolutely hated or thoroughly enjoyed that.”

“I liked it,” Wonwoo said.

“Of course you did.”

He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel to begin cleaning off his glasses and phone, not caring about all the water he was dragging so liberally everywhere. Once Wonwoo fit the frames back to his face, he was able to clearly see you still standing by the door, and he appreciated that you didn’t want to make a mess of his living room even though it wouldn’t matter to him one teensy tiny bit.

Your fingers picked in a distracted manner at the clusters of your dripping hair, meanwhile soft, watery mascara dappled down your arched cheeks, framing you akin to a detailed and evocative painting. That hemmed, white t-shirt was clinging in soaked wrinkles to your heaving torso and chest, revealing subtle imprints of all the bare skin underneath. And Wonwoo found himself looking. Not in a lecherous, tainted way, but in the simple fact that you were…

He suddenly bit down on his inner cheek, curled his hand into a fist where he could easily dig at the scars on his thumb.

To Wonwoo, you were so indescribably beautiful, standing near his doorway, soaked to the bone in the rebirth of rainfall.

He had always thought you were pretty, but in that moment, he knew it was more than just that—it was a realization that stopped the breath in his lungs and the heavy beats his heart was just barely making. At least, that was how it felt. Wonwoo sensed his panic flare up for a split second, and then it simmered away into casual nervousness. Before his eyes could linger long enough to get caught, he remembered to take a deep inhale and reground his thoughts. You stopped fiddling with your hair and sniffled.

“Um, is it okay if I jump in your shower? I mean—well, it’s your place, so if you want to get yourself sorted first, that’s fine.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind at all.”

You smiled back at him, adjusting the small leather bag strewn over your shoulder. He hoped your journal wasn’t soaked.

“Are you sure?”

“Well—okay, let me just run into my room and grab some clothes. I’ll dry off real quick in the washroom and change. I promise it’ll take me less than like, five minutes.”

“That’s probably best. I’ll just keep standing here.”

Hopping his way across the apartment, Wonwoo made it into his bedroom where he began ripping open the dresser drawers, pulling out some basic clothes like sweatpants and a hoodie. Then, he slipped into the washroom, peeling all the sopping, disgustingly sticky articles from his body and throwing them into the sink. Once he rubbed off with a towel, Wonwoo quickly got dressed—probably the fastest he’d ever put on clothes in his entire life. You were still standing patiently by the door when Wonwoo returned to the living room, having dumped his wet outfit into the laundry hamper.

“I’m making a colossal sized puddle right now.” You laughed.

“Ha—that’s okay,” Wonwoo answered, handing you a clean towel he’d pulled from his toiletries closet. “I’ll take care of it.”

You started walking toward the corridor, and then stopped.

“Do you think you have any clothes that might fit me? It’s just—I obviously don’t want to wear this again," you said, gesturing to the t-shirt and long skirt damply flush to your figure.

“Oh, yeah. I’ll look through my dresser and closet and pick out some stuff—you can see which fits best. I’ll throw your clothes and mine into the laundry as well—get it all clean and warmed up.”

“I’d love that, thank you.”

While you started undressing in his washroom, Wonwoo began sorting through all the clothes he had, pulling out older t-shirts and even some shorts, though he knew they most likely wouldn’t fit you. He heard you turn on the shower and wait for it to start heating.

Once Wonwoo was satisfied with all the options he’d picked, he knocked a few times on the washroom door. It was pulled open rather quickly, and he saw you standing in the threshold of thickening, hot steam, holding the spare towel closed at your chest.

“For you. There’s a whole bunch of sizes.”

“Okay, thank you so much. Do you want my clothes?”

“Yeah—that’s all of it?”

“Mmhm.”

“Okay. Take your time. I’m gonna run to the basement and get these in the laundry. I’ll probably be back up in like, five minutes. If you need anything else, just shout. I’ll be able to hear it.”

Wonwoo wasn’t sure how long it took you to shower, mostly because he was too occupied with looking out the windowpanes from his seat at the couch, watching the downpour continue, the evening dimness that flooded the room, and the liquified twinkling of city lights flickering behind all the rain. However, once you emerged from his bedroom and padded into the living area, dressed in a dark blue, logoed shirt from the neatly folded pile he’d handed you, Wonwoo had snapped back to the present. You smiled at him, and he saw that your face was now cleaned of the runny mascara and makeup.

“Oh—uh, our clothes are still in the laundry.”

“That’s okay,” you answered while walking around the coffee table. “I knew they wouldn’t be done right away. I’m fine to wait.”

Wonwoo proceeded to sit up straighter against the couch, rather than his slouched, wide spread position that he’d unconsciously sunk into before when staring vacantly into the rain.

“And, uh—just so you know, I’m wearing an embarrassing lack of clothes right now,” you admitted through your teeth, taking a ginger seat beside him. “So, like, not that I’m saying you’re going to be weird about it ‘cause I know you won’t be, but, do you have a blanket or something that I can toss over my lap?”

Immediately, Wonwoo got up from the couch.

“Yeah, there’s one in my room. I’ll grab it.”

He saw that your bag was also left in his bedroom, so he took it out with him, a few remaining droplets still bulbed on the surface.

“It’s probably not as soft as the one at your place.”

“Doesn’t matter.” You flapped the blanket out and settled it primly over your legs. “And thanks for grabbing my bag, too.”

Wonwoo collapsed back onto the sofa.

“I hope your journal’s not ruined.”

After fishing around inside the pouch, you pulled out your phone, and then the leather notebook, which was completely dry.

“Oh, thank God. I’d actually be so pissed if it was wet, probably more so than my phone.” You flipped through the pages, feeling for any splotches or tears. “I prevail, after all.”

Wonwoo smiled, and fluffed a hand through his hair.

“If you decide to stay longer because the rain won’t let up, I can always try to make you supper, or something. I can’t promise that it will be the best meal of your life, but I’m not that incompetent.”

“Oh—but what if I want something extravagant?” You smirked while flitting through your text messages. “Like buttery lobster with garlic mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables?”

He scratched under the pad of his glasses.

“Is that what you usually eat?”

“No. Only when I’m feeling super fancy. I force Mingyu to cook it for me because he’s good at that stuff. Really, I shouldn’t have to ask him—” you glanced at Wonwoo, smiling, “—he should just do it.”

“Well, if you decide to stay, I can make the next best thing.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Looking into his kitchen, Wonwoo laughed at himself.

“Ramen.”

“Oh! I actually love ramen,” you exclaimed, shuffling up your legs under the blanket. “And I would totally stay, but I promised Princess that I’d come to her new place at six o’clock-ish to help do some unpacking. Once my clothes are all done, I’ll probably get her to come pick me up. I don't know when the rain's gonna stop."

“That’s fine,” Wonwoo replied with an accepting, warm expression, even though on the inside, he was rotting in disappointment because he would have given anything for you to stay and eat supper, maybe watch a movie afterward, order ice cream.

He hated when you would leave. It left him to swim alone with his own thoughts—mostly consumed by you—and dreadfully wait until he could see or hear from you again. As Wonwoo stared off into space, he felt the phone in his pocket buzz.

It was a text from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 5:05 pm ]: hey sir-dork-a-lot

[ Vernon | 5:05 pm ]: you asked her about the party yet?!

Fuck. The stupid party. The Solar Pop incident with Mingyu.

Wonwoo had completely forgot that was somehow supposed to wedge his way into receiving an invite, when he didn’t even want to go in the first place. Parties genuinely weren’t his scene.

Especially the kind that Mingyu and his friend, Seungcheol, would throw. But, at the same time, there was this very small seed of curiosity planted in his stomach—that, maybe, Wonwoo should just shoulder off his hatred of loud, cramped spaces and obnoxious university students chugging all their drinks straight from the bottle. If he just tried his best to stay calm, stay level-headed, breathe, then perhaps Wonwoo could survive a night partying with Vernon, as fucking ridiculous and deluded as it sounded.

He glanced over at you, who was texting someone.

God. Did he really want to ruin this calm, comfortable moment right now to ask about your boyfriend’s big slosh-fest?

“So, I noticed in your schedule, like, two weeks into June, you’re gonna be off the call for three days, I think.”

You scratched your cheek, continuing to text.

“Oh, yeah. I thought I already brought that up, but maybe I’m thinking of a conversation with someone else.” Shutting off your phone, you started sliding it around the blanket while talking. “It’s this big party that Mingyu’s helping to host with his friend from basketball, Seungcheol. I don't know if you're familiar with him. They do it every summer. It’s always so much fun, but I get so fucked up that I need at least two days recovery.”

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling how dry his throat was.

“Yeah. I know Mingyu’s trying to get coke from Vernon.”

You stopped playing with the phone, instead looking immediately to Wonwoo through the rays of gradual light that began easing past the gentler rain. He held his breath.

“Right, Vernon.” You almost shuddered.

“Yeah…”

“If he can get his hands on it, then, fuck, I’m fine with that. Whatever. Mingyu invited him, of course. As long as he doesn’t slink up to me and try to convince me the ten different ways he can give me the best orgasm I’ve ever had, I guess I shouldn’t whine.”

Wonwoo was embarrassed for his friend—it was a pretty rough situation, he would imagine. Not his most shining moment.

“I know he’s your bestie,” you said, stretching your legs out onto the coffee table, “and I’m not going to judge you to your face, but I will be judging you, silently, in the recesses of my own mind.”

Snickering, Wonwoo rubbed a hand down his neck.

“The transparency’s nice, I suppose. But, yeah. I understand why you’d have a gripe with him. To be fair, he’s not that bad. He’s a good guy that’s wrapped up in some shitty habits. I’m sure you taught him a lesson that night. It gave him a serious degree of humbling.”

“Pfft. Did it, now?”

Wonwoo opened his mouth, but he didn’t speak, and it was then you doubled over in laughter at him, patting a hand on his knee.

“No, no. It’s okay. I’ll just deal.”

“I know you will… and, like, be safe and stuff.”

You grinned, shaking your head.

“Oh, yeah. No need to worry. I know my limits… okay—well, actually, I shouldn’t say that—I have a vaguely good idea of where my limits are, and sometimes I happen to surpass them. Not by ignorance, though. My mind is just too mushy at that point to care.”

“How incredibly rambunctious,” Wonwoo replied. “You’re probably blacklisted everywhere; a walking threat, actually.

“Oh, shut up,” you chuckled, folding your arms. “If you were trying to wiggle your way into being invited, I’m revoking it now.”

“Well, that soils my next question.”

You raised your eyebrows, “… which is?”

For a moment, Wonwoo couldn’t process that he was about to ask such a pathetic question. He tried thinking about it more as an out-of-body experience, where it wasn’t really his true conscience taking the sails. You kept watching him, waiting for his response.

Thankfully, you didn’t grant him the breadth to speak, and he was certain a lively hue of colour had just flushed back to his face.

“Oh, you’re being serious. You want to go?”

“Not really,” Wonwoo admitted, pushing up his glasses. “But, uh, I don’t know. It helps that Vernon will be there. I’m sure you can tell, I’m not a party person—not at all. Just, it could be a good opportunity for… um… well, I really can’t explain why, actually.”

“Hm.” Your eyes narrowed. “I assume it’s Vernon pushing you into it for some stupid reason… I mean, I have no issues with you going, of course!” He watched you adjust your legs under the blanket, tucking them back beneath you. “But just so you know, these parties are kinda intense and can be a major sensory overload—even for me! And I know that you don’t like talking about it but I’m not sure how well it bodes to put you in a position where you might have… uh, never mind, actually. I shouldn’t speak on stuff that doesn’t concern me. I just care about your wellbeing.”

Wonwoo pushed his lips together. A slight rush of something warm and tingly flowered at his core and he couldn’t tell if he absolutely loved it or wanted the feeling to wither up and die. More light streamed through his windows as the rain weaned off and the sky morphed from grey back to a softer, evening powder blue.

“I appreciate your concern,” he answered after an almost questionable silence, “I’m sure it will be fine.”

“Oh, sorry—I just wanted to be sure.”

“It’s okay.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment. Wonwoo twiddled his thumbs while you stared down at the blanket, presumably thinking.

“I would love for you to come, then.”

He caught you smiling at him after extending the offer in a quiet voice. The outside light filled up your eyes like a glass of swirling gold and Wonwoo believed your earnesty. And while he knew Vernon would be elated that he was able to come, Wonwoo was fighting to understand if he felt more relieved or terrified.

—JUNE 15TH.

Coming home from his long shift at the pharmacy, it was some time past eleven at night. The day hadn’t been extremely busy, but Wonwoo found it always slowed down the most dramatically when he was absolutely itching to leave. He tried his best to get relaxed, jumping into a warm but short shower, making himself a cup of chamomile tea, looking back on some favourite excerpts from the journal he kept buried away in the first drawer on his nightstand.

Wonwoo willed himself not to look at any screens. And, yet, as he sat in his bed, drinking the last few sips of tea from his hot, porcelain cup, Wonwoo’s eyes flickered across the room to his desk where his laptop was placed, and he felt this ticking urge to write.

At first, he wasn’t sure what to do.

After all, he’d been putting in a significant effort to fix that godawful, nightmarish sleep schedule of his, and while his ventures weren’t always the most successful, Wonwoo was making notable strides. To throw that all away—just to pick open his laptop and most likely end up staring straight into a lurid, white screen, while nothing of actual substance came to his fingertips—it was fruitless, and perhaps a bit stupid. He knew he needed to let that story die.

The longer it sat, collecting pixelated dust on his desktop, the more it made sense to simply delete it. Move on. Acknowledge the fact that this relationship he once perceived as so perfect and glimmering had ended, and trying to find some wisps of closure in forcing himself to complete a fizzled romance was pointless. It made so much sense. Besides, Wonwoo was happier now than he had been back in March, April, May. And, he could attribute much of that to someone he once feared and poorly understood—you.

It was hard to describe, but you had been this flare—a comet more like—that kind of blazed with an uncontrolled fire into his very bleak life. And while he’d definitely felt your scorching, uncomfortable sting more than once, he was able to realize there was something so unique and enriching about you. Because you weren’t just an uncontrollable fire, you were a full body laugh that made it hard to breath, but in the best, most treasured way. You were the quiet stillness of a pond, deep in the woods, listening to all the sounds that thrived around you, even though it didn’t always seem like it.

And you were this very soft, caressing breeze that always found Wonwoo, even when he was at his lowest valleys, giving him that sensation of a shiver to let him know that he was still alive and breathing and not so horribly numb as he thought himself to be.

That was something he’d never experienced before.

It scared him somewhat, but there was comfort in the thought, nonetheless. True, warm, and pure comfort.

Wonwoo sighed, blinking away from his laptop.

He should probably just go to bed.

Once he washed his teacup out in the kitchen, Wonwoo started brushing his teeth. That big summer party he was supposed to attend with Vernon was tomorrow night, and to call him nervous was a complete understatement. Wonwoo wouldn’t be surprised if he threw up. He would probably have to smoke a bit before leaving, just to mellow out. Of course, Vernon was overflowing with excitation, and maybe that was a good thing—he could be Wonwoo’s buffer.

Since your day together at the museum, Wonwoo had revisited your apartment twice to help with further proofreading and editing. He would be downright lying if he claimed that having to read through a memoire of your fulgurant love for Mingyu wasn’t disheartening or turning him occasionally bitter. Wonwoo wanted to be happy that you were so devoted to him, you could write an entire book detailing all your sweetest moments and fondest memories and the overall history of your love. But he wasn’t happy in the slightest.

You made him happy—not you, plus Mingyu

Continuing to brush his teeth, Wonwoo heard his phone ding once, and then again from his bedroom. And while he hadn’t wanted to look at any screens tonight, he figured that responding to a couple texts wouldn’t thwart all his progress. With the toothbrush still hanging from the corner of his mouth, Wonwoo flopped backward onto the bed and yanked his phone off the charger. While he was expecting the messages to be from Vernon due to their late sending, he was quite surprised to see they were actually from you.

[ Her | 11:50 pm ]: IMG.2102

[ Her | 11:50 pm ]: do I look pretty?

Immediately, Wonwoo shuffled up onto his elbows, tapping at the picture you had sent him. When he nearly choked on the excess of minty foam stuck in his mouth, Wonwoo quickly ran into the washroom to spit it all out. He recognized the outfit you were wearing in the photo—it was that white two-piece from the boutique in the mall that you had tried on, with the high-waisted, short, tight skirt and the strapped top that wrapped around the back of your neck and criss-crossed over your chest. Coming back to his bed to sit down, Wonwoo leaned over with an elbow digging into his knee.

Did you mean to send that to him?

For a moment, his thumbs just hovered above the keyboard, attempting to concoct a coherent thought in his mind. He recognized the large, silver-bordered mirror from your bedroom. And while the phone was slightly covering your face, you had this leg crooked up in a sweet, almost delicate pose despite the open and revealing nature of the outfit. Wonwoo rubbed under his glasses, huffing out deeply.

[ Wonwoo | 11:55 pm ]: Did you mean to send this?

He prayed you didn’t take his text the wrong way.

[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: um yes

[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: ur wonwoo, aren’t u?

[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: I just wanted to know what u thought of the outfit I’m gonna wear. I know u have already seen it. but just in case u forgot I wanted to send another pic lol

[ Her | 11:56 pm ]: u think it’s bad? :(

Sitting back against his pillows, Wonwoo completely forgot all about his ‘no screens’ rule, texting you as quickly as possible.

[ Wonwoo | 11:56 pm ]: No, it doesn’t look bad at all.

[ Wonwoo | 11:56 pm ]: You look gorgeous.

[ Her | 11:57 pm ]: and ur not just saying that?

[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: No, of course not.

[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: You’ll be the prettiest there.

[ Her | 11:57 pm ]: omgg thxx <3 okay I feel better now

[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: Why? What happened?

At that moment, Wonwoo actually received a text from Seokmin, but he rapidly flicked it away. Another text followed, and Wonwoo swore he flicked it away even faster, as though Seokmin was actually talking into his ear despite the quietness of his bedroom.

[ Her | 11:59 pm ]: Mingyu told me he doesn’t really like it bc the skirt part is too short and he doesn’t like the top. he says it’s too revealing and that everyone will just be looking at my boobs lol. but I don’t want to change it :/ I like how it fits and it’s not like i’m going to be doing cartwheels or gymnastics

[ Her | 11:59 pm ]: idk he just made me feel bad about it

Wonwoo proceeded to rub a hand through his locks of clean, black hair, pulling them messily all over his head as he thought.

[ Wonwoo | 12:00 am ]: Hm. Well I do agree that it’s revealing and you probably will have people staring at you. I mean, if you’re not uncomfortable by that it’s fine. You’ll just have to be careful if you bend over or dance around, that’s all :) But I’m sure you already know that. You look beautiful. Don’t worry too much.

[ Her | 12:00 am ]: okayy thank you so much! :)

[ Wonwoo | 12:00 am ]: No problem.

[ Her | 12:01 am ]: I’m so glad that ur coming

[ Her | 12:01 am ]: it makes me feel better

[ Wonwoo | 12:01 am ]: Hopefully I can find you.

[ Her | 12:02 am ]: I’ll text you, no worries

[ Her | 12:02 am ]: mkay well I should go to bed now!

[ Her | 12:02 am ]: goodnight <3

[ Wonwoo | 12:02 am ]: Goodnight.

At last, Wonwoo clicked off the bright glare from his phone, setting it down against his chest. For at least five minutes, he did nothing but lay remarkably still in his bed and stare up at the ceiling, thinking—as he usually did—about why he was feeling that way.

That very certain, specific way that was so demanding in his heartbeat to be acknowledged, except for the fact Wonwoo wouldn’t acknowledge it because then he’d throw up and probably lose himself entirely as he panicked.

Eventually, his thoughts were becoming too loud for his liking, and Wonwoo promptly tossed his phone aside and crawled underneath the covers before turning off the bedside lamp.

Even then, Wonwoo was restless. When he tried rolling onto his side, the uncomfortable poking against his nose reminded him he hadn’t even removed his glasses. At first it was too hot, and Wonwoo pointed his leg out from beneath the blankets, pushing all the sheets down to rumple at his waist. But then it was notably cold after a few more minutes, and Wonwoo angrily stirred all his blankets back up to mask over his face. No matter what he did or how he positioned himself or what limb he decided to sacrifice to the hot-cold air, he wasn’t going to fall asleep. Wonwoo’s eyes popped open again.

Patting around the surface of the bed, his fingers eventually brushing the phone and glasses he’d discarded, Wonwoo decided he didn’t care about going to sleep anymore if that was how his body was going to so painfully treat him. He shuffled up more against the pillows splayed at his back and checked the messages sent by Seokmin about half an hour ago—the two boys hadn’t spoken in a while, almost since their exams ended in May, and while Wonwoo would have ideally liked to keep in touch with his friend, he was laughably horrible at it. At least Seokmin seemed chipper.

[ Seokmin | 11:57 pm ]: Hey Wonwoo!

[ Seokmin | 11:57 pm ]: I heard you were going to Mingyu and Seungcheol’s party! I didn’t think that would be something you’re into but I’ll also be there, probably for a couple hours

Wonwoo swiped out from the texts, not really feeling anything or thinking much about their content, and opened some messages from Vernon that he’d received at work but forgot to read.

[ Vernon | 9:55 pm ]: need a drive 4 the party?

[ Vernon | 9:55 pm ]: let me know beautiful xo

He couldn’t help but muster a chuckle at the teasing nature of his friend’s texts, though Wonwoo didn’t respond, making a mental note to answer the next day, instead. For another moment or two, he continued sitting in the dark shadows of his room, staring down at the only light which caught the reflection in his glasses. Wonwoo’s thumb at first hesitated, but then he was reopening his earlier conversation with you, and with a few upward flicks, he was back on that cute photo you’d sent him. It hadn’t left his mind at all.

This huge lump of guilt had come to sit in his gut like an anchor for a reason that Wonwoo didn’t begin recognizing, that is until he finally felt the pull from somewhere deep inside him—the thought had entered his mind and he knew if he just ignored it for even a second it would dissipate. But then, Wonwoo didn’t ignore it, because he didn’t truly want that. He was going to be selfish in that instance and sink into the pull, the heat—not dismissing the thought but the guilt he would later drown in—the shame of it all.

Wonwoo kicked off his mask of bedsheets, letting them settle in a slow puff around his ankles.

In the beginning, all of it felt so bizarre. The hand that twisted underneath his sweatpants, and then his boxers, coming to softly graze fingertips along his hardening shaft—he hadn’t done this in weeks. Wonwoo rarely experienced sexual frustration. It just wasn’t something that bothered him. But the absent tendency would always build up and inevitably break at some point and he hated that you were the cool, breathtaking breeze to push him over that cliff.

With the edges of his fingers, Wonwoo continued to stroke along himself, up and down, just barely touching. It would make his knee jolt or his thigh twitch, but the longer he teased, the more each touch transformed. The pleasure was soaking through and leading him in deeper until Wonwoo tilted up his hips in order to shove down the elastic waist of his sweatpants and underwear. The air was so cold but dually welcomed against his erection that he began pumping to full length in his hand, feeling it throb and grow and stiffen.

Wonwoo let his eyes flutter toward the phone he was holding at his stomach, examining your figure from head to toe. It was wrong and he fucking knew it, but as he rubbed a palm at his most sensitive head and felt the cum start to leak down his cock, Wonwoo couldn’t bring himself to scale the acceptableness of his actions.

In that moment, Wonwoo looked at you in all the ways he shouldn’t. He pressed his head back into the pillow, eyes falling shut while he lubricated himself in squeezing, slow strokes with his own arousal. His fingers gripped the phone tighter, refusing to drop it.

You were bright and flashing in his mind and Wonwoo wanted to know all of it—he wanted to know the feeling of your silk, swollen lips leaving warm kisses up his shaft. He wanted to know the sensation of your tongue laving messy circles around his tip, teasing him, purring at him, staring up at him with those intimidating, sharp eyes that had always seemed beyond frightening. He wanted to know the sounds you would make if you ever so kindly allowed him to settle between your thighs. He knew how fucking beautiful your cunt would be and he could only imagine your taste would utterly melt him.

His fist wrapped tighter, pumped faster, and despite his usual quiet temperament in bed, a throaty, deep whine caught in Wonwoo’s throat. He took another look at your picture, and somewhere amongst the smog of pleasure that thickly hazed his logic, Wonwoo felt this transient, selfish anger, because in that moment, he wanted you. He needed you. He would do fucking anything you asked him and more because there was so much weight you held in his life. Wonwoo just wanted to make you happy and he couldn’t help but burn with the desperation to treat you better than anyone else ever had.

Knowing he was going to shatter soon, Wonwoo braced himself through the torture that was removing his hand and letting the intense, throbbing accumulation of pleasure ebb from his cock.

He gritted his teeth at the frustrating feeling.

But there was a reason for his decision. Looking back to the phone still aglow, Wonwoo swiped out from your picture and began scrolling higher up in the conversation, seeking out something particular that had jumped into his memory. And once he found it, there was an even denser feeling of guilt he had to ignore.

Last week, you ended up sending him a voice note because you were too exhausted to even bother typing. It wasn’t that the audio contained anything even relatively lascivious, since you were mostly just rambling about your day and never quite finishing a thought.

However, Wonwoo loved your voice. He loved hearing it in person and through his phone’s crappy speakers, especially when you sounded so sleepy, and your tone would soften, the occasional sigh or gentle breath hitting his ear just perfectly. Placing his hand back around his erection, Wonwoo hit play on your voice note and laid the phone beside his head on the pillow. He managed to smile through the pleasure that was rebuilding inside him as he intently listened.

“Um, hi, so—ah! Sorry, my phone just fucking slid under the covers, oh my God. But, yeah, I’m sending a voice note ‘cause I’m drop dead exhausted from today. It was the worst. My legs hurt so bad that I could hardly carry myself to bed. Ugh. Anyway… okay, sorry, I forgot what I was gonna say… oh yeah! So—”

It all felt too euphoric—too warm and overwhelming and the more Wonwoo listened to your sweet voice the more he felt himself pulsate with how badly he needed you. He planted one foot to his mattress, using it for stability and leverage as his hips thrust upward and he began unbridled fucking into his own hand. More than anything in the universe he wanted it to be your cunt—your pretty, wet, soft cunt cushioning him in and gushing all over him. He was going to drive himself fucking crazy at the thought, so much that Wonwoo began begging for you in his husky, deep, quivering voice.

Most was complete incoherency, dipping into confusing, jumbled whimpers of his English and native Korean tongue. Your voice was right there by his ear, though he was hardly processing a word. His orgasm was going to collapse over him like a tidal wave and all Wonwoo could do was succumb as he continued pumping his strained cock. His breathing was laboured, heavy. He kept stuttering and pleading for you into the sheer darkness of his bedroom.

Lots of “pl-please” and “f-ffuck, fuck, fuck!” and “m’gonna cc-cum for you, I want t’cum for you, I need it all inside of you, put it all so deep in your p-perfect cunt”—and plenty more tainted things he would take to his grave before he would ever confess to uttering.

As the voice note came to its end, Wonwoo had slammed his fist down for the last time. He immediately turned his cheek to the pillow, ignoring how the rounded glasses dug into his face, simply because his moan was too broken and shamefully loud. His cock started throbbing with the most intense pleasure he’d ever felt against his palm. The cum dribbled down his ghost-white knuckles. Wonwoo refused to even glance at the mess he was making. With a few more shaky pumps of his fist, he’d milked out all he possibly could, some spurts landing on his rumpled t-shirt. At last, he could exhale.

Lifting himself up with his clean hand, Wonwoo took a few moments to simply breathe. His entire body was still racing with adrenaline and hormones and the pure rush of his self-orchestrated ecstasy. But, pushing between all the energy was his guilt—the fact of what he’d just done and how he’d so blatantly used you to make himself feel good. Wonwoo glanced back at his phone and the voice note in the conversation. Immediately, he clicked the device off, and there was strictly still, shapeless blackness that surrounded him.

What the fuck had he just done?

How was he supposed to text you, look at you, talk to you, knowing he’d officially jerked off to your picture and your voice. Even worse—it was probably the best his masturbation had ever felt. It was all so fucking heavenly in the moment that he thought he might die.

Wonwoo had no idea what to make of his actions.

His feelings for you.

But he thought he should at least tidy himself up.

—JUNE 16TH

Before Vernon had come by in his car, Wonwoo was caught in an exhausting and sickening guessing game of whether or not he needed to throw up. His lower stomach was in complete knots, prompting him to pace back and forth outside the washroom door, because sitting down was going to make him ruminate even more over how terribly nervous he was. Thankfully, however, Wonwoo never threw up, and he was able to calm himself a bit by rolling a blunt, sparking it while sat at the open windowsill in his bedroom.

There was also help from the nighttime breeze that touched against his warm face, a sensation he had always found so soothing.

Just before ten at night, Wonwoo received the critical text from Vernon—he was parked outside on the street. He’d fully smoked his blunt at the time of the message, and he pathetically prayed to himself that his nerves wouldn’t sizzle back up at the worst possible time as he locked his apartment door. Once Wonwoo had stepped outside, he spotted Vernon’s old vanilla Camry stalled beside the postal box across the street. He was kind enough to reach over and push the door open for Wonwoo, who quickly shuffled into his seat.

Immediately, Wonwoo received his usual greeting.

“Hey, Glasses.”

He gave a nod back in response, buckling on the seatbelt.

“So, you smell like confusin’ mix of straight cannabis and a fuckin’ breezy Caribbean Ocean tide. How the fuck does that work?”

“Uh, I put on cologne. And then I smoked?”

“You nervous, then?” Vernon asked through his trademark conniving smirk, meanwhile he began steering out onto the street.

“Of course I’m fucking nervous,” Wonwoo almost laughed back at the obvious nature of the question and habitually checked his friend’s blind spot. “I don’t even go to like, dinner parties.”

“Pfft, I’m sure you’ll be fine. The good thing about parties like these—everyone gets so fucked it’s unlikely they’ll remember some nervous dweeb like yourself. Amongst all that chaos, you’ll blend straight in. There’s nothin’ to be shaked up about. I promise ‘ya.”

Wonwoo merely huffed in response, opting to let Vernon focus on driving and working the car’s outdated stereo while he checked his phone. Actually, Wonwoo had wanted to text you before he left the apartment, but he was still stomaching all the rigid guilt that came with jerking himself off to your pretty picture and voice note the night before. It was a stupid, stupid choice.

All those thoughts that had been stampeding through his head—wanting you and needing you and craving to belong with you in a way that could never reach true fruition—Wonwoo had to convince himself it was all meaningless. His mind had conjured those ridiculous sentiments when his logic was razor thin and overcome by the deception of his lust, and, therefore, he refused to accept those urges were even close to his actual feelings for you. He clicked his phone back off, not meaning to sigh aloud but doing so anyway.

Vernon then shot him a speculative glance through the rear-view mirror, though Wonwoo barely caught it. He looked out the window instead, at all the passing lights and people who were eager to spend their Friday night doing something stimulating.

“So, I know you’re probably just thinkin’ to yourself over there, as you usually do,” his friend said, fiddling with the radio until the static noise died back into music, “but I think it’s all too funny.”

Wonwoo scrunched his nose, continuing to watch the nightlife slip by his tracing eyes outside the window.

“Hm? What’s funny?”

Vernon chuckled. “All that shit you said to me, like, over a month ago. We’re not friends. And now, you n’Her hang out all the time. I think she’s pumpin’ some actual life back into you. You’re not like you were before, y’know? Which is good to see. So, what I wanna know now is—would you say the same? Or is she your friend?”

Right, Wonwoo remembered the conversation Vernon was referring to—the night his friend drove him home after a tiresome shift at the pharmacy. With his entire chest, Wonwoo had claimed you two weren’t friends. There had been a lot of truth to it, at least from his perspective. Or, maybe, he’d crushed down the prospect of it so vehemently because Wonwoo had just assumed someone like you would have no interest in honestly befriending him.

He could offer you something, and that was it.

But, now…

“You’d have to ask her,” Wonwoo answered, shrugging.

Instantly, Vernon groaned.

“God, that’s such a fuckin’ cop-out answer, Glasses.”

“Well, what the fuck should I say? Yes, we’re friends, but then you might go and ask her, and she’ll say otherwise.”

“So what?” Vernon engaged, raising his hand partially off the steering wheel in a half-gesture. “So fuckin’ what if she says that? If you think of her as a friend then commit to that. There’s nothin’ wrong with it.” His voice became firmer, more convictional.

Wonwoo tilted his head back against the seat. It’s not that he didn’t think you were friends—it was more so that he might to admit it, and then the relationship could all fall apart, crash like a burning, charred asteroid at his feet. And then Wonwoo would be back in the same self-inflicted crater he was before, thinking he had a genuine connection in his life only to have the rug pulled out from under him.

“… I don’t know.”

“No, you do know. But I see you wanna be all secretive about it and keep your cards close to the chest. So, whatever.”

Rubbing at the edge of his nose, Wonwoo took a quiet moment for himself to muse. He wanted another blunt.

“I don’t think she’ll be that excited to see me.” Vernon said.

Turning his head, Wonwoo looked to his friend and laughed.

“Yeah, can’t imagine why.”

“Think she’ll rip my head off?” Vernon joked with a big, gummy grin, relaxing back into his seat. “That might be kinda hot.”

“No—it would be traumatizing, actually.”

“She better not,” his friend answered, slapping his glove compartment and smirking pridefully. “I’ve got her goddamn coke.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ… I’ve never seen a street this packed…”

Vernon couldn’t help his awe from spilling out as he navigated at a snail’s pace down the road, each and every available spot that lined the curb being occupied by a vehicle. Wonwoo spotted a few groups making their way up the sidewalks, toward the colossal sized house to the distant right of the street. Seungcheol lived in Hill Crest, just like your parents, but he seemed poised at the neighbourhood’s opposite end—probably ideal for throwing an outrageous party that would otherwise magnetize the entire police task force to the door.

Wonwoo glanced down at his phone.

Seokmin had sent him a text a few minutes ago, inquiring if him and Vernon were close by or at the house. He sent a message back about the worrying lack of parking spaces, and then continued to help Vernon search through the overcrowd for a hopeful pocket.

“Fuck… this isn’t lookin’ good…” Vernon lamented.

“I doubt there will be anything close to the house,” Wonwoo sighed, folding his arms in doubt. “It could be best to make a turn or go around the block? We might just have to take a hike.”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe doesn’t take fuckin’ hikes,” his friend jabbed, antsy fingers sculpting into his bitten lip while the other hand catered to steering the wheel. “I have this dude’s blow. Doesn’t that earn me a VIP-guest-list-skip-the-line type plot?”

Wonwoo scoffed. “Should’ve sorted that out earlier, man.”

“Shut your dorky ass up. I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

At that moment, the phone slid between his thighs vibrated with another text from Seokmin. His eyes widened at the invite.

[ Seokmin | 10:40 pm ]: Oh dw about street parking!

[ Seokmin | 10:40 pm ]: Use the gate at the house

“I think you’re right. I might have to turn,” Vernon announced in a defeated breath, brushing a hand through his dust black hair. “Get ready to see the best three-point turn that’s ever been turnt.”

“Just wait one minute,” Wonwoo then answered, leaning forward in his seat as he began to text Seokmin for more details.

[ Wonwoo | 10:41 pm ]: Gate?

[ Seokmin | 10:41 pm ]: Seungcheol’s got a gate that leads to this little underground parking thing. Some of his and Mingyu’s close friends are using it. Her’s friends, too

[ Wonwoo | 10:42 pm ]: Uh… I don’t know haha.

[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: I asked Seungcheol, it’s fine!

[ Wonwoo | 10:42 pm ]: You sure?

[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: Yup

[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: Gate code is #1142!

“Don’t turn around, go up to the driveway and look for a gate,” Wonwoo instructed. “Apparently, this dude’s got an underground parking space. Seokmin gave me the code for it.”

“Jesus Christ,” disbelieving laughter swelled up from Vernon’s chest as he proceeded along the street. “This guy’s like, rich-rich. I wanna see all that fuckin’ cash up front. Bills in every colour.”

Wonwoo was just relieved that Seokmin was telling the truth, though he was nonetheless extremely anxious about using the parking space, and something sharp in his abdomen tightened upon reaching that bronze gate. Vernon had to roll down his window and partially lean outside to press in the code read from Wonwoo’s phone.

They both cast each other a bewildered glance when the gate separated automatically, allowing them access down the slant.

“Rich people can just do whatever they fuck they want, can’t they?” Vernon laughed, shaking his head. “Remind me not to steal anything while we’re wanderin’ around in there.”

But Wonwoo couldn’t say anything even half-conscious in response to his friend’s lazy joke. He was too busy focusing his breathing.

“Jeez, it's about time, huh?” Vernon’s words sounded rife with electricity as they approached the main entryway to the house, the brisk, nighttime air blowing back against their heated faces.

They had already witnessed several people slipping inside and out, to which the shuddering, clear blurt of the music would escape the doorway—not that they couldn’t hear it already. The deep and rhythmic bass was emanating from within Seungcheol’s house like a growl caught in a beast’s belly, and Wonwoo could only fathom what kind of damage his eardrums might sustain after the night was over.

Right before Vernon could touch the handle, the doors abruptly burst open with an aggressive swing, revealing two girls who were latched hand in hand, giggling to each other. The distinct stench of marijuana clouded after them down the steps.

Vernon opted to catch the left door before it could close.

“After you, Glasses,” he invited with an almost glimmering smirk, then gesturing inward at the practical void that awaited him—auroras of flashing light, loud conversation, and pounding music.

It seemed like stepping into another universe.

“Thanks for the chivalry,” Wonwoo answered.

He then forced himself into the mansion, not allowing the empty space in his mind to concoct ample regret or doubt. Vernon followed suit, the large door slamming shut in a forbidding manner behind the two boys, akin to a shoving a cork on a glass bottle and capturing all the sand grains inside. Wonwoo knew he could leave, though it didn’t feel like it. However, he didn’t want to act defeated before even starting the night. Maybe some of Seokmin’s miraculous optimism gloss would rub off on him before it was too late.

The thing was, Wonwoo had no idea what to think or do nor could he develop one sensible, sound thought that he might express to Vernon—the house was alive with what seemed to be a mighty sea of people. Some were mingling with their drinks loosely held in an attempt to feign casualness, pitching conversation despite the unrelenting music. Others were clashed together, dirty dancing, hands carnally wandering, probably thinking nothing other than how good it felt to be a part of the moment. Everything was so dim and dark. Lights blotched around the room in deep purples and blues.

Wonwoo had suddenly forgotten how to even move.

Until Vernon’s hand slapped his shoulder.

“Hey, what should we start with?!” His friend had practically shouted over the music and its hypnotizing synths. “Do you wanna get a drink? Smoke one out? Or should we find Seokmin?”

For a moment, Wonwoo just stared at him, trying hard through the murkiness and heat to match the words he was hearing with Vernon’s lips. The environment would take a bit getting used to.

“Also—,” he then grabbed Wonwoo’s shoulder, “—let’s move away from the door before we get fuckin’ trampled, yeah?”

Vernon helped guide Wonwoo further into the main living area, down a few stairs and toward the large square of couches. There was hardly any room to sit without being uncomfortably close to someone else—they were either in another person’s lap, swapping a disgusting amount of liquored spit, or completely faded and about as coherent as a rock. Wonwoo didn’t want to sit, anyway. He looked down at his phone, noticing that Seokmin had texted him again.

“Um, what do you want to do?” He decided to flip the question on Vernon, not wanting to be tasked with the decision.

Besides, he assumed his friend would know better.

“Me? I want a fuckin’ drink!” Vernon began to look around, though the air was notably veiled with a thin smoke and all the bodies were obstructing much view of anything. “Oh—I told you already, didn’t I?! That I’m definitely intendin’ to get shitfaced?! Did you figure out a ride in case you wanted t’go home later on?”

As Vernon began his quest to find a drink, Wonwoo was right behind him, remembering that Vernon had mentioned it already.

“I know!” He called out while reading Seokmin’s text.

[ Seokmin | 11:00 pm ]: There’s like two big living spaces

[ Seokmin | 11:00 pm ]: We’re not in the main one tho, easiest way is to go through the kitchen and out the other side!

Wonwoo had thought you would text him, and he couldn’t evade his disappointment at the expectation. He decided to assume that maybe you just didn’t know he was there yet. At most, he hoped you weren’t too blasted and at least cognizant enough to hold a conversation with him. Though, Wonwoo had not one inkling as to what you were like at parties. He could only imagine from the scattered bits and pieces he’d heard from yourself and Vernon.

As Wonwoo followed Vernon down a foggy corridor, he suddenly bumped into the boy’s hard back with a bothered grunt. A girl had stepped out from a threshold that led into the kitchen and he realized that Vernon was only letting her leave before they entered.

She leaned in rather close to Vernon’s face, stroking a quick, flirtatious hand along the divots in his defined chest as she lilted aloud, “thanks, gorgeous.”

Her gaze switched to linger on Wonwoo for what felt like a long, excruciating eternity before proceeding past them in a confident stride down the dark and narrow hallway. Vernon kissed his teeth, staring back at Wonwoo with that hedonistic twinkle in his eyes.

“Okay—she was fine, not gonna lie.”

“Mmhm,” Wonwoo mumbled, adjusting his glasses, “can we at least get a drink first before you decide to start fucking people?”

“Why do you think we’re at the kitchen, smart ass?”

Shaking his head in dismissal at Vernon’s snarky comment, he urged the boy impatiently into the kitchen area (which was admittedly larger than Wonwoo’s entire living space).

One side of the room was lined with arrays of salty snacks, while the opposite contained big, rounded punch bowls of pre-mixed alcohol that people were dipping into with ladles. Vernon had noticed the option to mix your own drink, and thus Wonwoo was dragged toward the kitchen island where the boys waited to pick from the various bottles of alcohol and soft drinks left scattered about.

Wonwoo peeped down at his phone again while Vernon got easily caught up in conversation with a girl preparing a lemon shot.

He finally answered Seokmin’s texts.

“Hey, Glasses!” Vernon’s hand latched onto his shoulder, giving it a shake. “This is Sierra! She’s gonna make us our drinks!”

It took him a moment to properly decipher the girl Vernon had been speaking to, though, the longer he squinted through the shifty kitchen lighting, the more he could separate her silhouette and features from the dimness. She had a comfortable smile, full and warm, trustworthy, and so Wonwoo merely shrugged his agreement.

“Don’t worry,” the girl shouted, pulling aside two solo cups and then twizzling off the bottlecap to the rum, “I’m a bartender, actually. I used to work Room 319. Now I’m at Honeymoon.”

Vernon leaned his elbows on the granite, watching with intrigue as she sloshed a decent amount of alcohol into each cup.

“Room 319? You’ve definitely seen some shit,” he cackled.

“Oh, yeah. One-hundred percent.”

“Y’know, I tried getting this cunt to go—” Vernon jabbed an accusing thumb back at Wonwoo, “—but he’s such a flake!”

Sierra proceeded to grin quite demurely, flashing a quick, barely detectable glance toward Wonwoo, who had just managed to catch it while shoving the phone back into his pocket. She then grabbed a sweetener from amongst the clutter, tucking a short tuft of hair behind her ear before adding a small drizzle to each solo cup.

“Hey, it’s not for everybody!” Her cheeks flushed in the galactic, purplish light that flickered around the kitchen. “And, uh, this may sound weird, actually. But I recognize you, I think.”

“Oh, me?” Wonwoo was finally forced to speak.

“Yeah, uh—” she stumbled over her words a bit as she swirled the sweetener around inside the cups, “—from Bradbrook’s calculus. I think you sat a few rows ahead of me, or something. I just know because I, um—I was really close to failing the class. When I went to her for help, she gave me a ton of resources, even said I could try asking you about tutoring. She said you’re like, her best student.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, cracking his neck, “I’ve never tutored anyone—don’t know why she’d think to recommend me.”

“It’s okay! I never asked because you seemed like the type who didn’t want to be bothered,” Sierra responded, beginning to top off the drinks with some bubbling soda. “I figured it out, anyway.”

“Good for you,” Wonwoo commended.

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure if it was you, ‘cause your hair would always be down over your forehead in class. But you’ve got it all brushed and styled and stuff. It looks super nice!”

He smiled at her and mumbled, “thanks.”

“Well, I’m gonna get running! No matter where I end up, I always seem to be everyone’s mixologist at some point.”

Vernon dragged the alcohol over, maintaining his slouched position onto the island granite. Upon taking an experimental sip to taste the flavours and potency, his face momentarily soured, and then all his features relaxed. He was glowing like an ember, almost.

“No, that’s good. Tastes a bit like a… gummy bear?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s so delicious,” she agreed, shoving hands into her back pockets. “Tastes even better kissing it off someone.”

As Wonwoo stared down at his fizzling drink, debating his first sip, he again felt the transient flittering of her eyes ghost him.

“Go figure,” Vernon rasped, smiling, “appreciate it, player.”

“M’kay,” Sierra chirped and waved, ”bye!”

Not even a few seconds after she left, and someone else swooped in like an eagle to clasp the bottle of rum she’d once been handling, Vernon turned his head to Wonwoo with a raised brow.

“She was DTF for you, holy shit.”

“Hm?” Wonwoo sounded muffled with the solo cup now perched at his lips, allowing the drink to seep into his mouth, tasting the smoothness of the rum, and then the sweet. “What’s that mean?”

“DTF?” Vernon echoed. “Down to fuck!” He smacked his arm.

“That’s stupid and absurd.”

“Well, Glasses, you’re fuckin’ stupid and absurd if you didn’t see it. I mean, if you’re not gonna get a chance with Her, mine as well start seekin’ out what you can. Might make you less uptight.”

“No—that’s what makes you less uptight, not me.”

“I’m just sayin’, man—you’re hot and you don’t even take advantage of it. In no shapes or figures… forms? Whatever the stupid sayin’ is. You’ve got to live a little. But, whatever. Where’s Seokmin?”

“Through there, I think?” Wonwoo nodded toward a high-arched exit opposite to the side they entered the kitchen from. “That’s what he texted me. But I’ll double check anyway, to be sure.”

Flashing on his phone, Wonwoo finally saw your messages.

[ Her | 11:11 pm ]: wonwooooooo

[ Her | 11:11 pm ]: LIVING ROOM! I'm waiting!!!!

And just like that—like a splitting snap of the fingers—he felt everything all over again, and those nerves steamrolled him in the most pathetic way possible.

He stared down at his phone, moonfaced.

Wonwoo was happy you had remembered to message him, embarrassingly giddy at the thought, even. But he was also downright nauseous to reunite with your inquisitive friends, to meet Seungcheol, to again push through the intangible, brooding weight of seeing Mingyu. He took a gulp from the red cup, swishing the tart but sugared concoction between his cheeks before swallowing, hoping the rum burned down all his nerves in the throaty sting it left behind.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo rediscovered his voice, “through there.”

At first, he couldn’t identify you anywhere. The room was even bigger than the kitchen, just as poorly lit, with a high, pointed ceiling that somehow reminded him of the church he attended when he was too little to even properly grasp religion. But Wonwoo continued squinting through the jumbled crowd, making slow steps and surveiling the room each time alongside Vernon.

“I don’t see ‘em!” He shouted overtop the music, grabbing Wonwoo’s elbow to stop him from moulding into all the warm bodies.

“He said they’re in here!” Wonwoo raised his voice, checking his phone for another text, but seeing nothing. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

Sensing that fluttering, unsteady wind in his chest, Wonwoo was eager to indulge in another sip from his cup, desperately yearning for the alcohol to fucking hurry up and take its floating effect. Yet, as the taste subdued on his tongue, Wonwoo was able to notice a slight fissure that formed in between the congregation of people—a rather perfect alignment that revealed a home bar across the room, with familiar faces seated at the stools and more laughing behind the counter. That was when Wonwoo saw you, captured in a brush stroke of sweeping, amethyst light that dappled down your body.

You were leaned leisurely against Mingyu’s chest, holding onto his arm that draped like a protective sling over your shoulder, and Wonwoo supposed it was laid there with a not-so-subtle purpose.

Mingyu was speaking to his friend and co-host, Seungcheol, who was on the other side of the home bar, his lower back digging against the counter while he had quirked his head to still see Mingyu.

One face that Wonwoo had yet to discern was Seokmin, though, in all his honestly, Wonwoo wasn’t that fixated on further searching the low dusk and marijuana plumes hanging tacky in the air. He’d found you. All those nerves dissolved into comfort.

Maybe it was shallow, but that’s what he cared about most.

“Oh!’ Vernon piped up. “Damn. They’re right down there.”

And, before the crowd could readjust themselves to drown the slivered space between yourself and Wonwoo, your head turned.

In the nick of time, you seemed to recognize him, because that hazy, unfocused nature about your countenance shifted in a mere second, and he saw a smile pick its way along your mouth, like a springtime garden at last twirling abloom. You proceeded to nudge Mingyu’s arm aside, whispering something into his ear that he didn’t quite seem to hear correctly as he maintained his lengthy talk with Seungcheol.

Wonwoo knew he was smiling, too, bigger and bigger.

You wove your way through the crowd, to which Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from the short chuckle he spat out as you impatiently shoved aside the guy that had stepped into your way.

“Move! Oh my fucking God—”

But your flash of contempt didn’t last long.

A second later, you were buckling into Wonwoo.

Your arms reached up to curl tightly around his neck, and he felt the grooves of your warm, soft body press firm against him for the first time. Wonwoo was scared at the proximity, though his pounding heart ever so gradually calmed as he took in a deep breath and smelled that faint, fresh scent—strawberries. While it was undoubtedly integrated with some sort of spicy liquor, Wonwoo didn’t care. He pulled himself into the moment—realized how fucking badly he wanted to drop the solo cup and splay his hands at the open, revealing back of your outfit and feel your bare, supple skin.

But he couldn’t. Because Wonwoo wasn’t your boyfriend.

And you weren’t his to so unabashedly touch.

“I’m so fucking happy you made it!” He heard you squeal into his ear, his smile somehow widening at your animated voice.

“Yeah? Bit of a hassle, not gonna lie," Wonwoo answered.

“Parking? I’m sorry! I should have texted you about the gate!”

“No, no,” he laughed, trying his best and gentlest way to somehow ease some space in between you, “it’s okay. Everything worked out perfectly fine in the end. Don’t worry about it, alright?”

“You sure?”

Wonwoo looked into your eyes, so enchantingly bright and glistering as you blinked at him sympathetically, wearing a tiny pout.

Fuck—he wanted to kiss you.

It was such a blatant, jarring thought that Wonwoo couldn’t respond to your worry straight away, instead pushing down his urges.

“… I’m sure.”

“Well,” you then hummed, at last relaxing your hold around his neck and making some very unwanted but necessary space between your bodies, “is it still true?” You bit your lip afterward.

“Hm? Is what still true?”

Upon Wonwoo furrowing his brow, you pressed into him again, reaching up to his ear where you could comfortably talk and not worry about whether the music would muffle every syllable.

He felt the warmth of your breath tickle at his skin. And then—shivers, everywhere. Trickling down his spine. His nape. Not the kind from chilly, cold weather, or a scary movie, but a different kind that prompted his sense to disintegrate in a simple second.

“Do you still think I’m the prettiest here?”

Wonwoo sensed the grin paint his face, as easy as melting butter, though he hid it well in your sweet-scented hair.

“Mmhm, ‘course you are,” he answered, purposefully deepening his already deep voice. “You’re always the prettiest.”

One of your charming, seraphic giggles feathered at his ear and Wonwoo had never been so convinced that he would exchange just about anything in his life to call you his for the entire night.

“Um, hey, so… I don’t want to fuckin’ ruin your guys’ little reunion or nothin’, but I am still here, unfortunately!”

Damn—Wonwoo had kind of forgotten that Vernon was even there, and hearing his gruff voice break through the room’s drumming bass had quickly removed him from his fantasy. In a way, he was relieved, because Wonwoo knew he’d been thinking with unprecedented delusion and he needed something to draw a ripple through his thoughts before he became too meek to ignore them.

You then slotted yourself against Wonwoo’s side, adjusting the white strap grooving around the back of your neck. One arm remained around his wideset shoulders, latching him into place.

“Well, that’s an immaculate face I haven’t seen in a while,” you deadpanned at poor Vernon, sculpting him up and down with shameless judgement. “And what have you been up to? Selling MDMA from behind porta-potties to dumb, gullible first years?”

But Vernon took it well, as he was most likely expecting it.

“So, I won’t say no or yes to that.”

“Hm. Figures.”

Vernon shook his head, mustering up a husky laugh. “Should I assume you haven’t gotten over our incident, yet?”

Wonwoo felt your ovaled, sharp fingernails dig into his shoulder, and he settled his hand on your upper back to relax you.

“I’ll get over it when I want to get over it.”

“Okay, okay." A smile bled across Vernon’s face. “And I respect that, yeah? How ‘bout we both agree to keep it lax? That work at all?”

Despite your narrowed, seething eyes, you agreed.

“It works, for now.” You were in the midst of turning around, as though to begin pulling Wonwoo toward the bar, but you suddenly stopped on a dime, returning your glared focus back toward an unsuspecting, more lenient Vernon. “By the way, Princess is in a relationship with Seungcheol, so paws off. And don’t even think about trying to fuck Clara or Bells again or else you’ll need to take every single pill you fucking own in order to feel even a fraction of anything after I’m done beating your breaks off. Understand?”

“Uh, yes. I do. I understand.”

And then you grinned, though it was colder than outer space, and Wonwoo was more than pleased he wasn’t on the receiving end.

“Perfect! Now, let’s get everyone all introduced. I promise, though, there’s not many strangers. I guess just Seungcheol? Some of his friends are around here somewhere, I don’t know where.”

You curled an arm around Wonwoo’s elbow and began tugging him into the barricade of people, most stepping aside for you without request, like you were a princess or some other type of respected royalty. Wonwoo glanced back at Vernon who was already giving him a wide-eyed, skeptical expression, and so he made sure to dip his head close to Vernon’s ear to murmur some encouragement.

“At least your head isn’t ripped off.”

However, it might have not been the most thoughtful.

“Yeah, meta-fuckin’-phorically it is,” Vernon laughed back. “I forgot how scary the chick is. How have you not pissed your pants yet?”

“You get used to it after a while. N’hey—when the hell did you have sex with Clara and Bells?" Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from asking over his shoulder as he was further pulled along by your persistent guide.

“It was before you got to know Her, alright? But—” Vernon had suddenly leaned closer, his breath at Wonwoo’s ear, “—Bells is a fuckin’ homie hopper. Guaranteed she’ll try to get into your pants. I know she’s tried it with Seungcheol, Seokmin, probably you, tonight.”

“Well, you two sound like a match made in heaven.”

“Ha! Funny, man,” Vernon cackled, shoving his friend’s back in a teasing way. “No—she’s actually crazy. Gives good head, though.”

Wonwoo opted to ignore the last comment. He was soon at the bar alongside you, Vernon, and all the others, to which he noted your arm was still clasped around his elbow, a gesture that Wonwoo found himself greatly appreciating as everyone began pausing their own conversations to acknowledge the two newcomers. He didn’t know who to look at or greet first as his heartbeat thundered, though he recognized Clara and Bells seated together on two leather stools, a few emptied shot glasses aligned before them like dominos.

Princess, the friend Wonwoo always thought you were closest to, was behind the counter with Seungcheol, staring Wonwoo down through her hooded and smooth brown eyes. He felt Mingyu watching him too, though it discomforted him much more than Princess.

“Hey, nice to meet you guys, finally.” Seungcheol was leaning over the luminated countertop, bumping his fist against Wonwoo’s, and then Vernon’s. “Hope you’re finding it alright.”

Wonwoo had never met Seungcheol despite hearing his name frequently throughout campus, especially during the prime months for partying. The consensus was that everyone seemed to like and respect him for his cordial, easygoing attitude and sportsmanship, since he played a lot of basketball for the university’s principal varsity team. Wonwoo had never once heard anything concerning or relatively malicious about the guy. He was almost akin to a celebrity.

“We got in not too long ago,” Vernon explained, and Wonwoo was grateful he took the conversating initiative, “seems crazy. And thanks for lettin’ us use your garage! Street parkin’ was ass.”

“Shit, yeah. I get it.” Seungcheol shrugged in agreement, meanwhile drawing a shallow glass over to himself. “It’s no problem, man. You did us a favour with the blow. I’ll pay upstairs, yeah?”

“Hey, it’s all good. What’re you pourin’ up?’

Princess suddenly reached around Seungcheol’s shoulder, removing the large, maple bottle he was about to twist open.

“He’s not pouring up anything,” she smiled, placing the alcohol on a shelf behind her, “because whiskey gets him beyond hammered, and I need him coherent for at least another hour.”

Seungcheol turned around, his mouth hung open.

“Okay—I was gonna pour out a splash.”

The girl grabbed his sharp jaw, giving Seungcheol’s face a tender shake before pushing her lips against his. His previous objection suddenly disappeared like morning dew. For a couple that had recently started dating according to your allegory, they seemed remarkably comfortable with each other.

“Okay—shot, shot!” Bells yelped excitedly, slapping her hand against the polished countertop as Clara grabbed a tequila bottle.

“Oh, god.” Your eyes rolled, and Wonwoo heard the exhaustion in your tone. “Have fun getting alcohol poisoning.”

Mingyu scoffed, crossing his broad, buff arms. “They’ll be blackout in less than an hour.”

“What for?” Vernon asked.

You finally let go of Wonwoo, grabbing your own solo cup off the countertop and taking a fast swig before answering.

“Whenever Seungcheol and Princess kiss, they take a shot.”

“And they kiss a lot—" Clara hiccupped, a very inebriated fog cast across her gaze, “— even more than Her n’ Mingyu!”

“Oh, don’t bring us into this,” you snapped from behind your drink, leaning an elbow onto the bar, “take your shot and can it.”

“I’m starting to not even taste it!”

The giggling spilled from Bells’ mouth like a waterspout, to which both her and Clara leaned in close to each other’s faces, their expressions warping with breathless, dry gulps of laughter.

“Excuse them,” Princess then muttered, resting an arm along Seungcheol’s firm back, waves of moonlit blue dancing across her dark skin while she eyed her cackling friends with bits of judgement and concern. “I’m starting to believe they have an alcohol problem.”

“So, if I lose you later, should I assume you’re in the washroom holding back their hair?” Seungcheol then huffed into his clasped hands, flicking soft eyes up toward his sighing girlfriend.

She pulled at a long braid of her hair, nodding.

“If I’m not, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Fuck, I like those odds, baby," he rasped, leaning back.

Princess smiled, squeezing his shoulder.

“No, you absolutely don’t, sweetheart.”

Wonwoo smiled at them, exercising his best effort to follow all the conversation even though his brain was whirring on overdrive. He was in the midst of sipping from the sweetened rum when Clara’s eyes snapped akin to a locket with his own, and she immediately squealed.

“Oh! You! From Spring Street! Mr. Deep Voice!”

Lowering the cup from his face, Wonwoo’s heart dropped.

He was more than perfectly okay with sitting on the sidelines and contributing nothing to the flow of conversation other than trivial nods and agreeable half-smiles. But Clara had singled him out, and now Bells was at last squirming around in her seat, her eyes patted with a popping, brilliant lime green as opposed to shimmery blue.

You tilted your head in questioning at Clara. “Yes, yes, we’ve been over this, girl. He’s been standing here the past five minutes.”

“Wonwoo!” Bells shrieked. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“He doesn’t need to say anything.” Wonwoo heard the irritable grit rub through your voice as you straightened your posture and propped a hand to your hip, glaring at your friends. “Why don’t you let him enjoy his drink instead of shouting at him?”

From behind, Mingyu’s large hand slid around your waist and stopped at your lower stomach, pulling you a step back into his chest.

“Relax. She’s drunk as fuck, alright?” He murmured by your temple, planting a reassuring kiss.

“Nah, it’s okay.” Princess was quick to diffuse any degree of tension before it could morph into a terrifying flame. “He’s just quiet, that’s all. Nothing wrong with it. I like your hair, Wonwoo.”

He clenched his fist tight, nodding at her.

“Thanks.”

It was only one goddamn word, but he’d choked it out with all the strength harboured in his chest and lungs. Princess smiled at him.

“Glasses is cool. All his jokes will come out later.” Vernon teased despite the instant, needling stare Wonwoo shot his way.

“Hey, no pressure,” Seungcheol laughed, swiping his phone off the bar countertop. “Should we all head upstairs? I’ve got a nice little room set up for us—can smoke and mellow out a bit, play some cards, finally get to that blow—whatever you guys think is best.”

“Fuck, I’m down.” Sliding off the leather stool, Mingyu came to his feet and agreed, his hand still settled at your stomach.

His utterance was met with a chorus of likewise answers.

Wonwoo suddenly felt your fingertips graze his hand.

“Are you okay with that?” You asked him personally, smiling in a reassuring, nonchalant manner that helped ease his stiltedness.

“Yeah,” he answered, delighted to see the sparks that jumped into your eyes through the shadows and nebulas of lavender light.

The room Seungcheol had referred to was quite separated from the party booming onward downstairs, though he claimed not to be worried about it much since his other friends were keeping tabs on all the action. Wonwoo appreciated the quieter, more laidback atmosphere that allowed him to actually think and analyze his situation, which he unfortunately could not help himself from doing.

It was a cozy and personally developed space—probably the room Seungcheol spent most of his time in. Large, pristine movie posters were perfectly tapered to covering an entire wall, with stringed, dull-glowing lights swooped around the wooden infrastructure of the ceiling. A billiard ball table was toward the left, and then a circular table to the right, stacked with miscellaneous things such as playing cards, textbooks, and poker chips.

There were some shelves by the windows, mostly to hold decorative items, though Wonwoo saw a number of trophies from what he assumed to be Seungcheol’s past sports competitions.

Everyone began to settle.

As Vernon waltzed over to the couch by the cluttered table, he’d suddenly looked down at the cushions with a gruff shout.

“Fuck! Jesus Christ, Seokmin! What the fuck are you doin’?”

“Oh, yeah—the poor baby got a headache,” you crooned, walking toward the couch with a teasing smirk. “He thought he’d try and avoid all of us by coming up here and taking a nap.”

“I wasn’t napping,” Seokmin grumbled while pushing himself to sit up, swatting back your hand that rifled through his dark brown tresses disarrayed in every direction, “I was relaxing, that’s all.”

“Dude, you looked like you were dead,” Vernon laughed, stepping around from behind the couch to sit on the arm.

Leaning against a desk with two large speakers on it, Mingyu folded his arms, smiling at Seokmin whose face was beginning to tint red from all the attention. “That’s just how he looks when he sleeps.”

“Thanks…” Seokmin answered, standing up and dusting himself off. “Guess I’m never staying the night at your place again.”

“Well, if you’re not going to take the couch, I think these two should simmer down for a hot minute,” Princess said, shuffling the stumbling, giggling duo, Bells and Clara, to take a much needed seat.

“Okay, yeah. Mingyu, throw on some music. Give everyone a chance to get nice n’ comfy.” Seungcheol then beckoned toward Vernon. “Over here, man. Let’s get this shit sorted out.”

“Ah, right, right.”

His friend was quick to rise from the couch and meet Seungcheol in the corner of the room, by the billiard table as well as a small black safe. Mingyu pulled out his phone, linking up his Bluetooth with Seungcheol’s expensive sound system, and music soon replaced the empty air in the room. He then joined Seungcheol and Vernon in the corner. Wonwoo opted not to sleuth and glanced elsewhere.

He saw that you were already talking to Princess, the two of you pulling out some beers and other drinks from a fridge he hadn’t noticed before, and while he positively wanted to make time for a conversation with you, Wonwoo thought he should bother Seokmin first. The boy was shoving open a windowpane across the room.

“Hey, liar,” he announced in a dragging but not overly serious tone. “Not downstairs like you said you were, huh?”

Seokmin turned around, rubbing his face.

“I know, I know. I got a headache at the last minute. But I knew everyone would come upstairs. Glad you could make it!”

“Well then, how much of a headache should I be expecting?”

“Eh, depends,” his friend answered.

Wonwoo shrugged. “Depends on what?”

“I can’t imagine you jumping around on a countertop with your shirt off and a whippet in your hand.”

He snorted. “Is that what you were doing?”

“No—I was the one trying to get them off the counter.”

“Fair.”

“I think you’ll be fine. At most, you’ll step outside for some air and get a nice breeze in your hair. No biggie… what’s that?”

“Uh, just a drink this girl whipped up. Sierra.”

“Oh.” Seokmin’s eyes brightened. “You mean Sierra Gomez?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Did she have like, chin length, sort of coarse and frizzy brown hair? Freckles all over her cheeks? ‘Cause that’s Sierra Gomez. She works at the… the, um… Honeymoon! Yeah. The Honeymoon. She’s nice—used to stare at the back of your head all the time in calculus.”

“Hm.”

“Anyway—whatever—random thought.”

“Who used to stare at the back of your head in calculus?”

Turning around, Wonwoo noticed that you had approached their conversation at the open window, an abrupt flourish of wind sweeping back unto your inquisitive yet slightly firm expression. A bottle was in your hand, and you took a quick, easy sip from it.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Seokmin dismissed.

“No, tell me.”

Your eyes then flitted between himself and Seokmin. There was an innocent smile on your face that nursed the beer bottle.

“A girl who used to look at Wonwoo all the time during calculus with Bradbrook. She made him his drink, that’s all.”

“Really? Is that so?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Apparently.”

“Who?” You asked, still maintaining that polished smile.

Seokmin chuckled, “nah, you wouldn’t know her.”

“Maybe I do.”

“No,” he was persistent on convincing you, pulling at the flushed cusp of his ear, “I know you don’t. It’s not a big deal.”

Your focused gaze then lasered into Seokmin, and much of the airy politeness to your voice had gradually sharpened out.

“If it’s not a big deal then tell me.”

Music from the speaker system atop the nearby desk drowned the momentary silence that lasted between the three. Wonwoo concentrated on the lyrics and the depth of the sensual beat, trying his hardest to mentally escape the odd tension smouldering up.

Seokmin was biting his lip, hard.

“Tell me.” You now were demanding rather than asking.

“It’s not—”

“Seokmin!”

“Okay, okay! Sierra Gomez. That’s the girl.”

Wonwoo shifted his eyes to you, observing the manner in which you quirked your head, pursed your bottom lip, and began staring around the room in an honest attempt to place the name that Seokmin had so frighteningly blurted, almost like a suspect under interrogation. And then you were shrugging, sipping from your cold drink.

“Hm, don’t know her.”

“Like I said...” his friend sighed, leaning backward into the cool breeze and settling his hands against the windowsill.

“She’s here? And she made you that?” You asked.

Wonwoo looked down at his cup, almost completely emptied.

“… Um, yeah.”

There was a nearly imperceptible falter that spilt across your face, though it travelled so quickly, like a blink of light, and Wonwoo was starting to think that maybe he hadn’t even seen it at all.

“Well, that was really nice of her.” A strange breathiness lingered in your tone. “I mean, I don’t know her but she sounds really… nice. I’ll have to chat with her someday. I don’t know what we’ll talk about… something nice, probably. Yeah. We’ll do that.”

Upon sensing your very unusual discomfort, Wonwoo thought he might try to quell whatever series of emotions must be taking shape behind those glassy eyes. But almost from thin air, Mingyu was at your side, sliding an arm around your waist and his head poking down to kiss your cheek. Wonwoo ate his words right back up.

“Sorry to bite the conversation,” Mingyu excused himself, removing the arm from your waist to hang off your shoulder instead, where it covered the same revealing patch of your cleavage. “But I like keeping an eye on this one—” he pecked your temple, “—one sip she’s normal, the next she’s on top of the damn table giving everyone a fuckin’ show they don’t deserve. Hard to tell what she’s gonna do.”

Your uptight posture melted habitually against Mingyu’s chest, meanwhile a slight snarl forged across your lips.

Wonwoo knew that his drink was getting empty, and he didn’t want to waste the remainder on trying to survive the unfortunate conversation he’d been whisked into. He realized how much he hated talking to Mingyu, especially now that Wonwoo was closer to you.

“Alright, you don’t need to overembellish.”

“Ha! Overembellish?” A heavy laugh flew off Mingyu’s tongue as he gave your shoulder a soft shake, staring down at you with his curious, twinkling eyes. “What am I overembellishing, pretty girl? Huh? You don’t remember that dance with Clara? Kicking that dude’s drink off the table? High out of your fuckin’ mind, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I remember. My problem is that you’re painting me out to be a mindless slut just waiting to show off. It’s not like I go into these situations, intending to get on a table and kick people’s drinks and shit. I’m just going with what I feel in the moment. I mean, I’m sure it gets a bit slutty. But that’s part of the fun. At least, I think.”

Okay—Wonwoo didn’t give a fuck about preserving his drink any more. He immediately dove in to take a generous sip, staring down the cup like there was something profoundly captivating scribbled on the bottom. Now that he was thinking about it, Wonwoo realized this is his first time witnessing your dynamic with Mingyu.

Mingyu sighed, tongue prodding against his inner cheek.

“Can’t make it easy, can you?”

At that, you cackled, tipping your head against his neck.

“Never. You should know that by now.”

“The important thing is, everyone has a good time.” Seokmin decided to add his two cents, not seeming as stiffened by the conversation as Wonwoo, probably since he was accustomed to it.

Nonetheless, it prompted your signature eye roll.

“Hey everyone! Seokmin thinks the most important part of a party is that everyone has a good time!” You mockingly chided, proceeding to raise the bottle to your mouth for another sip while Mingyu rubbed his nose, laughing. “Did that really need to be said?”

Partially closing the window, Seokmin chuckled. “I’m just saying it ‘cause you guys always bicker and bring the mood down.”

Your grip around the beer bottle visibly tightened.

“Bicker?! We don’t bicker!”

“Are you serious?” Seokmin folded his arms, a disbelieving smile mixed with puzzlement carving his mouth. “You just did!”

“No, that wasn’t bickering," you stated. “That was Mingyu saying something stupid and me correcting it. Purely factual.”

Shaking his head, Mingyu merely smirked. “Mmhm. Let’s go with that.” Though, it was quite obvious he was holding back what he actually wanted to say, but didn’t want to prove Seokmin’s point.

“Anyways, I’m not trying to make you look bad,” Seokmin mumbled, brushing a hand along an itch on his arm. “So, whatever you see here, Wonwoo, take it with a grain of salt, I guess.”

God, no.

He’d wanted so desperately to remain invisible—to not be summoned into the conversation in any way, shape, or form.

“Please,” you sounded exasperated, messing about with your hair, “I’m sure Wonwoo’d be the last person to care, anyway.”

At the worst possible time, he’d completely exhausted his soda and rum, and there was not even a single drop for him to make a lame show of sipping up. Wonwoo didn’t know whether or not to say anything. Maybe, if he just smiled genuinely, nodded his head, then everything would keep moving and he could somehow escape the burdensome pressure. However, what he failed to realize was that his overthinking gave him a very dazed expression that made it seem as though he wasn’t listening at all. Seokmin suddenly slapped his arm.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Dude’s not even paying attention. Mentally checked out ‘cause of your arguing.”

“No. I’m listening,” Wonwoo answered, knowing the longer he stayed quiet the more guilty and strange he’d appear. “I just figure it’s better to let you guys hash it out. I’d rather not get involved.”

“Smart,” Mingyu huffed, to which Wonwoo found himself in the crosshairs of his intimidating gaze. “Best not to pick sides, right?”

“Oh my gosh, there are no sides.” Elbowing the tall, dark-haired boy gently in his rib, you shook your head. “And even if there were, I’m forcing him to take my side. You obviously have Seokmin.”

“When you are going to stop saying that?” Mingyu sounded notably annoyed at your comment, though you merely shrugged it off, instead wrapping a small hand with his in a successful attempt to pull him away from the conversation at the breezy window.

“Don’t whine, Gyu. Let’s go talk to Princess.”

Once you were gone, Wonwoo looked to Seokmin with some vague hope that he would share his astonishment at the situation. He couldn’t tell if you and Mingyu just clashed so naturally because your relationship was the long lasting, weathered kind where there were lots of little quips due to your shared comfortability. Or, maybe there was something else he was missing. But Seokmin didn’t seem even relatively phased, which lead Wonwoo into thinking that it was his overanalyzing brain picking things apart unnecessarily.

“Oh, I’ve gotta talk with Vernon for a sec.” His friend remembered, pointing out the tattooed boy who was closely admiring all the expensively framed film posters. “Nice to see you, though!”

The second Seokmin had slipped away, Wonwoo occupied his old position against the windowsill, letting his head tilt back until it bumped with the glass. A timidly building sickness ached in his stomach at the worry of all his conversations feeling like that—so agonizing, uncomfortable, with his mind racing a mile a minute.

He sighed aloud, attempting to steady his breathing.

Things would get better. They had to.

“Hey, Wonwoo! You wanna sit?”

Following the abrupt voice over to the now organized, tidied table, Wonwoo saw that it was Seungcheol who called his name. He tilted his head at an empty seat and Wonwoo decided to take the boy up on the offer rather than stumble into the undertow of his self-inflicted panic. Besides, Seungcheol was fairly relaxed and seemed easy to converse with—a much needed repose from Mingyu. As he sat down, setting his empty cup aside, Seungcheol leaned forward with his chin pressing down between his thumb and index finger.

“You okay?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Wonwoo nodded. “I’m good.”

Relaxing back into his seat, Seungcheol smiled.

“Just making sure. I know it’s not always the easiest trying to make it through a Her-Mingyu-Seokmin three-way—pause—ignore how weirdly I phrased that,” he laughed, rubbing along his jaw.

The air around Wonwoo tinged with an immediate sense of relief, and he found himself relaxing, too, stretching out his legs.

“Yeah,” he then breathed out deeply, the tension in his chest loosening up. “I assume it’s best to just shut the fuck up.”

“Mmhm.” Seungcheol was eager to nod in agreement. “Yeah, exactly. Shut the fuck up, and give the most neutral answers if needed. It’s honestly a skill. You’ve gotta be a world class fence sitter.”

“So it seems.”

“Anyway, I’m curious—what’re you studying?”

“Nothing exciting. Mathematics, specifically calculus. I like a bit of data and statistics, too. I don’t know. Just, analyzing stuff.”

“Hm,” Seungcheol crossed his arms, grinning, “can’t say I’d be very good at all that. You want to be a data analyst or something?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve thought about teaching, too.”

“University?”

“Yeah… I heard you’re in biomedical now.”

“Mmhm—switched my whole degree—can thank Junhui for that. He’s around here, somewhere. I like it, though. No regrets about it or anything. Besides—” Seungcheol turned his head toward the billiard ball table where Princess was chatting with you and Mingyu, a fond, amorous expression softening his face, “—that’s how I met Princess. I mean, she’s so intelligent, level-headed, thoughtful. Finally worked up the courage to ask her out, like… two months ago, now? Things have been smooth sailing since.”

“I can see that. You guys mesh together well,” Wonwoo answered, at first staring at Princess, but sensing his eyes naturally drift toward you and that tight hold Mingyu had at your bare waist.

“Thanks, man. Hey—I should say congrats, by the way.”

“Hm?” Wonwoo mumbled, spreading his legs. “What for?”

“Frontiers. You got a super good score.”

“Oh, that… uh, thanks. I mean, it was last year.”

Seungcheol’s face immediately scrunched with laughter.

“What?”

“Shit. It’s nothing.” Seungcheol was still chuckling a bit between his breathy words. “I love how you shrug it off. Like, whenever your name comes up, it’s always next to how smart you are, man. I love that you don’t even fucking care. If that were me, I’d be the most pretentious piece of shit—it’s actually insane.”

Wonwoo paused for a second to think, looking at his sneakers, and then back at Seungcheol, the cogs in his mind beginning to whirr.

“I didn’t think my name would come up much. If at all.”

“No, no, it does,” he answered, bouncing his fist off the table with another chuckle. “Hey—you get around more than you think.”

Maybe Seungcheol’s words were supposed to be uplifting, or rewarding to hear, but Wonwoo felt his stomach drop and a horrible, papery dryness spread throughout his mouth. He absolutely hated the thought of people talking about him, discussing him, perceiving him.

“Oh, yeah! Shit, I’ve been meaning to ask—” Seungcheol brightened and shuffled further up in his seat, “—Mingyu says you speak Korean? Were you born there, or from your parents, maybe?”

Wonwoo picked at his thumb slightly.

“Uh, yeah, I do. I was born there.”

“Same. Daegu.”

“Changwon.”

Seungcheol smiled, and when he switched so fluidly from his English to Korean, Wonwoo needed a moment to comprehend the different syllables and speech patterns hitting his ear. It was almost like a glitch, but it was infinitesimal, and Wonwoo processed it quick.

“Mingyu didn’t know where you were born. He just said he’d spoken Korean with you. It’s nice to hear, right?”

“It is. My parents still live in Changwon. Though their English is limited so I hardly ever use it with them.”

Nodding his head in understanding, Seungcheol then propped a leg onto his knee and began to grin. “It’s the same for me. I don’t know if Mingyu’s told you—he wasn’t born there but his parents spoke it around him growing up.”

“I’ve heard…”

“So Seokmin says you like to write?”

“Yes. Reading and writing.”

“I’m not much of a writer. I used to love reading. I still do, actually. But it’s difficult to make time for it.”

Wonwoo agreed. He would have never pegged Seungcheol as someone who enjoyed reading, mostly due to his reputation and his plethora of outlandish, jock friends, though he was pleasantly surprised to hear it.

“I haven’t been reading much myself. Or writing. I’m in a burnout, I suppose.” A sigh fell defeatedly from Wonwoo’s mouth. “It’s frustrating. What kind of books did you read?”

“Nothing unique. Lord of the Rings. I went through a period of really liking Goosebumps, too.” He then bit his inner cheek in contemplation as he thought harder about his catalogue. “The weirdest book I remember reading was Walking Practice by Dolki Min. It gave me nightmares.”

“I’ve heard lots of mixed opinions about it.”

“It’s a book you read once, somehow manage to enjoy, but know you’ll never revisit… hm, it’s got me thinking…” Seungcheol was suddenly leaning forward, an arm dangling off the table as his forehead wrinkled with effort at placing a certain memory. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you used to date that girl who worked at the university library? I think her name was… shit—” he snapped his fingers a few times, bit down hard on his rosy lip while his dark brow furrowed, “—Jeanie? I believe that’s it. She always wore a little pin on her pullovers. Didn’t really talk much. At least not to me. She was shy but seemed sweet.��

For a second, Wonwoo thought he misheard Seungcheol—that the music from the speaker system was blaring much too loud and he somehow misinterpreted a word or sentence. He even dug into his ear for a second, sat up in his chair instead of casually leaning backward.

“What?”

Wonwoo hadn’t even realized he’d dropped his Korean.

“Oh, I was asking about that girl you used to date. It was Jeanie, right? She worked at the university library.” When Wonwoo kept staring at him without so much as a sound, blink, or even a tiny twitch, Seungcheol waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Fuck, my bad. I’m probably confusing you with someone else.”

“No... you’re not.”

It had felt like a gunshot—realizing the specific pronunciation and shaping of Seungcheol’s lips hadn’t been misinterpreted at all. He was in fact saying what Wonwoo dreaded, feared, like the ghost stories from his childhood that his brother would utter through a white, dying flashlight until Wonwoo uncontrollably wept. Like the last step at his parents’ house he used to constantly miss, his heart practically jamming into his throat each and every time. It was that slow, nauseating accumulation of anxiety in his stomach, coming to buzz and rumble akin to a beehive. It was all those stupid mistakes.

Jeanie. To hear her name in another person’s mouth was almost sickening. To think about her again was pure heartache.

“That’s what I figured,” Seungcheol said. “She was nice, but I don’t think she came back in the fall… I don’t want to assume anything. Just a memory.” He reeled back on the topic as Wonwoo sat adjacent to him, paler than an alabaster pearl.

“Yeah…” he managed to croak out, feeling a rasp develop somewhere deep in his throat, “we’re not together anymore.”

“Hey, it is what it is,” Seungcheol affirmed, putting on a sincere smile that Wonwoo found a pinch of solace in. “We don’t have to fuckin’ mull over it or anything. All that shit’s in the past, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. You’re here now, amongst friends, I hope.”

Wonwoo swallowed, thinking about what Seungcheol said.

He then shifted his head toward the billiard ball table. Vernon was now involved in a very passionate conversation with Mingyu that Wonwoo was unable to hear from his distance. The two boys were bouncing back and forth, animated in their hand motions and expressions, meanwhile you and Princess were passing the most subtly judgmental looks between each other. For a moment, Wonwoo’s gaze caught your own, to which you shot him an innocuous eye roll paired with a small but tenderly growing smile. That thick uneasiness in his chest pulled back like a receding ocean tide and Wonwoo knew he was okay again.

Seungcheol took note of the glance, and he grinned.

“It seems you’re pretty close with Her.”

Turning his attention back to Seungcheol, Wonwoo nodded.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. She’s… um…”

“Hard to describe, isn’t she?” Seungcheol answered for him, now observing the scene at the billiard ball table as well.

Wonwoo almost hesitated asking his next question, but before his brain could make much sense of it, he was already speaking.

“Does Mingyu always do that?”

Seungcheol chuckled, “do what?”

“He’s on her like a fucking sticker.”

Undoubtedly, his heart sank in at the predictable answer.

“Yeah, Gyu’s always got his eye on her. I understand where he’s coming from. She attracts a lot of attention. He straight up socked this dude in the face last year for hitting on her. I mean, to be fair, he was drunk and Her can tend to be a little… well, she likes to push his buttons. It was high tension all night. Bound to explode.”

Remembering his meal at Solar Pop with Vernon a few weeks ago, Wonwoo knew how anxious his friend had been at the thought of getting ungracefully decked in the face by Mingyu’s knuckles. While it never happened—and Wonwoo was certain then that it wouldn’t—he would hate to be on the receiving end of whatever power Mingyu did pack behind a serious punch. Wonwoo despised fighting and conflict. There was often a cutting, wolfish nature wading about Mingyu’s dark gold eyes that quite frankly petrified him enough.

Considering how fearful Vernon had seemed, Wonwoo was surprised the boy was even talking with Mingyu so freely. But that forgiving, never-take-anything-too-seriously gene was just embedded straight into Vernon’s core. He could get along with anybody.

“Hm,” was all Wonwoo hummed in response.

Since he had been laser-focused analyzing the cordial, humorous conversation between Vernon and Mingyu, he failed to note that Princess had joined her boyfriend at the table. Upon turning his head out of worry he might be caught staring, Wonwoo finally saw the beautiful girl leaning against Seungcheol’s back from behind; her arms draped comfortably around his neck and her cheek pressed to his midnight black hair. Wonwoo flashed an awkward half-smile.

“You guys getting to know each other?” She asked.

Seungcheol exchanged an agreeing glance with Wonwoo.

“Mmhm. We’re basically two peas in a pod now,” the boy proceeded to joke while Princess grinned down at him, her eyes gleaming. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool. One smart cookie, y’know?”

“Wow. Smarter than you, yeah?” She laughed, now straightening up and resting just a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, can’t be a winner in everything.”

“Oh. Maybe you can’t.”

“Shit—watch yourself, missy.”

Seungcheol quickly twisted around in his chair, managing to catch Princess by the waist and playfully wrestle her onto his lap. She hardly fought in retaliation against him, a huge, warm smile glowing from her face as she let herself get wrapped in his squeezing arms.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure if he wanted to throw up. It’s not that he was some spiteful, self-loathing recluse who couldn’t stand seeing others in healthy relationships—it wasn’t that at all. What he despised was the loneliness it reflected unto himself, and the deeply unsettling thought that he was just too damaged, insecure, and unlovable to ever truly warrant the pure trust of another. He feared he could never bring his inner self to fruitfully open in such vulnerable ways.

“Hey, Wonwoo. I just noticed your cup’s empty.”

When he connected with the earnest gaze of Princess, he realized she was pointing at the red cup left untouched by his elbow.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Do you want a beer? Or a chaser?” She offered in a polite tone as Seungcheol gently moved her long braids aside to drape over her far shoulder. “We have lots of stuff in the fridge over there.”

He bit into his lip, thinking.

“Doesn’t have to be a drink,” Seungcheol said, shrugging. “If you smoke, I’ve got some stuff already crushed up. Uh, I’ve got a bong around here somewhere. I think it’s on the shelf. Rolling papers, too. Don’t know how you prefer to smoke it.”

“Papers, usually,” Wonwoo answered.

“Cool. I’ve got that.”

With two soft, careful hands gliding up her waist, Seungcheol sweetly urged Princess to her feet and then pitched an announcement that anyone interested in smoking could come to the table.

Princess swiped the blue bong from Seungcheol’s shelf.

“I’m going for a bowl,” she said, clicking her tongue.

“Ou, me too!” Clara chirped, using Bells’ arm to help shove herself off the sofa, ignoring the way her friend whined.

“I’ll come sit with you guys,” Princess added, “just make a little room. And try not to throw up on me if you can help it.”

Wonwoo was in the midst of being accompanied at the table, with Vernon dragging out the chair to his left while Mingyu occupied the seat across from him. He watched the boy’s arm stretch out to accommodate you onto his lap, and Wonwoo assumed the hand he couldn’t see was groping your thigh underneath the table. In the pit of his stomach, Wonwoo knew what that slimy, bitter feeling was, though he refused to acknowledge it—he wouldn’t even look at you.

Seungcheol tossed a ziplock bag filled with weed onto the table and spread out an array of thin, dull, white rectangular papers.

Immediately, Vernon was tugging on Wonwoo’s sleeve.

“Can you roll mine, dude?”

“Hm?” Mingyu grunted, seeming amused. “You’re asking Wonwoo to roll your joint? You're a fucking drug dealer.”

“I’ve never met anyone who can roll as good as him,” his friend complimented, leaning back in the wooden chair and firmly shaking Wonwoo’s shoulder. “If he’s in the room, I’m gettin’ him to roll. He’s got nice, talented, dexterous fingers. Isn’t that right?”

Reaching for a translucent paper and smoothing out the crinkles, a suspect arch made its way to Wonwoo’s brow, meanwhile the tips of his ears burned with all the eyeballs examining his every fucking move. Wonwoo opened the baggie, beginning to shake out the pre-grinded bud as he held the paper in a curled shape.

“Please don’t talk about my fingers like that,” he muttered, pushing up his glasses. “Check that. You want a little more or less?”

“Nah, leave it at that,” Vernon answered.

Brushing a hand through his hair, Seungcheol then crossed his arms, smirking. “I wanna see it when you’re done rolling.”

“Me too,” Mingyu agreed, staring Wonwoo down like a hawk.

“Great. Why don’t we pass the joint around the table when he’s done with it, and we can all grade it. How fun,” you mumbled sarcastically, slumping forward and resting your chin against a palm.

“You gonna smoke or not, sweetheart?” Mingyu asked.

“I don’t know yet…”

Wonwoo knew you were staring at him while he fiddled with removing a crease in the partially rolled paper, because there was an itch crawling along him, like a sunburn, but not quite. Though, he opted to continue focusing on the joint, even with your eyes breathing him in from across the table, craving his acknowledgement.

“Lick there,” he instructed, holding the paper for Vernon.

From the couch, Wonwoo heard a bubbly laugh. It was Bells, her legs kicked up onto Princess’ lap without a care in the world while Princess sparked a lighter to help Clara ignite the sapphire bowl.

“Wonwoo, if you make one for me, can you lick it?”

He simply ignored her while carefully tucking at the joint.

Wonwoo turned to Vernon again. “Lick.”

After some finely tuned adjustments that required his utmost focus, Wonwoo was at last satisfied with the roll, then handing the joint off to Vernon for him to further pack and twist up. Once his friend finished the job, he passed the joint back to Wonwoo, who further gave it down to Seungcheol. The boy glanced over it closely.

“Damn… that’s pretty fuckin’ good, can’t lie.”

“Let me see," Mingyu practically demanded, granting Seungcheol the slimmest opportunity to even pass the joint along.

He’d snatched it up and settled back in his seat—nearly sliding you straight off his lap in the process—squinting to find some stupid imperfection or mistake he could point out, though, there was nothing. Without a word, he passed the smoke to Vernon.

“See? Told ‘ya. Glasses never fails me.”

“If you don’t mind—” Seungcheol rubbed at his bottom lip, staring at Wonwoo with a quirked eyebrow, “—could I get one?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Mingyu won’t say it but you should roll one for him, too.”

As Wonwoo pulled another paper toward him, he managed to look at you, and the little spark that jumped into your pretty eye. He smiled because you were smiling, and that always made him feel so inexplicably warm inside, like the soft melting of browned caramel.

“I can do that,” he said, to which Mingyu nodded his head.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll roll one for you, too, Her. I mean, if you want it.”

“Okay. That’s sweet. Maybe later.”

You smiled at him again.

He smiled back.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure how it happened or who initially decided the idea, but someone had suggested poker, and now the entire table was cleared off with the exception of Seungcheol’s playing cards and the multi-coloured chip stacks. They decided on classic Texas Hold’em because everyone who’d decided to join was most familiar with the style, though Wonwoo cared to dabble more in Blackjack as there was a mathematical basis to it that scratched a satisfying itch in his brain. Nonetheless, he was fairly good at Texas Hold’em, too.

Vernon hated playing with him, and he made that extremely apparent through his moaning while Princess shuffled the card deck. There was a decent number of people playing—only you, Clara, and Bells chose to sit on the sidelines and observe. Wonwoo had wanted you to play, but you kept declining, even without a concrete reason.

“Okay, everyone’s familiar with the rules, right?” Princess asked for clarification, at first burning the top card off the deck. “I’ll play dealer first round. That makes Seungcheol the small blind and Wonwoo the big blind. N'remember, you guys signed up for this, so if you can't afford to blow some money then you better be good.”

Everyone collectively agreed, and Princess began dealing the cards to all contenders until there was two before each person. Wonwoo wasn't exactly in the best position to be owing people cash, but he was a pretty solid player in his experience, though he was most comfortable going against Vernon and Seokmin. They had done a few poker nights at the random houses Vernon always claimed he was looking after for a friend. He had no idea what Seungcheol or Mingyu would be like as players. It did scare him a little.

Seungcheol made his move first—just a dollar, the equivalent of a single white-coloured chip. Wonwoo had to double the bet, so he moved out two white chips instead. Vernon decided to raise the amount to four chips, and Seokmin called the bet, matching it. Mingyu went next, his figure appearing foggy from across the table as the air became increasingly tinged with ruffles of smoke.

He called.

Seungcheol and Wonwoo both called at their turns, and thus, the first round of betting had ended. Everyone pushed forward their chips for Princess to collect, creating their small, measly looking pot.

Wonwoo kept the joint poised between his pointer and middle finger as he slyly gleaned the suit and ranks of his hand, keeping both cards flush against the table, just lifting their corners.

It didn’t seem like much and would probably result in little reward—an eight of clovers and a three of spades—but Wonwoo wasn’t looking to show out in the very first game, anyway.

He glanced toward the couch, where you were squished almost shoulder to shoulder against Clara and Bells. The bong was sat in your lap as you leaned down over the mouthpiece and sparked at the cannabis packed into the bowl. Bells curled at her long, black hair, heels dug into the edge of the coffee table, eyes glazed as pastries.

“I didn’t get anything from that,” she mumbled.

“That’s ‘cause you don’t know how to play,” Princess chuckled, again burning another card off the deck before setting down three more at the centre of the table, creating the flop.

Nine of diamonds, seven of hearts, and six of clovers.

Everyone took a minute to examine the flop, comparing it with the cards they had stowed close to their chests. Wonwoo, however, didn’t even bother comparing, as he already knew his move.

“Hm…” Seungcheol paused, rubbing at his chin and sucking in his bottom lip. “I think I’ll check.” He then leaned back, placing forth no bet at all, and instead looked to Wonwoo for his decision.

“Fold.”

“Ha!” Vernon practically choked beside him, the joint almost spat from his mouth, and Wonwoo felt the boy’s hand push in a teasing pressure at his shoulder. “You’re such a piece of shit, man.”

“Why is he a piece of shit?” Bells wondered.

“Just, uh—ah, never mind,” Vernon capitulated, still somewhat chuckling under his breath as Wonwoo smiled at him. “I’m gonna bet. I’ll put out some of these.” He slid out the required chips, forest-green in colour, each valued at twenty-five dollars.

Nibbling on his fingertip, Seokmin shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m folding.”

Princess smiled. “No, it’s okay! Mingyu next.”

“Hm, call,” he responded, matching Vernon's dare.

The attention returned to Seungcheol, who was rooted in his indecisiveness, pressed fingers masking half his face as he stared down at the three community cards, brow furrowed with thought.

Eventually, he shrugged. “Fuck it. I’m folding too.”

“Not feeling lucky, babe?” Princess grinned, collecting the bets placed by Vernon and Mingyu to the growing pot.

“I’m treading cautiously, let’s just say that.” He smirked.

After revealing the fourth community card, another round ensued between Vernon and Mingyu. Wonwoo relaxed back into his seat, an analyzing eye shifting from his tattooed, face-pierced friend to the stoic and collected Mingyu who was awaiting Vernon’s turn.

Wonwoo held his bottom lip between sharp teeth, then staring down at his lap in an attempt to smother that prying, wide smile, knowing the exact move his friend would make. It was Vernon, after all. And he always played big, even when he shouldn’t.

“Bet. Here you go.”

More of those green chips were moved out.

Mingyu huffed, tongue curling against his pronounced canine. “I don’t believe you, dude.”

Vernon cackled, propping up his knee and setting the heel of his sneaker onto the chair. He exhaled a smooth hit from his joint.

“Okay. Raise, then.”

Seungcheol chuckled, sharing a laugh with Seokmin who was sipping at a beer bottle from across the table.

“Fine—have it your way.”

"I’ll call.”

“Not feeling so confident, yeah?” Mingyu proceeded to laugh, eyeing Vernon closely with a testing, intrigued expression.

“I’ll let the showdown speak for itself,” Vernon pitted back.

Again, Princess collected their chips and rid the deck of its top card, and then placed down the fifth and final community card, establishing the river and the arrangement from which Vernon and Mingyu would need to create the most powerful hand. Each boy at last turned over their deck, and it was clear cut who was the winner.

“Mingyu’s got a full house,” Princess explained, standing up and leaning forward to swivel the card combination into place. “Take these three from the river, plus his nine of hearts and seven of clovers—that’s a three of a kind and a pair. Vernon can at most make a straight.” She then sat back down, pushing the entire pot to Mingyu.

“Did you win, baby?” After remaining silent for the entire game, you had finally perked up from the couch, admittedly buzzed.

Brushing back his hair, he smirked. “I won. Mr. Drug Dealer owes me about three-hundred dollars. But I guess you've just got that laying around somewhere? Stuffed up your pillow case?”

Vernon laughed, then took a deep, long drag from his joint. "If you're not sleepin' against a pillow case full of cash, I'm happy to officially give you the opportunity. Takes away all your stress."

“Congratulations,” you flashed a hazy smile at your boyfriend, courtesy of the smoke wafting through the air, like you were caught in a reverie, “I'm glad all those Sundays were well spent.”

“Okay, we’ll move down now,” Princess announced, reorganizing the cards into a deck. “Seungcheol’s the dealer, Wonwoo is the small blind, and Vernon’s the big blind this time.”

They continued to play until everyone at the table had a chance at being the blinds and the dealer. Wonwoo folded every round. He knew it might've been ignorant and distrustful, but to him, it was the perfect opportunity to see inside everyone's bag of tricks.

He’d developed a fairly foolproof inkling toward their tactics and gives. Seokmin was by far the easiest player to make fold, though Wonwoo was already well aware—he would only hold his ground if there was confidence in his hand, but even then, anyone else calling Seokmin’s bet always engendered him to squirm. And while Vernon was still a more seasoned player by comparison, his brashness and tentative nature toward folding was often his downfall.

Seungcheol and Princess were a bit harder to read.

They were alike in their more cautious, calculating style of play, and Princess clearly had experience with orchestrating poker matches. Seungcheol, however, would routinely make the same mistake that Wonwoo had noticed straight away—touching or covering his face. When he was most confident, his fingers would sit more around his chin, or jaw, and when he was dealt a shitty hand with little to no promise of creating something notable from the community cards, those fingers etched further toward his lips.

You had still refused to join the match when offered by Princess, though you were paying greater attention to the game—even stopping by to hover with interest at Mingyu’s shoulder.

Princess was back to being the dealer.

Seungcheol was again the small blind. “I’ll put up twenty.”

Wonwoo grabbed two stacks of his chips and slid them outward to double the boy’s forced bet. “Forty.”

Everyone called.

Since the pot had gone unraised, Wonwoo decided to push forth more of his chips, adding on another twenty in small stacks. “Raise.”

The eagerness to increase the bet had drained. Again, all parties at the table simply called, and Wonwoo was feeling quite confident.

“Flop time,” Princess said with a smile, neatly setting out three cards at the table’s centre for everyone to glean.

Seungcheol checked. So did Wonwoo.

“Raise.” Vernon was persistent in his choice.

Everyone matched the increased bet, now sitting at eighty chips, until it fell upon Wonwoo’s turn. Expectant eyes were drilling holes into him like he was plywood at a construction site. Under normal circumstances, Wonwoo would abhor it more than anything else, but he was otherwise relaxed and in tune with his decisions as the joint smoke warmly fluttered around him. Coughing out a tickle from his throat, he grabbed another stack of his chips.

“It’s at eighty, so I’ll push to a hundred.”

“Cunt,” Vernon coughed, though he matched the raise without so much as a leg shake or a bite at his glinting lip ring.

“Fold,” Seokmin sighed, forfeiting his hand to Princess.

Wonwoo looked across the table, watching your fingertips squeeze into Mingyu’s thick shoulders as he pondered his choice.

“Call.” He eventually decided with a shrug.

Seungcheol agreed.

By the fifth community card, Wonwoo, Mingyu, Seungcheol, and Vernon were still engaged in the match. From his analysis, Wonwoo was sure he would take the pot. Seungcheol was rubbing just below his lip using a slow thumb—there was uncertainty and doubt in the gesture. Vernon’s willingness to raise was merely intended to pressure out the others, but it hadn’t worked, and his quietness suggested there might be regret, and still, confidence, that he could somehow get away with it. Finally, Wonwoo saw Mingyu.

He'd played a handful of poker—specifically Texas Hold’em—with Mingyu when they had taken that probability elective last year.

The thing was, Mingyu had this gold-plated guise of believing his casual, unbothered demeanour couldn’t be disrupted under any circumstance—that no one would catch that transient slip of credence in those molten brown eyes or note the way he cracked the wood in the chair from fidgeting when the silence was too heavy and all-encompassing. But Wonwoo would notice. He could see it clearer than glass. The more Mingyu disguised it, the easier it poured out.

“Alright, showdown. Let’s see your hands.”

Everyone flipped their cards.

A moment of silence ensued, and then—

“Fuck you, Wonwoo,” Vernon grunted, jabbing his side.

Both him and Seungcheol could make a straight flush, but since the rank of Wonwoo’s cards were higher, he took the win.

Not to mention the rather large, admirable pot. He was pretty pleased to see those colourful bills being forked out from the losers' wallets. It truly did pay off to play with rich people, and Mingyu and Seungcheol's pockets seemed endless.

By Wonwoo's third joint of the night, he’d won more rounds than anyone sitting at the table. Vernon had cursed at him a fair amount, Seokmin hardly wanted to play anymore amongst the serious tycoons that surrounded him, and wallets were running drier than any desert. The effects of all that smoke wafting through the air and meddling with his senses was starting to take effect.

He could potentially last another round before his most concrete thinking would get whittled down to thoughtless guesses.

Before the final round had started, Wonwoo glanced down at his phone to check the time. Holy shit—one in the morning. He’d been at the party for almost three fucking hours and he was miraculously still functioning and somehow not crawling with the desperation to leave. You were seated back at the couch, head leaning on Clara’s shoulder as you waited, misty-eyed, for the final game to start. Wonwoo decided to text you even though you were sitting no less than five feet away.

[ Wonwoo | 1:02 am ]: Play the final round.

He watched as you picked up the phone from your lap to read the text message, and then, you were squinting at him in judgement.

[ Her | 1:02 am ]: um no

His thumbs fired back a response.

[ Wonwoo | 1:02 am ]: Why?

[ Her | 1:02 am ]: bc I don’t want to

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: You don’t know how to play?

[ Her | 1:03 am ]: ik how to play

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: So play.

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: Take Seokmin’s place.

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: Please? Should I beg for it?

Your scoff could be heard from the couch, and Wonwoo had to remind himself to steam out the smile twitching on his lips.

[ Her | 1:04 am ]: is it really that important to u?

[ Wonwoo | 1:04 am ]: Yes.

[ Her | 1:04 am ]: fine

[ Her | 1:04 am ]: just don’t come crying to me when u lose

Feeling especially triumphant that he was able to convince you, Wonwoo observed with a pleased smirk your quest to Seokmin’s place at the table, where you tapped his shoulder and told him to take five. The boy didn’t need to be told twice, allowing you his seat almost gratefully.

“Awe, you’re not gonna stay for the finale?” Princess asked in a crooning voice while shuffling the card deck between her hands.

Seokmin grabbed his skinny bottle of beer off the table and shook his head, his face glowing and his eyes beginning to hood.

“I’ve learned my lesson about this game: I’m not good at it, I don’t have the money, and that I should never play with Wonwoo.”

“Or me?” Vernon gestured, turning out a palm expectantly.

“Uh, right. And Vernon.”

Picking a fluff from Seokmin’s shirt and flicking it into the air, you merely shrugged, flashing him a comforting smile.

“Y’know, it’s a good thing you suck,” you said, then leaning back in the chair and folding your arms. “It means you’re a bad liar.”

“Nice to play with you, alright?” Seungcheol added, grabbing onto the boy’s hand and giving it a firm clasp as he walked by.

“Thanks. I think I’ll go back downstairs and see if I can find more people I know. Enjoy the game, guys! Tell me who wins!”

“Probably me,” you answered, waving him goodbye.

“Hm, I didn’t think you’d play at all,” Mingyu remarked while Princess began sorting out cards to everyone, and Wonwoo noted the boy's leg jostling underneath the table. “Feeling confident, are you?”

Poking out your tongue playfully at Mingyu, you smiled. “Yes. Don’t even think about trying to riddle me. I’ll see right through it.”

The game started out as usual. Seungcheol and Wonwoo offered the blind bets, and everyone at the table called. No one seemed keen to fold, even when Princess revealed the flop and his heart smacked in another resounding thump. An eight of spades, a king of spades, and an eight of clovers. Wonwoo then slipped his gaze around the table, particularly studying you, who hadn’t stopped grinning since the game started. Of course you would be grinning. There was nothing very coy or subtle about you upon any first glance.

Wonwoo discreetly lifted the corners to his playing cards. He caught the wind in his chest. There was an ace of spades, his very first all night, paired with a nine of spades. It took all his self-control to remain muted on the outside and let his joint continue burning.

At the fourth community card, the pressure was starting to seep through, and the intimidating, stacked size of the pot collected before Princess was only making the fold especially tempting.

Every time it seemed like a call was in order, someone would raise, and the bets kept climbing until the glass ceiling was at last hit.

Seungcheol brushed antsy hands down the back of his head, scattering his hair and puffing out his chest in a large, accepting sigh.

“I’ve gotta fold. There’s no way.”

Balancing a joint at the corner of his mouth, Wonwoo grabbed another stack from his chips and slid it outward, knowing there was little to no chance he would lose the round.

“Raise,” he announced, exhaling a deep breath.

“Oh my God,” Vernon mumbled into his palm, taking a moment to tap his fingers against the wood, “… I have to fold. Yeah, I’ve gotta. A smart man like myself knows when to quit. You got me. Fucker.”

Unphased by the hopeless, daunting feeling that swelled around the table, you merely crossed a leg and dared to not only match, but raise the amount of chips that Wonwoo had audaciously put forth. Mingyu was slumped in his chair with a musing expression, eyes stung red and the thick fronds of his hair messily strewn about from how often his fingers dug through them. He eventually cleared his throat from the hot prickle and shook his head in conviction.

“No, you’re lying. I don’t believe it.”

But you just smirked and fluttered your lashes.

“What’s your move then, babe?”

“I’ll check.” Mingyu shrugged, agitated by his own response.

And to that, Wonwoo poured more gasoline on the fire.

“Raise.”

“There is no fuckin’ way your cards are that good,” Vernon grumbled between half-sealed lips, attempting to hold the joint still with his mouth while he sparked the end using his lighter.

“I’m raising your raise,” you challenged, “one-hundred.”

As his hand fell onto the table with a loud rattle, Vernon started to cackle. “There’s no way your cards are that good, either.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You lilted.

“Mingyu?” Seungcheol hummed to get the boy’s attention. “It’s your move, man. What’re you gonna do?”

Wonwoo could see it scribbled all over Mingyu’s face. He didn’t want to get caught in the intense bidding flare between you, because he obviously knew his cards weren’t high enough rank to claim the pot at showdown. Wonwoo wasn’t planning to fold because the community cards were aligned in his favour. That steely, brash façade of the golden boy across from him was wearing increasingly thinner and Mingyu had seemed to realize it himself. After an almost agonizing silence, he pushed his cards away from him, forfeiting.

“Yeah, I can’t do it. Fuck you guys.”

“Oh, that’s too bad, sweetheart. That’s too bad, ” you giggled, leaning over to sling an arm around his shoulders and stipple his cheek in small kisses that Mingyu wriggled from.

“Alright, just fuckin’ get to the showdown already,” he tutted.

Wonwoo couldn’t have been happier that Mingyu removed himself from the game. It was solely between him and you, now.

“You raised to one-hundred?” He asked for clarification.

Nodding your head, you agreed. “Yes. One-hundred.”

The thing was, Wonwoo knew he was going to win. Even without Princess revealing the final community card, there was an opportunity for him to make a straight flush. Unless an unprecedented stroke of luck had fallen into your own hand and you could somehow make a royal flush, the game was already decided.

Unless Wonwoo folded.

“I’ll raise,” he answered, wanting to test your limits.

“Jesus, this is gonna take all fuckin’ night, isn’t it?” Vernon proceeded to groan while exercising his stiff shoulder.

You smiled, and a glint illuminated in your eyes like a fallen star the size of a perfect sand grain.

“Should I make it more interesting?”

Uncrossing your leg, you sat up straight, pressing tight against the table as you braced an arm behind your remaining chips and shoved them forward slowly, right into the table’s centre. Everyone began to mumble excitedly at the brazen act, though Wonwoo could only focus on you and that mischievous but beautiful curve to your lips, ignoring everything else in the room.

“All in.”

He felt a fist lightly strike his chest.

“Glasses! You’ve gotta match that!”

Seungcheol was rubbing along his chin, grinning.

“That’s gonna make a huge pot… lotta money…”

“He’s been making moves all game,” Princess laughed. “Not that I’m pressuring you, Wonwoo. I mean, it’s your call.”

Mingyu shook his head. “She’s so bluffing.”

“Hush up so he can think!” Vernon cackled.

There was so much sound and noise and voices. But, through the cacophony and haze of all those distractions, Wonwoo could see into you so clearly it was like you had become magically transparent. In turn, you were staring at him, awaiting his response, and he felt those sharp eyes shearing at his fabricated thoughts, picking them all apart into little corners and strips and threads. It was impossibly subtle, and only Wonwoo caught it—your head just beginning to shake in disagreement.

However, Wonwoo had already made his decision.

“I’m folding.”

Vernon’s fists struck down on the table like a thunderous clap, and the tension nailed into the atmosphere suddenly burst.

Before Wonwoo could even make sense of the exploding conversation, his cards were pulled away from him by Princess. She flipped over both yours and his hand.

“Wonwoo, you stupid fuck!” Vernon practically leapt from his chair, wriggling at the boy’s shoulder. “That’s a straight fl—oh my god! I’m actually so—you could have easily won that!”

“Okay, okay. She’s got a straight flush, too!” Princess called, pointing down at your cards. “But Wonwoo’s rank is higher.”

“Doesn’t matter, anyway,” Mingyu said, pushing back in his chair and stretching out his muscular arms. “He folded. Her wins.”

Seungcheol sifted through the colourful chips.

“Looks like he owes you about five-hundred bucks.”

Continuing to smile at you, Wonwoo picked the joint back between his lips, borrowing Vernon’s lighter to fizzle the end and keep the paper burning. Your arms were crossed, hardly pleased.

“Looks like I do.” Wonwoo accepted through a wispy exhale of smoke, rolling out his shoulders and further quirking his lips.

After the final poker match, everyone decided to disseminate and take about half an hour to excuse themselves. Mingyu went back downstairs with Seungcheol so they could keep an eye on the general rowdiness, making sure people hadn’t started rioting or smashing vases, swinging from chandeliers and drinking questionable concoctions out of high-heeled boots.

Vernon wandered off in search for a washroom since Princess had occupied the nearest one down the staircase, at first helping nurse Clara through her incoming bout of alcohol sickness, with Bells joining them a few minutes afterward when that last sip decided to lurch back up her throat.

Only you and Wonwoo remained in the attic.

He was sat widespread at the sofa, slumped down, eyes closed, attempting to appreciate the high that could be attributed to the third joint he was now halfway through smoking. But then he felt the cushion beside him dip, and there was a pinch sinking rather harshly into the flesh on his hand that made his eyes fling back open.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Wonwoo moaned, rubbing over the small, crescent shaped branding dug by your fingernail.

Settling down notably close to Wonwoo, your knee prodded into his thigh while your one leg folded over the other. That scowl had yet to be ironed out from your countenance, and he could only suspect you were about to come down hard in regards to his stunt.

“Boo hoo. You’re such a lying liar who lies.”

Wonwoo stretched out a hand to his face, massaging slow against his temples while he sighed, “lying’s part of the game...”

“No—” the retort shot out with an electrifying quickness, “—not your type of lying. Your double-crossed lying. You’re a fraud.”

“A fraud?” He echoed, letting the hand fall into his lap. “Okay, that’s a bit accusatory. I wouldn’t call what I did fraudulent.”

Shifting his elbow off the arm of the couch, the joint was poised back at his lips, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but chuckle at your glaring, stiff face. He swiftly blew out his hit, smirking hard.

“I hate you for what you did. I mean, you should have gone all in and matched me. But, no! You took the wuss route and made me look stupid! It taints everything. And you better wipe away that jovial curl in your lip before I sock it off your face and steal your cig.”

Wonwoo tilted his head at you, perking an eyebrow.

“How’d you know my cards were better?”

At first, the question visibly stumped you. There was a lag in your response—an open mouth but not a single word to follow.

Then, it seemed as though you breathed out all your rage.

“Don’t ask such a dumb question,” sounded your calm sigh, with a leg bobbing up and down, “you made it so obvious.”

“I did? Hm.”

“Yeah…I know your tactic. You make everyone feel and nice and comfortable playing with you. Then, you totally flip the script and pull out the rug.” Your shoulder was digging into his and you two were now squished together so closely that he could feel your radiating warmth and smell the fragrance in your hair. “For someone who’s so damn quiet, your eyes are like a book. They just swim and trash with everything you’re thinking. So, don’t think you’re all that.”

Wonwoo switched the joint to his other hand, instead leaning against his fist and peering aside at you who seemed so certain of everything. Admittedly, he’d never heard that before, and if he weren’t beyond drowned in the watery red glowing behind his hooded gaze, your spiel would have downright terrified him.

It wasn’t that you just knew Wonwoo, it was that you were beginning to understand him and the way his mind operated.

No—if he were sober, that thought would obliterate him.

He shrugged. “I don’t think I’m all that.”

“Blah, blah. Y’know, the one thing about you that bothers me—you’re actually not a loser. People like you Wonwoo. People are impressed by you. They want to know you. And you just keep them at bay with your stinging hot fireplace poker, jabbing at them in case they get too close. I see it. And—I don’t know, maybe you’re right to keep all those people out. Maybe it gives you more control.”

Wonwoo dragged a hand along his face, laughing. “I think I’m a little too high to be having that conversation with you.”

“No, you’re not. You just don’t want to talk about it as usual. I don't suppose you've got five-hundred big ones in your wallet, do you?”

He shot you an obvious glance while chuckling, "absolutely fucking not. But sit tight, though. I can get it to you somehow."

Your head shook. "I don't care about the money."

He stared down at the joint aglow in his hand.

And then he was holding it out in front of you.

“Hit?”

You hesitated, but ultimately grabbed it, positioning the joint between your index and middle finger akin to a cigarette. Wonwoo watched intently at the soft inhale you breathed in, and the gradual relaxing of your chest as the smoke was gently puffed outward.

“Not so tough, is it?” He hummed in his deep, velvet-smooth voice, to which you squinted at him and scrunched your nose.

“I just studied how you did it, that’s all.”

Your knee was now pressed atop his lap. Wonwoo felt that momentary, passionate itch to settle his palm flat against your warm skin—ignore all boundaries that existed between you as well as their scalding consequences just for the sake of sweetly touching you, the one visible hope in his life. Still, Wonwoo was too afraid. As much as he wanted all your light and love to himself, it could never be true.

“We’re doing lines next,” you said, “… are you gonna do it?”

“Oh, no.” Wonwoo shook his head. “I tried it once and it went fucking terribly. I’m not gonna bother messing with it again.”

You looked relieved.

“That’s good. It’s so weird for me. Like, when it first enters my system, everything feels strange and I get this spinning, nauseating sensation. But it always passes. And then I let everything go.”

Wonwoo quirked at you a barely-there smile.

“I know it’s obvious—just be careful, alright?”

You puffed out another hit.

“I will.”

It was a bit strange—to just stand there, off to the side, as an observer of someone who was lining up a perfect streak of white powder using their credit card. And yet, that’s what Wonwoo had found himself doing, staring without much shame as you, Mingyu, Vernon, and Seungcheol began pressing shut one nostril and inhaling the cocaine through the other. Wonwoo never bothered to ask Vernon how he acquired the coke, or what he paid for it, or how he even knew someone that could baggie it up for him so nicely—Wonwoo didn’t ask anything of the sort because he’d rather avoid prison.

Though, that might be inevitable in the bigger picture. His closest friend was a drug dealer. By nature, he was already associated.

Princess had walked over to him, dropping off some bottled water from the fridge that he immediately uncapped and gulped down. It seemed his efforts to mend that broken circadian rhythm of his had done some actual good, because Wonwoo was feeling the tire spread over his eyes and the energy deplete from his body like an inflatable with an air leak. You had snorted the coke almost a little too naturally. He remembered an old conversation with Vernon—she takes that shit like it’s pixie dust—and he supposed it made sense.

He helped Princess shove the window open again to let some freshness back into the warm attic space. She spent a moment or so staring down at the driveway, watching the people come and go.

“How are Bells and Clara?” Wonwoo asked.

She glanced at him, though her brown eyes eventually wandered back to the ongoing buzz outside and below.

“Clara is totalled,” Princess sighed. “She’s lying down in one of the spare bedrooms. A friend is looking after her. Bells on the other hand...” she glimpsed over her shoulder, scanning the room, “I’m not sure where she went. I thought she came back upstairs, but it’s likely she wandered down to the living room. That girl is all gas, no breaks. Throws up one second, back to sloshing the next.”

Wonwoo swallowed more of his cold water.

“I take it Seungcheol owes you a dinner?”

“Ha—yeah, he owes it to me big time,” she muttered, at last turning her back to the breeze. “Good thing I didn’t let him drink that fucking whiskey. Holy shit. It would be worse than Clara.”

“Hm…” Wonwoo hummed, suddenly wondering aloud as he watched you cough into your fist at the table while Mingyu rubbed his nose and patted your cheek. “He doesn’t do it all the time, though?”

Princess folded her arms and smiled.

“No, she doesn’t.”

“She?”

“Her.”

“Oh. I was asking—”

“I know what you were asking. You don’t have to hide it.”

Wonwoo thought about further countering Princess’ assumption, but the way she was watching him—head knowingly tilted with that smitten crook so rightfully framed on her glossed, shiny lips—he knew it would be futile to even try. He felt relief at the confirmation, too. As long as you were careful. Really fucking careful.

“Sorry,” he answered, shrugging.

“Nah, apology not needed.” Princess shook her head.

The girl proceeded to look down at her feet, remaining silent and pensive—toying with the idea of saying something important but ultimately weighing its consequence before involving Wonwoo.

He was sipping from his water again when Princess at last cleared her throat, then holding the swig between his cheeks.

“Um, I don’t know, exactly, what it is you and Her talk about, or what you write about, or what you two do, ever. Just, uh, whatever it is—and maybe it’s best I don’t know—she’s really… happy. Not that she wasn’t happy before. But… it’s different, y’know? The energy is different. And I see this really, really beautiful light in her that I’ve never seen before. So, yeah. I’m glad you two are friends. And that you listen to her and stick by her and help her with this new craft even when she’s not the most cooperative, or… well… y’know… it’s Her after all. You don’t really know which version you’ll get.”

Wonwoo still hadn’t swallowed. The water was becoming uncomfortably lukewarm in his mouth but he held it there.

Princess dusted off her shirt, smiling again. “Anyway, I’ll go check on Seungcheol. Probably try to find Bells. Ah, later.”

Only when the girl had left him alone at the windowsill did he finally choke down that large sip, bracing through it as though he’d just downed some especially bitter cough syrup. His mind was replaying pieces of Princess’ speech in addition to that appreciative, even admirable look she had been giving him. He didn’t know what to take from it. He didn’t even know what he was feeling. All his emotions were cooking in one big heap at the pit of his gut like a disproportioned stew. Wonwoo rubbed a hand along his face in partial confusion and agony, hearing a giggle from you somewhere across the room, as he attempted to sort everything out.

Wanting to move somewhere a bit quieter, Wonwoo thought he might try his luck with the rooms down the staircase, and hopefully not waltz into anything he so clearly shouldn’t have. Yet, just as his hand ghosted along the wood railing, Wonwoo was suddenly colliding with someone and the rapidly permeating, muddled scent of daisies, cannabis, and fireball was filling his nose.

His water bottle dropped to the floor and rolled to the base of the stairs. Fingers scraped deep into his shirt. He grabbed onto the person’s waist with instinct, helping to steady them.

“Fuck—holy shit. Thanks, Wonwoo.”

But then the realization had metaphorically slapped him.

“My bad. Sorry.”

It was Bells who’d been stumbling up the stairs and plowed straight into his chest. She didn’t seem the most present, either.

“No, no, no. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

The last thing he wanted on planet Earth was to get sucked into a conversation with her—not that he had any sort of grudge or concrete reason to dislike the girl—but his head was starting to ache and he craved peace and quiet for just five fucking minutes.

Her fingers were still wound into his shirt, almost holding him there, against the banister of the stairs, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but stare straight into her intensely dilated eyes that studied him like a shark.

“Uh, all good...”

Wonwoo honestly wanted to grab the girl by her shoulders and physically set her aside. At the same time, he didn’t think it was the best protocol to act so uncouth with one of your close friends.

“Oh, sorry!” It seemed to dawn on her that she was pinning him against the handrailing. “I just didn’t want to fall.”

She at last loosened her fingers, though Wonwoo noted how she somewhat dragged her hands along his chest in the process of doing so, like that girl had done earlier to Vernon. It was unnecessary, but she was drunk, and Wonwoo thought he could end the conversation quicker if he remained pleasant. Stood at the top of the stairs, Wonwoo smiled at her, knowing how exhausted he was inside.

“I hope you’re feeling okay.”

Bells smiled, swaying her shoulders, “I’ve never felt better.”

“… Are you… sure about that?”

“Mmhm.”

“Do you need water or anything?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Uh, alright, cool. Well, I’m gonna go—”

“Wonwoo, wait.” She latched onto his arm, fast and sharp.

He paused, not so much because of her grip but mostly from shock, as she had suddenly moved in closer and he could now feel her strength squeezing against his bicep. She batted her eyelashes up at him demurely, and there was nothing he stomached but discomfort.

“What are you doing after this?” The girl hummed, lowering her voice and intentionally smoothing it to add a sultry effect.

Dry swallowing, he debated whether or not he should even respond and instead simply peel her unwanted hand off his arm.

“… Going to bed?” He croaked, shifting in his place.

“Would you want to do something with me?” She bit her lip. “My apartment’s in South Elm. Have you ever been there?”

“It’s not a good idea.” Wonwoo was losing his patience.

“Awe, not a good idea? Why’s that?” She giggled, slowly massaging her hand down the length of his bicep and nibbling on her inner cheek. “We can do anything you want at my place… I live alone… so, I’m up for it. Anything at all.”

“Okay, uh, look. I don’t want to be—”

All of a sudden, Bells was ripped from Wonwoo like a sticky bandage, and while he was more than confused at the situation, he was nonetheless relieved. He assumed it was Princess who’d done the deed, and thus Wonwoo was very surprised to learn that it had been you—you, who did not appear happy in the slightest, and his relief was starting to transform into thick concern because it seemed as though you were going to ricochet Bells head off the banister.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You shouted, shoving a belittling hand against Bells' shoulder and tugging her away. “Why are you fucking cornering him like that?!”

“Uh—what? Cornering him? Her, I’m so confused.”

“Confused? About what, Bells? You’re fucking harassing him! Like, why are you in his face and putting your hands on him?!”

“Woah, woah, woah. What’s your fucking problem? I wasn’t in his face; I’m talking to him. Just talking. You’re jumped up again.”

“Jumped up?! You're one to talk!”

Wonwoo at first tried to intervene, mostly out of serious worry for Bells safety, because you were steaming. However, every time he attempted to speak up, his words would drown out in the echo of your squabbling. It didn’t help that you two were both mentally degraded in your own right—all that anger was shooting straight from your chest to your mouth with no thought involved.

“Just leave him alone!” You jabbed a finger at her chest.

Bells slapped your hand away. “Don’t touch me!”

“Oh, why? Does it make you uncomfortable, having someone in your fucking face, touching you without permission? Does that make you upset, Bells? Hm, wow. So funny you would say that.”

Wonwoo settled a hand at your shoulder, tugging at you once, then twice, wanting to pull you back without being too forceful.

“It’s okay,” he assured, though his heart was pounding and he wished someone else would help or even take note of what was happening, “it’s not a big deal, alright? Nothing worth all this.”

Again, he was completely ignored.

“So, that’s it?” Bells laughed, throwing up her arms. “Only you can talk to him, and look at him, and breathe around him? That’s all you? No one else is allowed to like, have a conversation with him?!”

“You don’t want to have a conversation with him!” Your fists balled up tight as you screamed at her. “You want him to fuck you!”

“Okay, okay—!” Wonwoo jolted with panic when you pushed the drunken girl, immediately coiling his arms around your waist and lurching you backward before a flailing hand could strike Bells’ face.

Bells stumbled for no less than second until she regained her balance and looked to you with the most seething, nettled eyes.

The situation seemed on the precipice of exploding beyond control, with you wriggling and thrashing against his arms, employing a strength he couldn’t have expected amidst your sluggish state. You were shouting at him to stop intervening, though, he knew letting go meant you would most likely beat the girl’s breaks off.

Thankfully, at the nick of time, Mingyu had sprinted across the room, catching Bells' arm just before it lashed out in a strike.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Mingyu grunted while wrestling the smaller, feisty girl away despite all her manic squirming.

Wonwoo almost got nipped by the unbridled swinging of your elbow as he gritted through his teeth, “I wish I knew.”

He did know. However, it wasn’t the time to discuss it.

“Fuck! Just take Her downstairs!” The boy shouted.

Jesus Christ—that was easier said than done. Trying to haul you backward down a staircase as you twisted, kicked, and screamed a very colourful litany of profanities at your friend was the exact nightmare it sounded like. Vernon’s head had suddenly popped over the banister, staring down at you and Wonwoo, his eyes blown wide with pure befuddlement, as though he wasn’t sure if it was real life or a narcotic delusion. Princess had gone to help Mingyu calm down Bells. Seungcheol had joined the commotion, too, though he didn’t come across the most intelligible. His mind was all fog.

And yet, somehow, Wonwoo managed to ply you away from the stairs and into the corridor with hardly a breath to spare.

—END OF PART III.

#seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen x reader #wonwoo x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen imagines #wonwoo fanfic #jeon wonwoo #svt scenarios #seventeen angst #seventeen smut

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anonymousewrites · 2 months ago

Text

Apple of My Eye Chapter Six

Harry Hook x Child of Snow White! Reader

Chapter Six: I'm Wishing

Summary: (Y/N) wants to find their love, and other loves are on the rocks.

A few months later…

“So, for Cotillion, I’m thinking…dramatic,” said Evie, looking at (Y/N). She hummed as she circled (Y/N) on the pedestal. “Yes. Red instead of mostly blue, switch things up. Gold detailing…Yes. An elegant look with a bit of drama. What do you think?”

“I think you always have the best concepts,” said (Y/N), smiling.

“I need something that screams, ‘I’m here, look at me,’ ” said Evie dramatically.

“You’re outdoing yourself for Cotillion,” said (Y/N), chuckling.

Evie smiled. “Business has been good since the Coronation, but this is my biggest event so far. My designs have to be impeccable.”

“And they will be,” said (Y/N). “You’re an amazing designer.”

“And you’re an amazing consultant. I wouldn’t have half the contracts I did if you didn’t get so many royals and nobles in other kingdoms to request my work.” Evie smirked. “Competition for me means they raise the price without me having to.”

“If they have the money to throw around, take it,” teased (Y/N).

Evie had created an amazing design business, and with the connections Doug and (Y/N) had, they had been able to help her grow. Now, she had a line of customers out for weeks of events and a steady flow of income. Cotillion was the next grand event and the largest since Coronation since Mal would be announced to be an official Lady of the Court. Due to the increase in demand for outfits, (Y/N) was lucky to get in with Evie before she ran out of appointments (and time). However, they were her friend, so that gave them a helpful in.

“But you get a discount,” said Evie.

“Evie, I am happy to pay you—”

“Nope,” said Evie. “Best friends do each other favors. I give you clothes, you look fabulous and show them off for me.”

“You have Mal for that, too,” said (Y/N), grinning.

“You two have different styles,” said Evie. She paused. “And I suppose I could use Doug, but he just doesn’t have your charisma.”

(Y/N) giggled at the picture in their head. Doug would do anything for his girlfriend and had been her model hundreds of times by now, but it was true that they and Mal modelled a bit better than he did due to their confidence and attitude. (Doug pouted when Evie told him, but she gave him a kiss and he recovered well enough). When Doug had been a model, he had quickly decided all the eyes on him weren’t his thing. He just needed Evie to look at him with love—and she sure did.

Evie held up swatches to (Y/N) and looked in the mirror, humming as she decided on the color and precise fabric. “I have your measurements already, and I have patterns, so I will have the fitting ready in a few days.”

“You’re so dependable,” said (Y/N).

Evie let out an exhausted sigh. “I try.” She stepped back, made a few notes in her sketchbook, and let (Y/N) step down from the podium.

Doug opened the door to the studio where Evie set up shop. “Evie, you ready for lunch?”

Evie brightened as she closed her sketchbook. “I am.” She glanced at (Y/N). “I’ll see you later for dinner?”

“Of course. Have fun on your date~” (Y/N) waved playfully as Evie and Doug took each other’s hands and walked out of the room.

(Y/N) left after them, locking the studio with their copy of the key. They walked out of Auradon Prep onto the grounds, smiling as they passed Mal and Ben. They waved, and the pair waved back from where they were escaping paparazzi and going to another diplomatic luncheon. Poor Mal gave a tired smile and held Ben’s hand tightly. (Y/N) smiled as they watched. At least Mal and her friends and Ben to support her through the change from VK to almost Lady of the Court. It wasn’t easy. And love made things easier.

“(Y/N),” said Carlos, running up to (Y/N). “Can I have some help?”

Speaking of love. “With Jane?” said (Y/N) knowingly.

Carlos turned pink. “Is it that obvious?”

“To everyone except you two,” said (Y/N), smiling.

“I want to ask her to Cotillion,” said Carlos. “But I don’t know how.”

“Be direct,” said (Y/N). “Jane is as oblivious as you are—”

“Hey.”

“—so you need to say what you mean outright,” said (Y/N). They laughed. “She’s also so busy right now that she has barely any bandwidth to think of subtext. Make sure she knows what you mean.”

“But what if she rejects me?” said Carlos.

“Then she does. But would you rather be true to your heart or not?” said (Y/N).

“…I want to be true,” said Carlos.

“Good,” said (Y/N). They smirked. “Besides, I think she’ll say yes.”

Carlos’s smile widened. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” said (Y/N).

“Thanks, (Y/N),” said Carlos, grinning.

“No problem,” said (Y/N). They were there to help. They wanted their friends to find love. Love was an incredible thing. Everyone deserved to experience it

“Do you like it?” said Evie, pinning the skirts of the dress.

“I love it,” said (Y/N), smiling at the dress in the mirror. Evie hadn’t finished the detailing or tailoring quite yet, but the basis and major work was finished. (Y/N) was ecstatic. “It’s beautiful, Evie.”

“You’re the beautiful one,” said Evie, smiling. She grinned in the mirror. “Now, what I want to know is…has anyone asked you to Cotillion?”

“No,” laughed (Y/N), shaking their head.

“Hm, have you asked anyone?” asked Evie.

“Still a no, Evie,” said (Y/N). “I’d tell you if there was someone I was interested in.”

Evie tutted. “I hope so, it’s my duty as your best friend to know these things.”

(Y/N) chuckled, but their smile felt a little heavier. “I still haven’t felt a spark with anyone, Evie. I don’t know.”

“Hey.” Evie put her hands on (Y/N)’s shoulders. “There are people outside of Auradon Prep. Not everyone in the kingdom comes here for school. You’ll meet someone eventually. If anyone is going to find True Love, it’s you.” She smiled.

“I hope so,” said (Y/N), smiling.

“And until then, you have us, your friends, and your parents, your family,” said Evie. She hugged her friend. “And we love you, too.”

(Y/N) laughed and hugged Evie back. “I know.”

(Y/N) walked through the grounds of Auradon Prep, humming as they went. They didn’t really care where they were going; they just wanted to think. They knew they didn’t need love. They were fortunate enough to have a good life, good friends, good family, everything.

However, (Y/N) wanted to find True Love. They watched their friends begin to find it, and (Y/N) wanted to feel that lightness, that warmth in their heart that their parents had always told them about.

(Y/N) entered a clearing in the woods and gazed at the well sitting in the middle of it. They smiled slightly and walked to it. They sat down on the edge and gazed down. Their reflection peered back up at them, and they hummed.

They remembered some old, playful advice their mother gave them. An older superstition—

(Y/N) “Make a wish into the wall, That’s all you have to do, And if you hear it echoing, Your wish will soon come true.”

(Y/N) leaned over the well. With the sun shining down on them, they really fit the fairytale aesthetic in their red skirt, white blouse, and blue corset top. A yellow bow held their hair back. (Y/N) hummed and began their song.

(Y/N) “I’m wishing.” (Echo) “I’m wishing.” (Y/N) “For the one I love, To find me.” (Echo) “To find me.” (Y/N) “Today.” (Echo) “Today.”

(Y/N) sighed and leaned back, looking up at the sky.

(Y/N) “I’m hoping.” (Echo) “I’m hoping.” (Y/N) “And I’m dreaming of, The fun things.” (Echo) “The fun things.” (Y/N) “They’ll say.” (Echo) “They’ll say.”

(Y/N) hopped off the side of the well and danced around it, singing the whole time.

(Y/N) “Ha ha ha ha ha.” (Echo) “Ha ha ha ha ha.” (Y/N) “Ha ha ha ha ha.” (Echo) “Ha ha ha ha ha.” (Y/N) “Ha ha ha ha ha.” (Echo) “Ha ha ha ha ha.” ((Y/N) and Echo) “Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.”

(Y/N) stopped, leaning out over the well.

(Y/N) “I’m wishing.” (Echo) “I’m wishing.” (Y/N) “For the one I love, To find me.” (Echo) “To find me.” (Y/N) “Today.” (Echo) “Today.”

The echo hovered in the air, and (Y/N) sighed as it petered out.

“I’m wishing…” To find love.

“(Y/N)!” Evie burst through their dorm door, and (Y/N) was glad Lizzie was out studying so she wouldn’t get freaked out. “Mal went back to the Isle.”

“What?!” (Y/N) stood from their bed in alarm.

Evie covered her mouth, nearly crying. “She’s gone.” She held up a letter and a familiar ring. “I don’t know what to do—I can’t believe she left—Why would she…?”

“Hey, hey.” (Y/N) took Evie’s hands. “Let’s talk to the others, to Ben. We can figure out what to do. We can find out if Mal is alright, if she needs help, if this was a mistake, everything. Okay? We’ll help her, Evie. Together.”

Evie let out a shaky breath. “Okay. Alright.”

Glancing up from his deskwork, Ben smiled. “Evie, (Y/N).” He was glad that after such a stressful day he could see at least a few friendly faces. “Come on in.” His face fell as he saw their expressions.

(Y/N) closed the door tightly as Evie stepped forward.

“Mal’s gone back to the Isle,” said Evie. Ben’s eyes widened. She held out the letter, and Ben took it. “Ben…” She held out the ring.

Ben’s voice quivered as he took it and read the letter. “ ‘I am so sorry…’ ” He crumbled it in his hand. “This is my fault,” he said. “This is my fault! I blew it. She’s been under so much pressure lately, and instead of being understanding, I just went all beast on her.” He straightened. “I have to go there and apologize. I have to go there and beg her to come back.”

“You’ll never find her,” said Evie.

“We have to try,” said (Y/N). “She deserves to know that we’re all here to help her if she comes back.” None of them had helped her like they should have. No one had seen just how badly she was coping with the pressure and how much she needed support. (Y/N) owed it to their friend to help her.

“But you need to know the Isle and how it works, and—I have to go with you,” realized Evie.

“Yes!” Ben paused. “I mean…Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Evie nodded firmly, bravely. “She’s my best friend. And we’ll bring the boys, too. There’s safety in numbers, and none of us are really too popular over there right now.”

“Thank you,” said Ben.

“But let’s get one thing straight,” said Evie. “You have to promise me that I won’t get stuck there again.”

“Never,” said (Y/N). “We’d never leave you behind.”

“I promise,” said Ben.

“Alright,” said Evie, nodding.

“And let’s get another thing straight,” said (Y/N). Ben and Evie looked at them. “I’m coming, too.”

“What—No,” said Ben.

“Mal’s my friend, too,” said (Y/N).

“Okay,” said Evie. She smirked. “But neither of you are going dressed like that.”

Taglist:

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@lunalixya

@roo024

@unholycheesesnack

@paastaboi

@lbee13

@rory-cakes

@theeghosted

@newttheglue250

#apple of my eye #x reader #gn reader #nb reader #x gn reader #x nb reader #harry hook x reader #descendants harry #harry hook #child of snow white #evie descendants #carlos descendants #disney descendants #descendants #descendants 2 #jay descendants

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hayakawalove · 9 months ago

Text

Test of Love (Chapter Six)

Chapter Six

All Chapters

Summary: You hang out with a friend you haven't seen in awhile. Later, you pay a visit to the boys.

A/N: How many times can we cuck Gojo. Comments always appreciated!

CW: Smut, Vaginal Sex, Fingering, Cunnilingus, Oral Sex (Reader to Man), Dirty Talk, Creampie, Humiliation, Alcohol, AFAB Reader, Female Reader W/C: 8,018

Credit to Benkeibear for the banner

You rest in your seat, your eyes staring into the ceiling. The classroom was empty, your last student having just gone home. You were so sore. Earlier in the day, you jumped in on a mission as it seemed your student needed help. Using your curse technique for a long time drained you. The muscles in your body felt like cement as your head pounded. On the best of days, your technique was almost limitless, but on the worst of days, you could only use it for ten minutes before feeling faint. You were able to use Plasma manipulation, a subset of blood manipulation. You weren't a part of the Kamo family, which made your technique all the more interesting. The three families were intrigued by you when you were a student, wanting to understand how you were able to use Plasma manipulation. Eventually they gave up when there didn’t seem to be a deeper meaning. You just could.

You think you could fall asleep in your chair if you were given the chance. You weren't even supposed to be working today. It was a Saturday, but Inumaki had texted you for help and you couldn’t just say no. The two of you were a wreck after. By the time you finished, you were limping out while blood drippled past his lips.

At least you knew for certain you wouldn't be working tomorrow. There were no missions assigned out on Sundays, giving you the chance to finally use the rest of the day today and all day tomorrow to recuperate.

Your eyes flutter shut as you feel yourself slip, the temptation of sleep crawling up your spine. No one else was on campus, it wouldn't be that big of a deal to take a nap. There's no harm in resting your eyes for ten minutes before you head home, right?

Your head clears as you slip between the state of being awake and being asleep.

Your phone rings loudly, causing your eyes to fly open.

Fuck.

You fumble until your fingers wrap around your phone, pulling it up to see who’s calling. Chisaki. She was one of the friends you made when you took a couple years break from Jujutsu. She wasn’t a sorcerer, which made your relationship difficult at times. At the same time, you were able to act like a normal person around her. You win some, you lose some.

“Hello?” You answer, dragging your hand across your eye.

“You sleeping?” She must pick up on the heaviness in your voice.

“No, what’s up?” You put her on speaker as you lean against your desk, resting your cheek sideways.

Maybe you’d pass out like this.

“Good. We’re going out tonight. I haven’t seen you in forever.”

You almost groan but you’re able to stop yourself. You dreaded the idea of going out. All you wanted to do was get under your blankets and sleep for the next ten days. But, Chisaki never was one to take no for an answer.

“Huh?”

“I want to see you for drinks!”

“But-“

“No! I am getting ready now and I will be by your place to pick you up in two hours.”

You feel your shoulders crumple a bit at the order. It’s not that you didn’t want to see her. You were just so, so exhausted. You mumble a farewell before hanging up, soaking in the last few moments of silence before you have to make your way home.

Once at home, you stand in front of your closet for way too long before deciding on what to wear. You had a black piece on the far side, only having worn it a couple times whenever you had a night out with Chisaki. It was a bit short for your taste, but you figured if you were going on a girls night you may as well go all in. Makeup felt like too much of a drag, so you just do the bare minimum, while leaving your hair down. The dress fits like a glove, caressing your curves in a way that almost makes you flustered. You briefly think about taking a picture to send to the boys, but ultimately decide against it. This was a girls night, you were going to devote zero time to them.

Chisaki is already at the restaurant by the time you get there. You hadn’t eaten so you decided to go out for dinner, going out of your way to choose a place that had cheap and tasty drinks. She looks hot as ever as she waits in your booth, bold makeup painting her face while she wears a dress that was even tighter than yours.

She calls your name, excitedly waving from her seat causing a few patrons to stare. It made you laugh, she did not care about drawing attention at all.

“Looking good!” Chisaki comments, squeezing you in a hug before sitting across from you.

Her hair gleams under the light and you find yourself feeling a bit jealous. She was always stunning.

“So are you. Are we going out to dance after this?” You ask, sipping the water that was waiting for you.

“Not unless you want to. Figured I may as well count my blessings that you came out at all. I haven’t seen you in months!”

A pang of guilt shoots through your veins and you try not to wince. You honestly had no excuse for not hanging out. You were busy, sure, but you could have squeezed her in somewhere. Some kind of friend you were.

“So tell me what’s been up with you lately. Spare no details.” She stares at you, sipping her cocktail.

That was just like her. She seemed unbothered at your lack of contact, and you find yourself wordlessly thanking her. She gave you too many chances. She was a great friend.

“Just work. I have some interesting students this year so they’re keeping me busy.”

“I bet huh? Private school right? Are they rich and snobbish?”

She didn’t know you were a Jujutsu sorcerer, so you told her you worked for a private school. You think back to your students and laugh to yourself. The only one there who could be considered rich and snobbish was Satoru.

“Not this year, thank god.”

A waiter comes back and you order a cocktail, and the two of you order your food. You were feeling like beef tonight, so that's what you get.

The two of you make idle chatter as you sip and eat, the restaurant slowly filling up with other patrons. Even for a Saturday night it was busy, you were glad Chisaki snagged a seat for you.

She worked at a hair salon, so it was always interesting to hear about the customers that came through there. You briefly imagine Suguru going and you shake your head with a chuckle. There was no way he let just anyone touch his hair.

“So, any guys lately?” Chisaki asks, her words slurring together.

She arrived a little earlier than you so she was definitely drunk, but you were starting to feel it as well. You sip from your drink and giggle.

“Yeah, two of em.”

“TWO?” Her volume causes the group next to you to turn their heads.

“Yeah!”

“What’re they like? Got any pictures?”

She definitely was going to want to see them.

“They’re opposites but also… Sort of really similar.” You say as you pull out your phone.

You didn’t have any pictures with Suguru, but you had a multitude with Satoru. He was always the one taking them. ‘For the memories’ he’d say. You scroll through your photos until you find a picture with him. It was one he took when you were on an outing with the students, both of your classes together for once. He said the outing was to scout for curses, but in reality he just wanted to try out the new ice cream shop. He didn’t fool anyone.

“One is really quiet and kind, the other one is… well” you think about how to describe Satoru.

“Noisy and bitchy?” She finishes.

You giggle and shake your head.

“No he’s… he’s kinda like you actually.”

“Huh? Should I be offended?” She asks with a laugh.

You chuckle and finish your drink. The tips of your fingers were beginning to tingle as your eyelids started to droop. Okay, you were definitely starting to feel it.

You turn the phone to her and she stares at Satoru, her eyes popping from her head. Satoru was definitely her type. You couldn’t blame her, he was your type too.

“What a stud. You bagged them both?”

You think for a moment. You were with both of them, but you weren't with them yet. It was casual and fun, but you weren't official.

“Yeah, but it’s not anything serious yet.”

“I see, I see. What’re they like in bed?” She asks.

You’re drinking from your next glass as she asks and you choke on the liquid. Her eyebrows are raised as she stares at you, expecting a full breakdown of their sexual prowess.

“We haven’t- Well… We’ve- I've only slept with one.”

Memories from the previous night flash through your brain. The way he looked, smelled, tasted. You couldn’t dwell on it for too long or else you might get too worked up.

“How was that?”

You try to decide on how to put the night into words. Incredible, fantastic, life changing. You didn’t want to reduce Suguru to a body, but his dick game was unmatched.

“Fucking unreal.” You say.

Chisaki laughs and shoves your shoulder across the table. This was nice. You were having fun, talking about men and work like a normal person. You always had fun with her.

“Lucky!”

Your head swirls as the alcohol fills your system. You were feeling really fucking good. Your skin was tingly and your headache was gone, memories from the earlier fight already slipping from your brain.

“Why haven’t you fucked the other one yet?”

You stare at the table in front of you, trying to focus but you’re seeing double. Why hadn’t you fucked Satoru yet? You couldn’t come up with a reason. He was busy, sure, but so were you. He had been pining after you for years. If he really wanted to fuck, you definitely would’ve by now, right?

“I don’t know.”

“Come on! There must be a reason. Why don’t you make the first move?”

“Satoru’s just always busy.”

“That’s an excuse if I’ve ever heard one!”

The more Chisaki talks, the angrier you get. She was right. There was no reason you and Satoru couldn’t have fucked by now. He’s just been teasing you and leaving you dry.

“Chi!”

“All I’m saying is maybe you have to tell him how you really feel. The guy probably doesn’t know you want his dick.”

He definitely knew. He practically held it over your head every chance he got. The man was the walking definition of sex, and you didn’t know if it pissed you off or made you horny.

You check the time on your phone. 11 pm. The guys would probably be up, right? Maybe you should go over and talk to him.

“Yeah. I agree.” You murmur and dig in your purse for your card.

“You heading out?” She asks.

“Yeah, I’m gonna- gonna go talk to him I think.”

Your legs wobble as you stand to your feet. Once you pay, you stumble outside. The streets are much more busier than they were several hours ago when you first arrived. There were loud voices coming from all directions, only disorienting you further. You reach an arm up to hail a taxi. While you’re waiting you sway back and forth, letting the Saturday night ambiance whisk you. You feel a pinch on the side of your foot so you lean down and yank your shoes off your feet.

A taxi comes up fairly quickly, and you slide inside and give the address to the driver. Your head is spinning as you drive there, words filling your brain. What were you going to say to him? Maybe it would be better if you wing it.

The taxi comes to a halt in front of the expensive apartment building. You dig around your purse until you find cash at the bottom, which you grab to pass to the driver. The cold pavement bites into your feet as you stammer to the front doors.

Because it was so late, the front desk was empty. There wasn’t anyone around which you were grateful for.

All you can focus on are your feet in front of you as you make your way to his place. The elevator makes you unsteady, you have to lean onto the side to not fall over. Maybe you had a little too much to drink. It didn’t bother you though, if anything it made you feel even more fired up. What was Satoru’s problem? Did he not want to fuck you?

The elevator stops and you nearly fall over, but you’re able to steady yourself. You’re moving purely on memory as you take yourself to the boys apartment.

You knock on the front door, swaying back and forth.

The door opens and you look up.

“What’re you doing here?”

Suguru says your name, eyes filled with concern as he watches you.

He looked really good.

What were you here for again?

“S-Satoru.” You murmur, your tongue feels too heavy for your mouth.

“Are you drunk?” Suguru asks, raising his hand to palm your cheek.

“Satoru.” You repeat, smooshing your cheek further into his hand.

He was so warm. You could probably fall asleep like this if he’d let you.

Suguru looks over his shoulder then faces you again, sliding the door open more to let you in. You walk forward, your eyes following his as Suguru makes his way to the kitchen. He’s standing in front of the sink, sleeves pushed up as he washes dishes.

Satoru is sitting at the bar, facing Suguru. He turns to look at you, a confused expression on his face. Satoru says your name, and you feel the anger start to seep up again.

Right.

You were here to fight with him.

You slide on your feet until you’re in front of him, and he’s looking you up and down.

“Are you drunk?” Satoru asks, squinting at you.

“What’s wrong with you?” You respond, pointing a finger at his chest.

Suguru is in the kitchen, eyes flicking back and forth between you two. His fingers are soapy as he washes the dishes, face neutral.

“Huh?” Satoru says, almost offended.

“I said what’s wrong with you?” You point into him harder.

“I heard you. What’re you talking about?”

“Do you not want to have sex with me?” Your voice is a bit louder than you mean for it to be.

The room goes silent, Suguru’s hands pausing as he stares at the scene in front of him. He knows he shouldn’t get involved.

“What?” Satoru’s expression shows that he thinks you’re ridiculous.

That only makes you angrier.

“You must not want to have sex with me, is that right? You keep teasing me, making me all ready only to leave!” Your chest is full of emotions, your face set in conviction.

“That’s not- I’m busy.”

“Sure, sure. Maybe you’re just worried you're not gonna be as good as Suguru.”

Suguru’s eyes widen and he stares at his hands, instantly going back to work.

Not getting involved. He is not getting involved.

“You and Suguru had sex?” Satoru asks, and you think you pick up on something similar to hurt in his voice.

You don't care. All you can think about are the emotions simmering in your body.

“I was going to tell you today.” Suguru says.

Suguru shuts off the water after washing his hands, turning around to dry them. He’s digging in the cupboard, but your eyes are boring into Satoru’s, a silent battle going on between the two of you.

You hiccup and the motion almost causes you to fall over, so you fly a hand out to grip onto the counter.

“You’ve been flirting with me for forever! Do you not want to?” Your voice breaks at the end as you feel your heart break.

“You know I want to.” Satoru’s voice is split between pleading and disbelief.

Suguru comes up behind you with a glass of water. He nudges it toward you, but you push his hand away, only caring about the fight.

“Drink.” Suguru softy says.

“No!” You squirm away from him.

Suguru holds the back of your head and lifts the cup to your mouth. You try to fight back but once the liquid touches your lips you take several big gulps.

Satoru’s eyes are staring into you the whole time, filled with an emotion you can’t quite place. Suguru steps back once you finish the glass and goes towards the kitchen, leaning back.

“If you don't want to then just tell me.” You try to seem strong.

What if he really didn’t want to? You wanted him to want to.

Satoru sighs and gets to his feet, now towering over you. You refuse to back down, instead looking up towards him. He grabs your arm and bends down, his face right infront of yours. There’s rocks in your stomach and you feel like your heart has stopped beating.

“I want to. God knows I want to.” He says.

He stands back up and turns towards Suguru.

“I'm gonna bring her to our bed.”

Satoru holds your hand and drags you to his room. Is he wanting to go now? That didn’t sound too bad. You start to slip your sleeves off your shoulders, getting your dress partly off your body before he turns around.

“What’re you doing?” He says, stopped in his room.

It’s just the two of you now, the heat of his gaze causing your mind to reel.

“We’re gonna-“

“No, we aren’t. Not right now.” Satoru replies, not even looking down at your chest.

He goes to his dresser and pulls out a shirt, one big enough it would cover everything and then some. He throws it over his shoulder as he starts to take off your clothes, large hands grazing over your skin.

Suguru walks in the room and watches from the door as Satoru tries to undress you.

“What do we do?” Satoru asks, unsure how to handle a drunk person.

“She’ll need Tylenol before she goes to sleep.” Suguru says and turns around to go back to the kitchen to retrieve the medication.

Satoru’s able to get your clothes off and is in the process of sliding his shirt over your head. You can’t stop staring at him, drawn in by his beauty. Was he always so perfect?

You were beginning to forget why you were even mad in the first place, head spinning as you admire him.

“Get in.” He murmurs, watching as you slide in bed.

You feel small under their sheets, but they’re so soft. Your eyelids feel heavy as you look up at Satoru, the lamp making his white hair appear gold. Suguru comes back with pills and sits on the edge of the bed, slipping them in your mouth.

He urges you to drink water from the glass in his hand and you’re more willing this second time around.

Your body’s heavy as you sink into the sheets, your eyes having a hard time staying open. The men are standing above you, watching as you make yourself comfortable. You couldn’t even remember why you were here. All you could focus on was the way the pillows felt beneath your head.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow morning.” Satoru says.

Suguru leans down to kiss your forehead before he’s slipping out of the room.

“What’s up with you?” Satoru says soft enough you almost miss it, eyes lingering on your face.

He presses a kiss to your cheek before stepping away, turning off the light.

~~~

Your body wakes up slowly, your head tossing back and forth over the soft pillow beneath you. It was hard to crack your eyes open, but you manage.

Wait.

Where were you?

You knew exactly where you were, and it wasn’t in your bed. Why were you in Satoru and Suguru’s house? Your body flies up as your eyes dart across the room. The bed was empty besides you, there was no hint of either man in the room.

When you look down you notice that you’re wearing clothes at least, thank god, but they’re not your clothes. You pull the fabric to your nose where you sniff, Satoru’s cologne filling your nostrils.

“Why am I wearing…” you murmur to yourself.

“Morning sunshine.” You hear Satoru’s voice.

He waltzes in with a tray of food in his hands. Waffles, bacon, and fruit. Suguru must’ve cooked, Satoru sure as hell didn't. The sight of the food causes your stomach to rumble, loud enough you’re sure the whole house must’ve heard it. Satoru doesn’t even spare you a glance as he sets the tray down on the nightstand, sitting on the side of the bed.

“Take those, Suguru says you'll need them.” He’s pointing to a couple of pills on the tray. Tylenol by the looks of it.

You eye him carefully as you slip the medicine in your mouth, bringing the glass of water to your lips. You didn't realize how parched you were until the liquid passed your throat. The glass is empty by the time you’re finished.

“Suguru said it’s important to take them. I don’t really know how to handle drunk people or hangovers, but Suguru’s had his fair share.” Satoru’s rambling and you can tell. Usually people ramble when they’re nervous, but not Satoru. When he's nervous, which happens rarely, he gets quiet. And that made you more uneasy.

“Quite the show you put on last night.” Satoru says.

What happened last night?

“So, you wanna tell me what the hell that was?” Satoru crosses his leg over the other, a bloated silence falling over the room.

Your stomach flips under his gaze. What was he feeling? You felt like you were being scolded, that’s for sure.

“I-I’m not sure.”

Satoru barks out a laugh that jolts you. As he laughs, your eyes trail down his figure. He’s wearing a plain black shirt with boxers, the sight of his bare legs nearly scandalous.

“You aren't sure? Do you even remember what happened last night?”

You weigh your options in your head. You could tell him you remember, and just wing it. Or you could admit that you totally forgot everything. Which was worse?

Your fingers pick at the blanket as you wrack your brain for anything, only to come up empty handed. It couldn’t have been that bad, right?

“I don’t.” You settle on the truth, figuring it’s better than the alternative.

“Well, let me clue you in.” Satoru leans forward and grabs a grape, popping it into his mouth.

Your eyes follow him as he sticks his thumb in his mouth, sucking off fruit juice from his finger. The way his tongue darts out to clean his finger causes your chest to tighten.

“You came here after you went out drinking. I'm not sure where you were before coming here. Then you stormed in here and started yelling at me. In my own house.” Satoru turns towards you and you feel the need to back up slightly.

“Yelled at me because we haven’t had sex yet. Apparently you’ve had sex with Suguru already though, which is news to me.”

He isn’t mad. You know exactly what he looks like when he's mad, and this isn’t it. That doesn’t change the fact you feel like you’re being reprimanded.

You blew up at him because you haven’t had sex yet? It did bother you, but you didn't think you were that mad. You knew it was because you kept getting interrupted. And it would happen eventually, you knew it would.

“I don’t really care about that. I mean, I wish you would’ve told me, but it’s not a big deal. You know what is a big deal though?” Satoru leans in, his presence all consuming.

“The fact you thought we haven’t fucked because I would be worried Suguru would be better.” He narrows his eyes at you, searching you for answers.

You really said that?

“Satoru, I-“

“I mean, I would be more offended if you took everything back. I may cry if you pretend you aren’t upset that we haven’t had sex yet”

Satoru raises a brow as he looks at you and suddenly you feel like he's twenty feet tall.

“You aren't going to take it back, are you?”

“N-no.”

Satoru carefully gets up from the bed only to get on top once more, crawling over to you. His eyes are locked on you the entire time, leaving your skin buzzing.

“Didn't think so.” Satoru stops in front of you and lifts his hand up.

His palm holds your cheek and you’re frozen in place, unable to do anything. Even if you could move, you aren't sure what you'd do. Satoru presses his lips against yours, and even though you were expecting it, you still inhale sharply. His lips mold to yours as easily as they always do, as if they were made for yours. Your eyes flutter closed as you taste the remnants of fruit on his lips.

He parts his mouth and swipes his tongue along your bottom lip, smirking at the whine you let out. Your heart is racing as his tongue slides into your mouth, tangling itself with yours. It’s getting heated fast, and you remember a small little fact in the back of your head.

“Satoru, what about Suguru?” You ask, pulling yourself away even though it feels painful.

“I told him to leave for two hours.”

He pushes his lips against yours again, more rough than the first time. Your fingers dig into the bed, not sure where to place them. Was this really happening?

Satoru spreads your legs and you have no choice but to lean back, at the mercy of him as he hovers over you. It’s overwhelming in the way he’s completely covering you. Your mind reels as your mouths move in tandem.

You were almost expecting his phone to ring, to rip him away from you. There was always something that kept you apart, like god couldn’t fathom the idea of you together.

Satoru pulls away and grins to himself.

“You’re kind of greedy, aren't you?” He questions.

“Fucking Suguru then coming here to ask for more? Naughty little girl.”

Satoru reaches up between your legs. He brushes against your thighs, before pushing your shirt up. The hair on the back of your neck stands up at the cool air that blows against your stomach. His thumb rubs your tender flesh before he kisses you again.

You’re panting by the time he kisses you once more, positive you’re leaking between your legs. He pulls away and stares into your eyes as his hand traverses your skin.

His hands find your underwear and he slides his fingers inside, wasting no time as he traces your slit. Satoru watches your reactions as he slides a finger inside, groaning as it sinks into your pussy.

Satoru pulls it out carefully before sliding it back in, lips parted as he watches you. You always knew he had long fingers, but knowing was much more different than feeling. It felt like he was reaching your throat.

Satoru has a slight grin on his face as he stretches you out, and all prior guilt you may have held was gone. Of course you didn’t expect him to be really mad at you, but you didn’t think you were going to get rewarded either. He eases a second finger in, curling them up until you let out a shaky moan. It felt weird to be open like this with him, the two of you constantly teased each other. You were half expecting him to make a smart remark at your expense given how pathetic you looked, and felt.

“How’s it feel?” His voice is low and dangerous as he hovers above you.

“S-so good.”

You clench the sheets beside you, looking down to watch where his hand was. You were getting so wet that your pussy made noises each time he slid his fingers in. His palm presses against your clit as he finger fucks you, causing your breathing to stutter.

You’re trying to keep still underneath him but it's getting increasingly difficult as his hand speeds up, the heel of his hand bumping into your clit each time. His long fingers stroke your sensitive walls, and you know that you’ll never be able to repeat the sensation. You were sort of pissed at yourself for missing out on this for years. It felt like he was bringing you to the gates of heaven with his fingers. You wished you could feel this forever, the pleasure nearly overwhelming.

Your moans increase as his lips graze against your skin. He’s close to your face, eyes flicking back and forth between yours. He must be able to feel the rhythmic clenching because he lets out a dark chuckle. The heat of his gaze makes it hard to breathe.

You’re close.

So close.

“That’s it baby, let it all out.” His hushed words of encouragement are all you need to send you over the edge.

You throw your head back as you cum, you don’t think you could handle looking at him. His fingers slow as you float back down to earth, a dull tingling running over your skin.

When your eyes flicker back to Satoru, he's looking at you with hunger. For a moment it startles you.

He sits up and slides his hands down your sides until they settle on your underwear. They’re off in a blink of an eye, and he's spreading your legs.

“Satoru!”

“What, you didn’t think we were done, did you?” His voice is filled with disbelief as he looks at you.

Your teeth dig in your lip as you watch him lay on his stomach, face in front of your pussy. You’re a mess, you can tell. Cum is sliding from your core, making you wiggle your hips.

“Don’t worry, I'll clean you up.” His breath brushes against you making you shiver.

Satoru sticks his tongue out and drags it through you, savoring your taste. You’re still sensitive from your previous orgasm so you squirm backwards to try to have a little bit of reprieve. It almost hurts how sensitive you are. Satoru holds your legs open as you whine, his mouth attached to you.

You can hardly breathe. Satoru was always like that, though. Making it so you didn’t know which way was up and which way was down.

“I've been dreaming about this pussy for days, I missed the taste of you.”

He dips his tongue inside you, dragging it back out. His grip is nearly bruising as he pushes your legs open. You can’t say anything, only whimpers fall from your mouth. His tongue nudges against your clit and it feels like a punch in the gut, you let out a broken sob.

When Satoru pulls away there’s a string attaching his lips to your pussy, the sight pornographic. You force yourself to look away, somehow still finding it in yourself to be self conscious.

You hear a rustling of clothes in front of you and out of the corner of your eye you see Satoru sliding his shirt off, exposing his lean abs. The sight was mouthwatering, you could feel drool begin to seep past your lips.

Without his shirt you’re able to see the large bulge that’s poking from his groin. You think you catch a wet patch but it's hard to tell.

You close your legs as you stare at him.

“You’re ruthless.” You murmur.

“And you’re a brat.” He says.

“Am not!”

“Are to.”

“You just make me so-“

“Wanna put that mouth to the test, then?”

Satoru looks at you with a cocky grin as he slips his thumbs beneath the band of his boxers, pulling them down. You inhale sharply as his cock springs out, standing straight. The tip is a pretty pink, precum leaking down the sides. There wasn’t a singular flaw. He’s slightly longer than Suguru, which mildly scares you, but he wasn’t as thick. Your hole clenches as he brings his hand down, stroking himself twice as he watches you.

You move to your hands and knees and crawl towards him, tunnel vision on his cock. You couldn’t possibly fit the whole thing down your throat, could you? Then again, you didn’t think you'd be able to take all of Suguru either, and you were able to.

You come to a halt once his cock is a mere two inches from your face. His precum is shining in the morning sun, a tantalizing sight. When you flick your eyes up to him, he's already looking at you. He raises a hand and pushes your hair back, gripping it. Your stomach twists as a pool of desire pours through you. You want to make him proud.

Your tongue lolls out, and you watch him as you glide it against his tip. He releases a hiss at the feeling, his stomach flexing. You were already craving more. You swipe your tongue again, the sound of his moans going straight to your pussy. When you pop the tip into your mouth, you gently suck. You allow your eyes to close as you fall into a rhythm, your head moving as you carefully take more of him.

He’s already halfway down your throat, and you still have inches to go. You struggle to breath as your throat spasms, the craving for oxygen desperately clawing at your insides. When you hear him moan once more, you think that you might not need to breathe again, as long as you get to hear him keep making those noises.

Your skin breaks out in goosebumps. You force yourself to take more until he's hitting the back of your throat. Gags fill the room as you start to choke on his cock.

“Fuck, that’s it.” Satoru moans.

He keeps his hips still as you gag on him, slowly bringing your head back. You slide your tongue along his sensitive veins, swallowing as he continues to leak down your throat. His groans make butterflies release in your stomach.

When you open your eyes again, the sight above you whisks you off your feet. Satoru’s lips are parted, a light pink dusting across his cheeks.

Handsome, handsome, handsome.

You tear your mouth off and watch as a string of saliva falls down your face. Satoru’s leaning down, grabbing your cheek as he presses his lips to yours. There’s a sense of urgency in the way he kisses you, his front teeth knocking against yours. He helps push you back until you’re laying down and he's hovering over you. When he pulls away, you're able to see him up close. Every little detail is on display in front of you. His unique blue eyes, flawless skin, and strands of white hair.

Satoru pulls your shirt up, throwing it off to the side. It’s getting harder to breathe. It was finally happening. He pushes your legs apart and glides in between.

Years, you had been waiting years for this.

“Let me get a condom.” He murmurs under his breath, leaning over you to search his nightstand.

“Wait, you have condoms?”

“Yeah, bought them after our last night.” Satoru responds, sitting back.

He’s holding the packet, opening it as he carefully looks at the condom.

He didn't really have to wear one. Plus, you didn’t want him to.

“Satoru, I’m on birth control.”

He stops in his tracks and looks up at you. You only have a quick moment to gather yourself before he's tossing the condom aside, lowering down until his bare chest presses against yours.

“Thank god, you're gonna let me feel you?”

You moan quietly in confirmation.

Satoru’s cock slides between your folds as he rocks his hips back and forth slowly. You can hear how sopping wet you are, but it only makes him glide easier. His tip bumps against your clit and you groan out, attempting to squeeze your legs together but your attempts are thwarted by Satoru’s hips.

He pushes himself up and looks down between the two of you, using one hand to guide his cock to your core. The head presses against you and you can feel the momentary tension before he slips inside. As soon as he dips inside, your pussy is pulling him in, aching for more.

Satoru moans as he watches himself carefully push in deeper and deeper, and you can’t take your eyes off the sight either. It's mesmerizing. He’s halfway in when you feel him bump your gspot, making your lips tremble.

You think you stop breathing but you don’t notice, not when all of your attention is on him. His cock carves a hole into your walls, making you see white. Satoru’s moaning above you, and it only makes you clench against him. He must feel it.

“Fuck, almost there. Think you can handle more?”

You can tell he's snickering without glancing at him. He must be teasing you. But you aren't sure if you can. Can you take more? It feels like he's already two feet deep inside of you.

“More.” You groan out.

“You really are greedy.” Satoru murmurs.

He thrusts all the way in and you think your heart stops. It takes you several seconds before the ringing in your ears calm and you're able to bring yourself back down to earth.

He’s so fucking deep.

Your pussy tightens around him. Your skin feels like it's buzzing with the need for more. You expect him to be grinning to himself with a quip sitting on the tip of his tongue, but when you look up, that’s not what you see at all. He’s staring down at where you’re connected, eyes unblinking as they glaze over. His tongue slowly drags over his bottom lip to wet it. Not only were you feeling ruined, but apparently so was he.

You two hadn’t even started yet.

“You’re so f-fucking wet,” he says, pulling his hips back a couple inches before thrusting in again. “And warm,” he goes on, his cock sliding from you. “And tight.”

You moan beneath him and dig your nails into his arms, your head reeling from the feel of his cock. He isn’t even going fast, but you still can’t control your breathing. The schlick noises fill the room along with a mixture of your groans. Satoru’s breathing hard as he squints at where you’re connected, entranced by the way you keep sucking him in.

“Made me wait years for this.” A forced laugh bubbles up from his mouth and you can feel he's building up speed.

“Then you have the nerve to come to my house and act like I’m the one who’s been stopping us?” He moans once before slamming into you.

“Give me a fucking break.” He murmurs.

You yelp and grip onto him tighter. He’s pressing into your gspot each time he pushes himself in. Your clit is feeling neglected, twitching under the heat of his stare.

He sets a good pace, his moans starting to join yours. They were getting you off just as much as his cock was. It was a good thing Suguru wasn’t home, or else he’d be able to hear every little noise coming from the two of you.

“Satoru you’re so fucking big.” You groan.

“I know, but you can take it. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

He thrusts himself in, moaning once he feels you squeeze around him. He knows he might be going too fast, but he doesn’t care. He needs this. He needs you.

You’re close to sobbing below him, feeling so good you think you may die. Your legs are twitching on either side of his hips, so you wrap them around him to steady yourself. This only achieves in pulling him in closer.

“Shit.” He moans quietly, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

You wrap your hands around his neck to tug him down closer to you, wanting to feel him utterly and completely. His sweaty chest presses against yours, your swollen nipples dragging along his tight muscles. His mouth is directly beside your ear, his hot breath fanning across your neck.

You’re moaning loud and digging your nails in once more. Your pussy is already getting sore from the way he's pounding into you, but you couldn’t care less.

He snakes a head between the two of your bodies and slides it to your clit. You’re shaking beneath him as he starts to rub slow methodical circles around you.

“Is this what you needed, baby?” He asks.

“Y-yes, fuck, yes!”

It was too much. He was too much.

You moan as he pushes into you, the whole time he's stroking your clit. If this is what you get when you bitch to him, maybe you should do it far more often. Your skin prickles.

“Yeah? Just needed to get fucked good, huh?”

You wished he would shut up. His words were bringing you closer to the edge, but you didn’t want to cum yet. You wanted more and you wanted it to last longer.

“Satoru you're gonna make me,” you groan as his finger speeds up.

“Cum? You gonna be a good girl for me for once and cum on my cock?”

You aren't sure how you haven’t drawn blood yet with the way your nails are embedded in his skin. It's hard to breathe with the pressure on your chest and the pleasure buzzing through your veins.

His cock thrusts inside you, working with the way his finger glides against you.

You were so fucking close.

He groans beside you as your pussy begins to rhythmically twitch against him, betraying your wants as you inch towards your orgasm.

“Look at me.” He commands, pulling up until his face is inches in front of yours. “Want you to look at me as you cum.”

Your eyes trail along his face, unsure of where to look. He looked good. You didn’t want to appreciate just one of his features. You wanted all of him.

His blue eyes demand your attention so you give in to stare at them.

He only has to swipe a couple more times before you cum, your mouth hanging open as you clench around his cock. You’re so tight he nearly has a hard time fucking you through it, your pussy desperately clinging to him. He’s almost as loud as you as you cum, trying to stave off his own orgasm until you finish first.

Your vision clears up but you're immediately thrust back into the throws of passion. He’s not done yet. The whimpers falling from his lips threaten to turn you on again.

“Where do you want me to,” his voice is airy as he inches closer.

“Inside!”

“Yeah? Gonna let me cum inside and fill up t-this pussy?” He’s delirious you think, but you aren’t faring much better.

“Yes, yes,” you moan. “Please, please.”

His hip thrusts become irregular until he lets out one last loud groan, shooting cum inside you. It's warm and sticky as it fills you up, threatening to leak from the sides of your pussy if he wasn’t plugging you up.

He pushes into you a couple more times before sitting up, the two of you watching as his cock slides from you. His cum drips from your pussy, the heat of it dragging on your skin.

When you look up you find that he's already staring at you. You think he may want to go again.

“You doing okay?” He questions.

That wasn’t what you were expecting.

“Yeah…” You’re better than okay. You feel weightless.

You finally fucked the two of them. Even though you shouldn’t have come over and yelled at Satoru, you were slightly thanking yourself.

Satoru grabs a towel to slide between you, cleaning up his cum. You wince at the sensation, which he chuckles at before he tosses the soiled fabric away.

You sit up and immediately feel the way your pussy begins to ache. You hadn’t gotten used to the sizes of them yet. Your throat is parched as you watch Satoru lay down beside you, his skin glistening in the morning light.

“I'm gonna get water.” You murmur.

“Okay. I’ll be here. Promise.” He kisses the side of your mouth.

Your lips threaten to smile, so you get up and turn around before he can see it. You throw on his discarded shirt before opening the bedroom door, making your way out.

“Oh hey. Done already?”

Your feet stop instantly. You turn to the side and find Suguru sitting next to the bedroom door, flicking through a book.

He was here?

“I-I thought. Satoru said-“ you stutter as Suguru looks up, his feline eyes making your heart flutter. “Satoru said you wouldn't be home for two hours.”

“Satoru told me to leave for one hour.” He murmurs.

What a little shit.

Suguru’s eyes slide from your face down your figure. He appreciates the way his boyfriends shirt clings to your body, your bare legs out in the open for him.

“What’s taking so long-“ Satoru’s voice surrounds you. “Oh hey Suguru, didn’t know you’d be back so soon.” Satoru nearly sounds giddy.

Satoru’s wearing his boxers once more but he skipped putting on a shirt. If Suguru somehow hadn’t heard the two of you, which he most certainly did, then he would have been able to tell what you had done just based on your appearances.

How embarrassing.

You bring your hands up to your face to hide yourself. Suguru must have heard everything, or close to everything.

“Did you have fun?” Suguru asks.

He doesn’t seem mad, if anything he seems smug.

“I did. She’s amazing.” Satoru answers.

“I know.” Suguru responds, a cocky grin spreading across his lips.

“I'm gonna go get water…” you try to excuse yourself, embarrassment creeping up all over you.

Your eyes fly across the room, looking for something to settle your gaze on. You see the couch which has two blankets thrown against them with two pillows on either side. Had they slept out here last night?

“Go lay down sweetheart. You must be exhausted.” Suguru stands and walks over to you, kissing the top of your head.

“I did all the-“ Satoru starts to say before Suguru shoots him a dirty look.

“I'm assuming you didn’t get around to eating your breakfast?” Suguru asks, tilting your head up.

You remember the tray of food that Satoru had brought in, you never got around to eating any of it.

His thumb swipes the corner of your eye where your tears were starting to dry. Tears you cried because his boyfriend was fucking you.

“No.” You say.

“I’ll make some more then.” He replies.

Him and Satoru share a look before Suguru’s turning around to head to the kitchen. They were both stifling a grin, contentment settling over their bones at their decision to open their relationship. Satoru turns you around and brings you back to their bed, scooping you up and setting you down on the soft sheets.

“Wait here, okay?” He says to you.

You get comfortable under the blankets before grinning at him.

“I'm not going anywhere after what you did to me.”

Satoru chuckles and rolls his eyes before standing up.

“You liked it and you know it.”

“Never said I didn’t.” You watch as he makes his way to the bedroom door.

He closes it softly behind him, leaving you alone to recuperate.

Tag List: @tojislittleprincesss, @dinolvrrr, @kimi01985, @mikisspeak, @spookysoowpprince, @reosnagi, @faerie-soirxx, @platrom, @oownowonwoo, @megumisdivinedogs, @sakui1, @maskedpacific, @riri-twix

If you want to be added to the taglist please let me know. Please specify if you wanted to be added for everything I post or just this fic.

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szynkaaa · 4 months ago

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Black Myth: Wukong Journal Entries Part 1

Summarizing some of the journal entries that I found interesting because why not fanfic research?? who knows not me

All the journal entires can also be read on the fandom wiki page

Starting with the Mount Huaguo monkeys because I too, am wondering how they were faring after SWK died.

Circus Monkey (chapter 3 New West)

After Mt. Huaguo was destroyed, the Macaque Chief (flying monkey we fight three times in Chapter 3) led a bunch of monkeys away

arrived at Flaming Mountain (chapter 5) but a plague broke out and Macaque Chief asked for the sick monkes to be tossed into a called

This did not like that, so they decided to stop following the Macaque Chief and they wandered around

lived among humans, pretended to be monkey performers, did not make good money, so they decided to rob the audience while performing.

they killed them, stole their things and moved to the next city

The moved tot he New West, heard Macaque Chief is there too but avoiding them because he feels guilty

circus monkey became circus monks

Tenner (chapter 5 Flaming Mountain)

Centuries ago, Court razed Mt Huago once more

lots of monkey left the home after they heard of SWK death, and because SWK was buddy buddy with the Bull King they decided to go to Mt. Huago

Bull King hated monkeys because of SWK betrayal LOL, but he still gave them shelter and the monkeys were often bullied by other yaoguais

The Flaming Mountain Keeper (dude who had the hots for Princess Iron Fan) treated them with kindness and gave them food and support

Plague struck, monkeys fur fell out and they had sores and boils all over their skin spreading across their back

Macaque Chief casted the infected into the Furnace Valley. Dude said not my circus not my monkeys lol

Keeper came and saved them and cured them. Wings spread from the boils off their back

Keeper taught them how to fly and enlisted them as his minions

first thing they did was purge the Macaque Chief's camp, killed all the other monkeys, only leaving the Chief alive, who then fled to the New West

Macaque Chief (Chapter 3 New West)

Yellobrow helped Macacque Chief retracting his black wings

Macaque was a Chief under SWK

Yellowbrow offers the Macaque Chief to stay and help him rebuild the Thunderclap Temple

"If you had the abilities of that monkey who wreaked such havod in the Celestial Palace, it would have been others who would have suffered." - Yellowbrow

My personal thoughts and musings:

based on the entries from Tenner, I guess it's been more than 100 years since SWK died, I recall reading somewhere it was 270 years but I don't remember where I got that number, so if anyone knows let me know. I like that they added information on what happened to the monkeys at Mt. Huaguo. Chapter 6 felt very Unfinished (fitting title) in terms of also environment - there weren't much enemies around beside the court soldiers and bosses to fight. And when I first walked into the waterfalls cave, my first thought was how empty and abandoned it look like. There are stone tables and chairs and peaches scattered around, but it looks very much like no one has been there for a very long time.

Also the Macaque Chief is NOT the six-eared Macaque, he died in JTTW killed by SWK.

So we know that

SWK left the court and buddhahood behind to just chill with his homies

in retalition the Court started killing his monkey kind

SWK killed himself in order to be completely free

the court very likely continued to massacre and raze through Mt. Huaguo

which then led to Macaque Chief leading some other monkeys away to find a new home

When the Old Monkey is telling the stories of SWK and sending out monkeys to retrieve artifacts, we see a bunch of other monkeys holding staffs too (spot the anime protagonist lmfao)

we do not see or find any other monkeys when we arrive at Mt. Huaguo

My theories and headcanons:

Without Sun Wukong's protection, Yaoguai's run rampagne and the monkeys are not able to fully defend themselves

also when we arrive and on our way to the Stone, we get attacked by court soldiers

My theory is that because they know SWK will be reincarnated, and they want to prevent that, they have soldiers stationed there to attack whenever someone triest to obtain all armor parts and reach the Stone with SWK remains

hence also why the monkeys had to leave, because they would get attacked by court soldiers on sight

I don't think ALL of them left, we do still see monkeys at the beginning of the game

Overall when I played through Ch.6 there was a also a strong feeling of excitement of reaching the end of the journey soon, but also sad because it Mt Huaguo just felt so empty. it's supposed to be SWK's home and he wanted to leave buddhahood behind to be with his kin. To me, that already paints an image of mt Huaguo, being a lively and happy place.

I do wonder what is gonna happen next now that SWK is back. I suppose words will go out that the Monkey King is back, and that some of the monkeys will try to return again? I also wonder what the DO was thinking when traveling and having to fight his own kin. Does he know the history of his mountain? Hopefully the DLC will answer some more questions for us

And that's it about the monkeys! I'm still reading the Journal Entries, and will tackle the Tigers from Chapter 2 next!

#the ham talks #black myth wukong #all I'm just saying #SWK gonna need a partner by his side rebuilding Mt Huaguo #hint hint nudge nudge #I have a lot of feelings when reading the monkey entries #black myth rambling

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lostintransist · 3 months ago

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Liaison Part 4 Winning This Bet Will Be Easy

Part 1 can be found here. Up to chapter 32 over on AO3.

Kate could, arguably, be the person you know the best in the 141. You had her number saved in your work phone and also your personal. She took you to lunch at least once a week to confirm you weren’t having any problems. This lunch felt a bit special since you had been at your job for six months.

Kate seemed to treat these meals like an informal progress report. She also checked that Ghost wasn’t giving you any more problems. Seems word got around to all the teams that you and he did not get along. Any week you saw him you reported what offense he handed out like a challenge coin and how you responded. The week you told her about the hair pulling she shot beer through her nose.

Coughing, Kate grabbed a napkin. She pressed it against her beer-leaking nose.

“You said what to him?”

“I told him that hair pulling is kinky and asked him if he would follow up on his offer.” Shoving a bite of pasta in your mouth you watch Kate clean up the mess on her face.

“God I wish I could have seen that. Ghost isn’t always a right bastard but when he is it’s hard for anyone beyond Soap to take him to task. Why do you two hate each other so much?”

“I can’t say why on his end but I don’t respond well to demands. First thing he asked of me, ‘scuse me, demanded of me happened on a bad day was to confirm a contract and I could not respond in any way that wouldn’t cause problems. Seems no one else stands up to him so I have become his favorite wall to ram his head into.”

“You’ve been here six months now, how do you feel like you’re fitting in?”

“I’m not.”

Kate paused, looking you over. “Tell me more about that.”

“There isn’t much to say, I am chained to the computer and the phone. I took over this portion of the job from you, you know how much work this is.”

“And I will never be able to thank you enough for that, believe me,” Kate reaches across the table to squeeze your hand once before sitting back up.

“I think the only person I could say I have had a non-work related conversation with is Roach.”

“Roach? Really?”

Kate’s confusion is understandable. Roach is voluntarily mute. You tend to forget he is in the room when you yell at your computer until he sends you a cheeky message about keeping it down over there. It never comes across as high-handed or rude. The man has quick fingers and a quicker wit. The odd back and forth of talking to him and his responses rolling in over chat doesn’t bother you. It’s no different than a voice note in a text conversation.

“Some of the guys are in town tonight and we are hitting the local pub, why don’t you come and get to know them better?” Kate’s offer sounds genuine.

“Will you be there? I would hate for you to miss another epic loss for Ghost,” you tip your beer toward her, brow raised.

The laughter bubbles out of her, “I hadn’t planned on it but if you are going to be there I would love to watch a match up with Ghost.”

“Well, I will meet you in the lobby tonight for drinks. Hopefully, the sparks that fly will show how well Ghost and I don’t get along.”

❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈

No one questioned you or Kate when you appeared in the lobby, standing close to her side. Nearly twenty people filled the small space, some of whom you had no name for. You were positive you had a file on them just no idea which name belonged to which face. When the men moved forward through the door you followed, chatting with Kate the whole time.

The group ended up at a pub no less than a five-minute walk from the building. A cozy space with dark wood paneling and an air that the pub had been around exactly as it was long before the Romans came to conquer.

You end up sitting straight across from Ghost because of course, you do. At the table with you are Ghost, Kate, Price, Soap, and a yet unnamed man with a sad smile. Someone with a name tag appeared at the table once everyone had sat. Price passed over his card to cover the costs of the dinner for the few tables they took up. The woman took everyone’s order with an efficiency that spoke of experience.

The fries, chips, you ordered arrive hot at the table with the drinks. Listening as everyone else talks gives you a better sense of who they are. The man you had no name for goes by Reb, his file noted he was a sniper. He tells good stories, and everyone laughs at the experience he shares of trying to outrun a bull when he accidentally set up a nest on the wrong side of a hill.

Everyone notes when someone enters the bar, quick glances and assessments without breaking the conversation. Even you notice when a gorgeous redhead steps into the room. She settles at the bar. Large, loose curls drift down her back and her freckled face is clear from where you sit.

Over the next hour, you watch three different members of the 141 from different tables try and talk to her. Each gets shut down hard within thirty seconds. After the third man slinks back to his table Soap comments.

“Poor bastards, I doubt anyone could take her home tonight.”

“I could,” you pop another fry into your mouth.

You pause chewing when the table goes silent.

“What? She hasn’t given any of the men an iota of attention. Look at how she’s dressed, her outfit screams lesbian.”

All eyes focus on the woman at the bar. She doesn’t turn but shifts on her stool.

“Prove it then.” The challenge comes from Ghost.

“Wanna bet on it Gengar?”

Kate’s eyes go wide and connect with Price’s who smirks at the whole interaction.

“Oh, Jesus save us,” Soap takes a large swallow of his drink.

“£1,000,” Ghost snarls.

“Done, winning this bet will be easy.” Pulling a stack of sticky notes and a pen from your backpack you write down your Venmo.

Peeling off the top layer you slap the paper on the center of the table.

“I’ll give you ten minutes to get the money together after I leave with her. Kate, thanks for the invite. I’ll see you in the morning.” Sending nods around the table, you give Ghost a wink instead.

A fourth man is leaving, tail between his legs, when you slide onto the stool next to the beauty.

“Hi, I know you probably came here to just have a drink alone but could I interest you in helping me win a bet?”

She sends you a heavy side eye as she sips at her drink.

“What kind of bet?”

Leaning heavily onto the bar you point toward Ghost.

“You see that scary motherfucker over there?” She turns, eyes him, and turns back to you. You continue, “See I don’t get along with him. Quite frankly I think he is a bastard and would love to win £1,000 off him. The task that will win me that money is getting you to leave with me.”

A surprised little laugh drifts to you.

“That is quite a tall order.”

“I agree, and the least I could do is tell you what is going on and ask for a bit of help.” Sticking your hand out for a shake you give a name, “You can call me L.”

“L,” she looks you up and down, more interested, “You can call me Clare.”

“Hi Clare, wanna help me win a bet? I would love to take you to dinner for your trouble.”

Her tongue plays with the edge of her canine as she thinks.

“Why not, where would you take me?” She turns from the bar to face you fully.

The scraping of chair legs against the wooden floor tells you someone is unhappy to be losing. An angry murmur follows and you trust that Price or Soap will handle Ghost.

“I’m new in the area, I would take you wherever you wanted. You know the max budget for the date,” you flirt with her.

Her hand moves to rest on your arm as she leans closer.

“And if I did,” she pauses, “want to go home with you?”

“Well I’ve never had a chance to bed a beautiful and savvy woman like yourself but I’m a quick study,” you lean forward, tipping your head to the side ever so slightly.

Clare takes the invitation and initiates a small kiss. You match her effort, pulling away with a smile.

“Let’s get out of here Clare, I owe you dinner,” you breathe the words against her lips.

She lips from her stool, dropping a small purse on a long chain over one shoulder. You signal for the bartender.

“Can you put her drink on Price’s tab? He will approve it. If not I will pay you for it the next time I come by.”

The woman nods, “I’ll hold you to it.”

“I would hope so.”

Clare heads toward the front door, and you follow behind. Before you leave the building you turn and find Ghost staring at you, eyes hard.

Lifting all your fingers you mouth ‘ten minutes’ at him before you follow your date for the night into the dark.

Your phone dings before you can hail a cab.

Part 3 | Part 5

Masterlist

@nicroyal02 Chapter 32 is up on AO3.

#cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #price x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap cod #john price x reader #konig x reader #konig cod #gary roach sanderson #kyle gaz garrick #gaz cod

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tgmsunmontue · 3 months ago

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Season to Taste - 27/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FORTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY TWENTYONE TWENTYTWO TWENTYTHREE TWENTYFOUR TWENTYFIVE TWENTYSIX

CHAPTER TWENTYSEVEN

“I fatti contano più delle parole,” Leandro says, patting his face and Bradley sighs. It’s not the first time he’s had the sentiment thrown his way, and even when he’s been able to throw them back he hasn’t taken any consolation in them.

Actions speak louder than words indeed.

… … …

“Lieutenant.”

“Admiral Kerner sir.”

“Another care package for you.”

Jake bites back the quip about him making an excellent delivery man. There’s friendly respectfulness, and then there is over-familiarity.

“Thank you sir. Much appreciated.”

“No need to thank me Lieutenant, it is definitely worth it to me to do this for Bradley. Uh. Leo.”

“You can call him Bradley sir, I do know it’s what his name is. I just know him better as Leo.”

“Alright then. Thank you, I know him as baby goose as well, but calling him that is likely a sure fire way to either make him angry or sad, so maybe best not to test it.”

“Baby goose sir?”

“Hmm. He tell you about his father?”

“Yeah. Right. His father’s callsign was Goose. I get it.”

“Mmm. Thought for a long time he’d follow in his father’s footsteps, join the Navy.”

“Until his godfather pulled his papers from USNA,” Jake supplies, because Leo has told him that Admiral Kerner knows all about it, and he’s not beyond going digging and using the resources available to him. He just never thought he’d be having this kind of conversation about a boyfriend with an Admiral. Beyond bizarre on so many levels.

“Yes. Idiotic move if you ask me. Would have been nice if Tom had been able to talk some sense into either of them…”

“Leo’s Uncle Tom,” Jake says, hazarding a wild stab in the dark.

“Yeah. He told you about him huh?”

“Uh huh…” Jake says, because yes, Leo has talked about his Uncle Tom. Once. Vaguely. He guesses it makes sense that Admiral Kerner knows whoever this Tom is, if he also knows who Bradley’s godfather is. He wonders if he could just ask.

“Of course, bunch of stubborn idiots the lot of them. Ice has the patience of a saint to put up with the pair of them. I’d have locked them in a room together years ago until one came out victorious or they actually talked… I’d have given Bradley weapons. Stacked the odds in his favor. Although Ice would have likely done the same for Maverick…”

Ice.

Ice is Tom?

Iceman?

Tom Kazansky?

Oh shit.

Wait.

Maverick? Maverick Mitchell? Where does he fit into the picture?

He doesn’t let anything show on his face, years of practice at maintaining a benign poker face, calm and unruffled. Inwardly though he’s wondering just how many fucking admirals Leo calls uncle and has them running errands for him.

Jesus.

But Mitchell just jumped to the top of his list of suspects of being Leo’s godfather.

… … …

“Holy shit, you’re here,” Jake says, and Bradley knows in that instant that Slider didn’t spoil the surprise.

“I sure am. And I have a hotel room. Happy for us to not see anything but the four walls, or we can do some sightseeing,” Bradley offers with a wide grin, cap pulled over his face in an attempt to hide it at least a little as people stream around them. He tugs Jake away from the main press of people and can’t stop grinning. It’s been over four months and while they’ve communicated in some way nearly every day the fact he has Jake in front of him in the flesh makes the time apart just melt away.

“Hotel. Then maybe sightseeing. You came all this way to see me, I need to make it worth your while…”

“Just seeing you in person makes it worth my while.”

“God you’re a sap.”

“Yeah well, I’ve missed you.”

Then Jake’s kissing him, his hands on either side of Bradley’s face before they’re sliding around his neck and pulling him close and Bradley lets himself be tugged closer. Jake might get a warning about doing this in uniform, but nothing like he would get if it wasn’t Slider who has approved his extended shore leave. Bradley’s isn’t usually one to use and abuse his connections but for this? Yeah, he’ll do it in a heartbeat every single time.

… … …

Jake doesn’t know where to start when faced with Leo, naked and happy in a bed with him, his whole body seems to be fizzing with sheer joy and Jake has to admit it’s contagious. Even though they’ve not seen each other for months he doesn’t feel any sense of awkwardness between them, or that there has been that much time spent apart. It’s nothing like he feared it might be, some of the horror stories he’s heard from others about deployments ruining relationships. He guesses they’re probably still in the honeymoon phase or something. He kisses up one of Leo’s thighs, lets his fingers trail up the other one, knows he might be making the other man ticklish but he likes nothing more than hearing Leo laugh freely, it’s a beautiful sound and it makes him smug when he knows he’s the cause.

“Was going to stretch myself open, be ready and waiting for you…”

Jake groans at the images his brain provides, drops little soft kisses up the length of Leo’s cock, doesn’t bother keeping the grin off his face. “Decided you might want the privilege this time.”

“Yeah, you’re right… want to get my fingers in you. Jesus Leo.”

It’s both brand new and familiar when he pushes into the tight hot clench of Leo’s body, mouth falling open to suck in more air before he leans up to kiss him. Leo’s riding him, body rocking and flexing above him, allowing Jake to get his hands everywhere. This position is definitely turning into one of Jake’s favorites. Who is he kidding, they’re all his favorite, they just have different pros and cons. He brushes a hand teasingly over Leo’s cock, smirks at the sharp intake of breath and lets his fingers dig into the flesh of Leo’s hips, hard, holds him still while Jake grinds up and he hopes he leaves the bruises that Leo likes.

… … …

They don’t seem to stop touching one another for more than a few minutes. Ordering room service, curling up and watching movies, talking about a whole range of different things, pressed against each other the whole time. They sleep entwined, the large bed completely superfluous, at least when it comes to sleeping. Clothes don’t even make it out of his bag, the robes in the room and Jake’s body heat more than sufficient depending on what they’re doing. He takes a few pictures of him and Jake grinning at the camera, sends them to Vi and Jake’s sisters, ignores the teasing comments he gets back. He knows they’re all happy for them.

He’s taking a very firm denial approach that they only have two days, but nothing in his power stops the seconds ticking away and as he watches Jake get dressed back into his uniform he feels an irrational grumpiness about life being unfair that he and Jake both have to return to the real world. Jake has insisted that he wants to say goodbye to Bradley here, in the privacy of the hotel room. Jake’s fastening his belt, his eyes haven’t left Bradley though, taking in the litter of marks left over his skin by Jake’s fingers and mouth and he lets himself run his fingers over them, presses into the ones on his hip and smirks when Jake’s eyes go darker. Then Jake’s stalking toward him, pushing him back and straddling him, hands pressing down on Bradley’s chest.

“Can I get you to do something for me?”

“Yeah. Of course. What do you want?” Bradley asks.

“Next time you know we’re going to see each other, and you know in advance… I want you to not jerk off for a coupe of days. Want you to stretch yourself open until your loose and use lots of lube and then put a plug in…”

“Fuck Jake…”

“Yeah, want you ready for me and desperate for it… you like the sound of that darling?”

“You know I do.”

“Mmm. Think I’m going to let you know exactly what I’ve been thinking about doing with you when I have more time on my hands.”

Bradley doesn’t think he whimpers, but he wouldn’t put money on it either.

… … …

Two days isn’t long enough but it is still better than nothing and he’s never had anyone go to this much effort other than his family. He knows Leo is talking to his family like he’s part of it, that they have a group chat which Jake isn’t part of, and he’s fine with it. In fact he likes it, that Leo is so well liked by his family, already so involved and entwined.

“Wow, you look… well rested,” Phoenix says and Jake smirks, because rested is not the word he’d use, but he’s in too good a mood to say something snarky back. “Thought you had a boyfriend Hangman.”

Jake raises an eyebrow at the insinuation.

“I do. And he’s doing very well.”

“Wait… he was here?”

“Yep,” Jake says, smirking because now she’s annoyed. At least he thinks so, now she simply looks speculative and Jake frowns. “What?”

“You really like him, huh?”

“Trace, I’m pretty sure I more than like him. He’s something special.”

“Well, he must be if he’s putting up with you!”

He does pull a face at that, but he feels a little icy tendril of worry that maybe what he’s feeling is too much, too fast. That maybe Leo doesn’t feel the same way. He wishes he could just pick up the phone and call his sisters, but he’s going to have to wait. He sends a message and figures out the time difference to organize a time he can talk.

… … …

“So, not that I don’t like talking to you, but why me?” Sandy asks.

“I need your advice.”

“Uh. Okay.”

Jake knows he’s surprised her, because they’re not the closest, however she is the one who had the longest time with their mom before she started declining. He really wishes he could talk to his mom right now, but Sandy is the next best thing, all his other sisters, especially the ones closer to his age, will potentially just tease him.

“I think I’m in love. Not just in love… I think I love him. Like… forever kind of love him.”

“Okay.”

“What do you mean okay?”

“Uh… what?”

“Isn’t it, like, too soon?”

“You think emotions like love have nice tidy timelines? That it’s just this thing which will happen after a set time? Really?”

“Uh.”

“Jake… our parents eyes met across a dance floor and mom said she knew he was the one before they’d even exchanged words. I hated Daniel the first time we met, thought he was a brainless jock. And every single time I held each of my kids for the first time I knew I would die for them. So yeah, okay. If you love him, you love him.”

“But…”

“But what?”

“What if he doesn’t…”

She’s laughing then, long, loud and gasping breaths of laughter and it sounds like she’s struggling to catch her breath, unable to say anything and it continues for far longer than he thinks warrants. What he said wasn’t even funny. This is worse than being teased. He wonders if he should hang up.

“Oh my god, I needed that. Thank you.”

“What?”

“I needed the laugh. Jake. You don’t need to worry about him not feeling the same. He flew to Japan to spend two days with you.”

“He said he had work here!”

“Yeah, work that he more than likely organized to align with your shore leave. Your boy is as stupid for you as you are stupid for him. It’s… it’s really sweet actually.”

“Uh… thanks?”

“You’re welcome. We like seeing you happy. Let yourself be happy.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Okay.”

TWENTYEIGHT

#Season to taste #Hangster #Sereshaw #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction #AU

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 6 months ago

Text

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it?

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: This chapter contains pussy drunk!Geto & Gojo and glove kink. Have fun, y'all! Love yooou! -Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen PT I & II. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Epilogue + Soundtrack.

********

THIRTEEN: EASING THE PAIN.

The first time you wake up, you find yourself lying under a canopy of trees in a sleeping bag.

“Hey, you’re awake,” a soft, deep, familiar voice says. “We were sure you were gone for.”

You gently lift your head, feeling stiff and physically drained. A roaring campfire and a handsome, topless man sitting on a log sit in front of you, the flames dancing in his brown eyes.

Your eyes can’t help but roam over his big, toned body. Geto is a big man––much bigger than Gojo in terms of muscle mass––making him look like a giant despite his sitting. His big arms, one of them adorned in a sleeve tattoo, chiseled abs, pierced nipples, and appetizing pectorals coated in fine, black chest hair are all fit for a modeling career instead of being a gunslinger, you think to yourself.

“Suguru,” you croak. “Where am I?”

You hear crickets and a lone owl hooting somewhere. The trees above you whistle and sway in the breeze. “Some forest off the coast of West side,” he explains. “We turned around to go back and came here to look for shelter. It would’ve been unwise to take you back to Sage County if Benji and his men are still there.”

You wiggle your fingers and toes in your sleeping bag, flinching slightly at the slight burn in your ankle. However, it isn’t as bad as it was before. “I’m not dead?” you ask. Geto smiles at you. “No, darlin’. We managed to treat your ankle so the venom don’t spread and cleaned up the blood. You’ll feel a bit out of it though.”

You want to ask more questions, but your tongue suddenly feels too thick and fatigue washes over you. Geto appears beside you and presses a hand to your forehead. “Go back to bed, little miss,” he whispers. “We’ll be here when you wake up.” His smile and his eyes are warmer than any fire. So you listen and let the fatigue take over, knocking you out again.

The second time you wake up, Gojo is sitting in front of you with some food. He is wearing a black V-neck and jeans with his boots, smelling of pinewood. “Good mornin’,” he chuckles even though it’s still nighttime (what time is it, anyway?). “Welcome to the land of the livin’, dollface.”

You slowly turn your head from side to ide, groggy and stiff. Your injured ankle is propped up on a log, still slightly numb. “Where’s Suguru?” you ask, looking around the clearing. Gojo places the tray down between you. “Tendin’ to the horses. I fixed ya somethin’ and I promise it ain’t poison.”

He smirks at you as he begins to stir the bowl of stew sitting in front of you. It smells spicy yet hearty and loaded with herbs. “Rabbit’s stew,” he explains. “Geto and I went huntin’.” He continues to stir the stew with a wooden spoon before taking a bit of it and holding it in the spoon.

“I-I don’t think I can sit up,” you stammer. Your body still feels stiff and heavy like you’re made of rock. But Gojo is insistent and patient. “Just lift ya head so I can feed ya. We elevated your leg, so you’ll be more comfortable.” He gives you a white-toothed smile that makes you feel like everything will be okay.

So you raise your head and pucker your lips, allowing the outlaw to bring the spoon to your mouth and feed it to you. Your tastebuds explode with the taste of rosemary carrots, onions, and the hearty rabbit that you silently thank for giving its life and you hope is hopping around in another great forest in the afterlife.

Gojo pulls a cocky smirk, leaning in towards your ear, much to your confusion. “Now you can see I’m better at cookin’ than Geto is,” he whispers before feeding you again. You both fall silent, no words needed, but when your eyes meet his, he winks at you. It somehow makes you feel more comfortable. After you finish, you fall back to sleep.

The third time you wake up, it’s from the immense pain you feel in your foot. Your ankle is throbbing and stinging intensely, the pain crawling through the veins in your foot and up your leg. It’s a terrible, terrible sensation that has your eyes stinging with tears and you gripping the blanket on top of you. “Satoru,” you gasp. “Suguru, help!”

The two of them come running to you, worry written all over their faces. Geto kneels before you, his brows drawn together in concern. “What’s goin’ on?” he asks. “Is it your foot?”

You nod, biting your lip due to the pain. You’ve never felt anything like this before. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad it is?” He asks.

“Like a six,” you moan. “It’s just throbbin’ and stingin’ and God! It feels like my foot is on fire!” You hiss as the burn travels up your leg like its own snake, biting and lashing its tongue.

Geto slowly lowers your foot down from the log, careful and slow. He gives Gojo a serious look as he examines the binds. “We can’t elevate it any higher,” he sighs. “And if we make the binds any tighter, it’ll cut off the blood flow.”

Gojo stares at you, worry and agony in his blue eyes at the way you writhe, your body tense with pain. Tears begin to drip from your eyes, the burning increasing. “Please do somethin’!” you sob. “Anythin’, please! It hurts so, so bad!”

You look up at them, praying that they will hear you and understand. You see a helplessness in their eyes, not an ounce of pity for you. “You want us to help you, Y/N?” Gojo asks.

“Please!” you beg. “Please do somethin’!” You begin to cry, the pain absolutely excruciating. Geto wordlessly concerts with Gojo, frowning. “‘Tarou,” he murmurs. Gojo looks from him to you and takes your hand into his gloved ones.

“Okay, okay, honey,” he coos. “We’ll help you. We’re gonna take your mind off of it, okay? Just relax, alright?” He presses a kiss to your knuckles, his bit of stubble rough against your fingers.

Geto gently props your ankle back up on the log before he takes your other hand, clutching it. He presses it to his soft cheek, his mahogany eyes filled with a softness that almost eases the burning. “Do we have your permission to touch you, Y/N?” he questions. “We won’t do this if you don’t say yes.”

They don’t need to elaborate on what they mean. You can see it in their eyes in the flickering light of the campfire; feel it in the way they hold your hands. You would take anything besides what you’re feeling right now. “Yes,” you sob, delirious from the pain. “Yes, I don’t care! Just touch me! Take this pain away!”

You don’t have to tell them twice. Geto moves behind you and gently sits you up while Gojo sits in front of you. You feel their gloves hands move the blanket off of you, revealing you in your undershirt and trousers. The leather of their riding clothes feel like silk across your skin as they touch you.

Geto rubs your shoulders, trying to work out the kinks and tension in them. “Tell us how you like to be touched, little miss,” he murmurs against your ear. “How you like to be kissed.”

His deep, velvety voice sends delicious shivers down your spine. Gojo’s hands play with your thighs, his fingers trailing up, up, up to settle on your waist. “Don’t be shy now,” he chuckles. “I think we’ve passed the point of that shy shit, don’tcha think?”

Even so, you keep your mouth shut. Something is holding you back from this. You’ve never told any man how to please you sexually. You can barely remember what you like after running for so long, yet to be pleased or to be loved. You thought that overtime, sex was something you had no interest in anymore.

But the tenderness in the outlaws’ gazes makes you think differently and you want to stop running….for tonight, at least. “Don’t be scared, lovely,” Gojo coos, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “We won’t judge. We just wanna make you feel good.” Geto hums in agreement, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck.

Suddenly, without any uncertainty or doubt, you know that this is all they want: to make you feel good. This isn’t a booty call or a fling. They just want to help you.

So you tell them. You tell them how you enjoy being kissed and touched. You tell them you just love it when a man brushes your hair behind your ear and kisses down your neck and shoulders. You tell them you love your partner being just as naked as you, even if you don’t touch them. You don’t like a lot of clothes.

You also tell them you don’t mind the gloves staying on.

You tell them everything you enjoy, earning looks of surprise and hidden must in their gazes. By the time you finish, you feel hot with anticipation and embarrassment. “Just no kissin’ on the lips,” you order. “That’s my boundary.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they say in unison and quickly as if they can’t get the words out fast enough. It almost makes you want to laugh at their eagerness. They stay at their posts—Gojo in front of you, Geto behind you—and begin to kiss and touch your body. Their lips are soft and the leather of their gloves feel like the richest velvet on your skin as they stroke your sides and hips, feeling you up.

A moan wants to escape from you, but you don’t let it. Instead, you are silent, your mouth forming a quiet O as Gojo’s pillowy-soft lips caress your throat. Geto’s move up your neck to your ear, your hair brushed out of the way to allow him access. Gently, he begins to nibble at the skin there and you tense, a stubborn whimper leaving your lips. “Let yourself go,” he murmurs against your earlobe. “We won’t hurt you, Y/N.”

Gojo pulls away to look up at you from the hills of your chest, his blue eyes flickering with firelight and mischief. “Or are you just too impatient?” he smirkingly asks. You don’t know why but that makes you push him away. At first, he seems hurt and confused, but then his eyes widen when you begin to slowly strip off your undershirt to reveal your bra.

Geto quickly unhooks it from the back, letting the piece of clothing fall, forgotten. All that matters now are your breasts that hang glowing in the firelight, your nipples two brown, hardened peaks. Both men stare at them like they’re the most magnificent things they’ve ever seen in their entire lives.

“Goddamn!” Gojo swears. He covers his mouth, astounded. It makes you flush, your stomach flip-flopping.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Geto murmurs. “Look at these. You’ve been hidin’ these the entire time?”

He has shifted his position closer to you and your chest, moving from behind you to get a better look at your titties. He can’t get close enough. He begins to touch them, gently running his gloved hands down the sides of your breasts.

You softly moan at his touch, wondering what it would be like to feel his naked fingertips brushing against your skin. But you don’t suggest it. It’s bad enough you’re letting them touch you in such a way. Gojo joins his partner and latches his lips onto your left nipple. Another moan, this one louder and more desperate, escapes you as he begins to gently suck and lap at your nipple with his pink tongue.

Geto does the same to your right nipple, the contrast being the warmth of his tongue and the cold metal of his tongue piercing nearly sending you into a frenzy. Your head falls back, staring up at the night sky, as the outlaws gently assault your titties, squeezing, sucking, and playing with them. At this point, you’re burning up and it isn’t from the fire or the bite. It’s all from them.

You can feel your body begin to relax into their mouths and their hands, your self-control finally dissipating to allow you to fully give yourselves to them. Probably sensing this change, Gojo looks up at you and smirks. “Two heads for two of these precious things,” he chuckles, jiggling one of your titties. “How lucky are you?”

Very. You know you are. Your hands find their scalps, your fingers running through their hair as they slurp and lap at your nipples, coating them them in their spit.

“Boys,” you whimper. “Please more.” Your body is tingling with need, your pussy quivering and throbbing in your trousers.

The outlaws laugh, taken by your adorable mess. “Such a needy thing,” Gojo chortles. “Who would’ve thought such a tough woman could be such a desperate, sweet little girl under all them scars?”

If he means physical or emotional scars, he doesn’t say, but it doesn’t matter. Even now, you don’t feel like cringing or shying away because of these “scars”. You feel free.

Geto lightly laughs, taking his hair out of his ponytail. His long, black longs cascade down his back and shoulders, reminding you of a river. “Guess it takes the right one to make it happen…or in this case, the right two.”

The two men begin to strip, much to your enjoyment. You watch them with greedy eyes as they take off their shirts but leave on their gloves, boots, and pants, only undoing their flies. You asked them to do so beforehand while telling them what you like. You don’t want to them to be completely naked, mostly because you don’t trust yourself to not ask for more.

And Lord knows you’d regret taking tonight any further the next morning. But you still enjoy staring at their toned bodies, big arms, and happy trails that lead down their toned stomachs to their V-lines. The men look pleased with your adoring, lustful gaze, light chuckles leaving their lips.

Gojo crawls over to you and situates himself between your legs. “Let’s get these legs open,” he hums. Gently, he takes hold of the leg with the uninjured ankle and moves it apart, bending it so your knee is propped up. You unbuckle the belt to your trousers and lift your hips so the outlaws can pull them down your legs. They carefully pull them off your ankles, mining your injury, until you’re just in your undies.

Geto locks eyes with you, never moving his hands once towards your panties. ‘Okay?’ They ask you. You wordlessly nod and bite your lip as he slowly pulls your panties down to expose your glistening, wet, puffy pussy in the firelight. “God,” Geto moans, salivating at the sight.

Gojo is just as astounded, shamelessly staring at the gorgeous rosebud between your thighs. “Fuck, babydoll,” he groans. “You have the prettiest pussy.” You flush at their reactions and Gojo’s dirty yet sweet words, not having ever been complimented in such a way. “Thank you,” you find yourself whispering. The two share a smirk, concerting with their eyes.

“So polite,” the white-haired outlaw praises. “You deserve a reward for that.” He is the one who gives you your “reward” first, peppering your pussy in kisses while he massages your inner thighs with his magical, long fingers. While he does this, Geto plays with your tits, tweaking and lapping at your nipples. You breathe in the sweet scent of his hair every time he leans down to suck on your breasts, making you wetter for some reason.

But once Gojo puts his mouth on your pussy, finally, you just about leave your body. All that constant talking for Gojo must’ve been practice because he’s an eater. He laps at your pussy, sucks on your clit, and just about drowns in your cunt. He eats it like an eager man desperate for water, slurping you down like he’s trying hard to get your honey pouring out.

Your eyes widen and moans escape you as he works his mouth onto you. “O-Oh, my God!” you gasp, eyes widening at the sky. Geto watches you, entranced by the way you move and sound. “Mmm-hmm,” Gojo hums into your pussy, encouraging you to keep making those sweet noises for him.

Geto begins to grow impatient and nearly knocks Gojo out of the way. “C’mon, Satoru, scoot over,” he huffs. “We have to share.”

The white-haired man pulls himself away from your pussy, his lips and chin coated in your juices. “Who says?” he scoffs. “Did she say she wanted two tongues at once?”

Your eyes widen at the idea. You’ve never heard of such a thing: two men sharing the same pussy…but it excites you. It turns you on. Geto seems just as stunned by the suggestion. “Well…that’s not what I meant, but–”

“Go ahead,” you cut in, earning their surprised gazes. You sit up as much as you can and lock eyes with both of them, forcing yourself to be open and firm. “I-I want both of you,” you stammer. You don’t care if it makes you slutty or desperate. You need this. You need to feel something other than pain.

But because of your pride, you can’t let them know all of that. So you sit back and give them a glare. “Just go ahead instead of arguin’ and makin’ me wait.” The two break out into smiles, loving your bite. “Impatient,” Gojo tuts, stroking your outer thigh. “But we can’t deny you. So we’ll share.”

He begins to dive in again, but Geto stops him with a hand blocking his face. “Yes, share,” he agrees. “After I get my own taste. Now move. The fuck. Over.”

Despite Gojo’s reluctance, he moves anyway and lets his partner have a taste. You watch as Geto pulls his hair over one shoulder before he dives down between your thighs.

While Gojo has a very eager and teasing way of eating pussy, Geto takes his sweet time with you. He gets to know the ins and the outs of you by swishing his tongue this way and that while he laps at your cunt. He pays close attention to your sounds and body language, switching things up to test the waters. But everything he does feels good to you.

You are a moaning, writhing, whimpering mess on the forest floor, eyes fluttering open and closed onto the night sky. Geto is loving every minute of this, his hands cupping your asscheeks and bringing you closer to him.

“How’s that feel, babydoll?” he asks from between your legs. “Am I pleasin’ you okay?” You just about shout to the stars above, overcome with pleasure. “Yes!” you whine. “Yes, Sugu, fuck, that feels so good!”

Gojo watches from beside his partner, hard as a rock but totally jealous. “No fair,” he whines. “She didn’t get that loud with me!” Geto gives him the finger, not even coming up to look at him. “C’mon, Sugu, lemme taste her too!” The long-haired outlaw rolls his eyes but moves over anyway to share you. “Somebody’s pussy whipped.” As if he isn’t.

And then you have two sets of sinful, magical tongues on your pussy. You just about see God the instant you feel their soft lips and tongues on you, their moans and pants causing you pussy to throb, gush, and jump even more. “Ohhh, sh-shit!” you stammer loudly, you hands gripping their hair. “Yes, right there! Do it right there!”

Gojo’s sapphire eyes tick up to look at you and he pulls his mouth away from your clit to give Geto a chance to suck on it. “Oooh, she is a loud one,” he laughs. “I love my women vocal and bratty.”

He leans up to press a kiss to your stomach, making your body twitch. “How do two tongues feel on that pussy, darlin’?” he purrs. “Is my tongue better than Sugu’s?”

You couldn’t answer even if you had an answer. Geto suddenly grabs the back of Gojo’s neck, glaring up at him. “Just shut up and keep lickin’ before I take her all to myself,” he growls.

The blue-eyed outlaw gives him a mischievous look. “Oh?” he chortles. “You think you got it like that? She ain’t even seen how I use my fingers yet.”

He goes back to kissing along your stomach while he uses one of his gloved fingers to rub your clit while Geto’s tongue lightly delves inside of you. Your mouth opens, a broken moan leaving your lips as your eyes roll back into your head. Gojo’s fingers glide along your sides and thighs, making you even more aware of that ache deep in your core.

“‘Tarou,” you whimper. “Please…I need more.”

Both outlaws look up at you, neither one pausing what they're doing. “Does our good little cowgirl want a finger?” Gojo murmurs against your stomach. “We can even switch, though I’ll admit, sugar: you’ve got a man sprung off you.” He smirks down at you before glancing back at Geto.

“Same here,�� the long-haired outlaw growls, desire evident in his voice. “But I don’t mind sharin’ with you, Satoru. Only you.” The fact that both of them desire you enough to want you all to themselves but still decide to share somehow makes you even hotter.

While Geto continues to go down South on you, Gojo retracts his lips from you and stands up on his knees. He keeps his eyes locked with yours as he begins to slowly, seductively, take off his leather riding glove. He does it bit by bit, inch by inch, sliding the glove off his fingertips. You watch, shivering with anticipation and need. How does he make even taking off a glove so sexy?

Once he strips his glove off, he sucks on his bare index finger, coating it in spit. And then his finger is sliding inside of you. You gasp as he slowly slides in, gently pushing back and forth, stroking your insides to let you get used to his digit. Both outlaws watch your body respond to the new sensations you’re feeling, still moving slow. But you don’t need slow.

So you look into their eyes, your face flushed and chest rapidly rising and falling, your nipples hard and pussy dripping. “Fuck me,” you whine. “Please.” And so they do. Gojo crooks his finger up to curl against that spot while Geto greedily sucks on your clit, coating the needy bud in his saliva.

You moan, whimper, and whine, gripping the blanket underneath you for dear life. “Mmm, yes, fuck!” you sob. “Yes, yes, don’t stop! Please don’t stop!”

“That’s what I love to hear,” Gojo moans, smiling up at you. “Such a naughty girl givin’ up your pussy like this to us outlaws.”

Geto takes his mouth away from your clit, allowing Gojo time to replace him. “You’ve always wanted this, haven’t you?” he asks. “Be honest, girl.” He reaches up to tweak one of your nipples, pinching it.

Sparks of pleasure surge through you and explode in your head, sending you on a rocket trip. “Y-Yes!” you moan. “Yes, I’ve always wanted this! Always needed this!” It’s embarrassing. It’s humiliating. Because it’s true.

Gojo releases your clit, leading Geto to swoop in and replace him once more. “Knew it,” he cackles. “All those times you argued us down into the ground just for us to play with this pretty cunt. All ya had to do was ask, sugar.” He begins to finger-fuck you faster, purposely angling up to glide against your G-spot again and again.

You’re so pent up that you begin to play with your other tit while Geto keeps his hand on one, both of you working together to tweak your nipples. It doesn’t take long for that feeling of a rising orgasm to surface and judging by how tight that in your core is getting, it’s an intense one.

“Fuck, I’m close, boys,” you pant. “I-I’m gonna cum! You’re gonna m-make me…”

Your voice dies, replaced with a weak moan. Geto nods encouragingly, still working your pussy with his tongue. “It’s okay, little lady,” he murmurs. “You can cum all ya want. Just let go. We’ve got you.”

Meanwhile, Gojo is less encouraging with his words but does so with his actions, moving his finger up against the underside of your clit from the inside. “Do it,” he demands. “Fuckin’ cum for us, you little slut. Do it now!” Their ministrations become faster, more urgent, encouraging you to fall off that cliff…

And, finally, you do. Your pain is replaced with immense pleasure, making you shiver and shake as you cum all over Gojo’s finger and Geto’s mouth. Your moans and whines fill the Western night as you gush for the men settled between your thighs, your mouth open wide and eyes closed where colors flash behind your eyes. Your orgasm ripples through you like a tidal wave, making your back arch and your toes curl.

Suddenly, you don’t feel the pain anymore. You just feel immense bliss zipping through you. Even as the high your orgasm brings fades, you still feel it. A delirious, blissful smile grows on your face as you run your fingers through the outlaws’ soft hair. “Thank you,” you sigh. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

You repeat these words like a mantra as the two clean you up, keeping their licks light and gentle to not overstimulate you. Once they finish, Gojo looks down at you and sucks your cum off of his finger that was once inside of you.

Geto stands up on his knees, looking down at you. That must’ve tuckered her out, poor baby,” he chuckles.

Gojo agrees with a hum while you moan in protest about not being tired, but your sudden exhaustion doesn’t allow you. Suddenly, you feel Gojo lying next to you, one elbow propped up to hold his head up.

He keeps his eyes on you, not touching you at all, but the way he looks at you feels as if he is. “Shh,” he hushes you. “Just sleep. We’ll be here when you wake.” You feel Geto lie behind you, a warm presence that makes you feel safe just as Gojo does.

They keep their promise and stay with you through the night even as you drift off to sleep, that blissful smile still on your face.

#black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my works #black coded reader #my fic shit #black writers #jjk smut #cowboy gojo #cowboy geto #satosugu #satoru gojo x black!reader #suguru geto x black!reader #cowboy!au #cowboy!geto #cowboy!gojo #poly smut #poly love #enemies to friends to lovers #slow burn romance

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starlordcumidk · 6 months ago

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New Kind of Love

~chapter 1~

word count: 3.2k

notes: slight ooc, reader wears glasses, this is an AU of TASM!Peter where he is a fraternity brother. reader is portrayed as rude/stand-offish. reader is a tad neurodivergent. playful banter. please read this knowing that i am a newer author and the plot is based on a song.

warnings: not proofread, minor cursing? does that count?

Enough of "Love Lite"

And "I Can't Believe It's Not Love!"

Monday, October 21st, 2024.

School started back up eight weeks ago, frat, sorority, club rushs and event posters making anyones head spin. There were at least forty parties that happened just in the first six weeks of school, none you attended. Right now, the school was setting up for their next pep rally, big decorations all over the place, even in Siebert’s courtyard.

Empire State University was known for its largely populated campus, even for a private school. Truly, the scholarships they offered were the biggest reason anyone was able to go. Those from out of state were even encouraged with extra offers, you included.

You have been living rather normally, even with the hussle and bustle through the dorm halls every night, your favorite being the RA catching the girl down the hall with two gallon size ziplocs with coke and her boyfriend naked in the hall in the middle of September.

It was refreshing, almost. Being back in New York always puts an extra pep in your step, especially after a very long, very hot, very southern summer spent back at your parents house. Not only was it over one-hundred and five degrees most days, the humidity was consistently breaking the ninety percent mark.

Even though you weren’t as lucky this year with housing and got the road facing room, six floors up— with a broken elevator nonetheless– you were comfortable. The room was decorated meticulously, just the way you liked it. Warm lighting from lamps, the big light never on, a rotary fan at the foot of your bed. Perfect.

The cool seventy degree weather was a welcome breeze as you opened the window, allowing yourself to get the dry, definitely polluted air into your lungs. Looking down at the road, even though it was nowhere near as beautiful as the courtyard, filled you with excitement every single time. It was a beautiful swarm of colors, bright jackets and scarves creating a moving mural with the fresh morning sun.

I missed this. The thought floods your senses as you feel your first genuine chill of the year.

This was home. Being surrounded by tall buildings, loud and awful people, hagglers and one very fit red-blue spandex hero, was comforting. Back home, there were no heroes to swoop in if you were threatened. Spider-Man was always a welcome guest, and you’ve definitely seen more of him these past few months than before.

Maybe your paranoia was bad, but the idea of a sticky-gross-web man sweeping in and saving you made those thoughts calm down. Even if you thought the idea of being part spider was less than exciting.

It was Monday, all of your aggravating and mundane classes were scheduled for this morning. It took effort to get dressed and go to your first lecture, but eventually you did.

As you walked across campus, you messaged back and forth with your close friend who still lived in your home state, so many thousands of miles away.

Delilah: girl u have to go out and make more friends. i’m tired of being your only one. you: you know that isn’t happening right now. people find me too abrasive and that makes it hard enough as is. Delilah: ok well maybe be nice to people babe ? you: ehhhh not really my thing but maybe i’ll try for you < 33 Delilah: u better !!!!!! Delilah: hugs n kisses < 333 i gtg, reed is here you: it’s not even 9am so idk how you’re already at it with him… have a good day lilah.

You shake your head at the quick interaction and feel a moment of missing her before shoving your phone back into your pocket and taking a deep breath. Opening Dr. Howards lecture doors and seeing that you’re the first to show again, a small smile graces your lips as you make your way to your seat.

It’s not long until the small, bubbly, blonde seventy-year-old woman walks in, big binders and a mug in hand. Following her are more of the students, none of which you know or care to know. You look away for a few minutes to gather you notebook and pencil to scribble nonsense notes to try and dissect later.

And the lecture begins.

—--------------

Peter, frankly, was over everything. He was the one who had to organize where people would be sleeping, how they’d fit into the chapter house and he even had to argue with the stupid underclassmen asking why he was the one with a private bathroom. Being in a frat was tiring, he was only here for the scholarship and housing opportunity.

It was always the same, but luckily this was his last year he had to be involved with it.

After this year, his bacholers in hand, he could just worry about graduate school. Everyone and everything outside of bioengineering and Spider-Man would wash off of him. His hands clean and life lonely, just as he liked it to be- with the exception of May.

Even if one fleeting conversation leaves him enamored with the wrinkle of your nose, the way it caused the inner corners of your eyes to crease. He hadn’t been this way since highschool, it was scary and unwelcomed. Something he’d rather kill off and walk away from, but every day in the courtyard or the times you happened to be on the Q train at the same time as him, the weird adrenaline rush would light him on fire.

Mondays, Wednesdays and select Fridays were the worst. He was sure of it.

Environmental Managment, a dumb class, but he took it to get his credit hours up, hoping to balance out his GPA…. Somehow, you were here too. Almost like a curse, he has to look at you from the back row of the class, the closest seat to the back entrance. You sat alone, front and center of the lecture hall. You were always there on time, which urged him to be too, it gave him extra time to stare. Even with this, he was never sure of your name.

—--------------

The teacher was droning on about some mudslide somewhere in California, babbling about the random effects it had on the surrounding citizens, the heavy rain that caused it. Your pencil was etching into the paper lazily with each slide.

A small timer went off which indicated the end of class, but before you could react there was a loud clap and Dr. Howards mic was turned on. She only used it for important announcements or when the frat boys in the back wouldn’t shut up.

“So, this semester is going really well. Many of you are keeping your grades and positivity up! But, we still need to discuss our final exam.”

A symphony of deep groans sound from the back, you feel your eye twitch at it.

“Thank you, boys.” A pause and a glare, “Anyways, I have decided your final will be a presentation on a hypothetical scenario. In groups of two, that I assign, you and your partner will have to decide on a catastrophic event, it can be any of the ones we have discussed or any you find in your books. After picking the event, choose the setting, it can be close to home or even Australia, just make it realistic. No monsoons in New York. You two must decide how devastating it is and how the community will recover. The groups are in the class Canvas. Take care! Go Otters! Excelsior!” She closes her laptop and is out of the room before anyone can complain about her groupings.

You are quick to start thinking over ideas, most of which are tornado-centered. You’ve never experienced one, but the movie Twister was a classic at home when you were little. Quickly, you write down some ideas, tornadoes, hurricanes, mudslides….

You pack your books away and look into the list the professor had composed on your phone, scrolling through too many names before your gaze lands on yours next to… oh no.

Peter Parker.

You feel dumb for a moment, you hadn’t realized he was in this course let alone the same exact class as you. Turning around to look for him, it’s hard. The cluster of bodies was too big to just be pairs discussing their ideas.

Then, your eyes meet a messy mop of brown, leaning over a laptop and the same sweater from back in summer all the way in the back. You feel nervous just looking at him, but you swallow the hard lump and start towards him. Of course he’d be all the way in the back, surrounded by sport and frat bro’s.

With a deep breath, you tap on his shoulder. It causes him to jump, and for a moment he looks as nervous as you feel, but it disappears quickly and is replaced with a smile.

“Hey, I know you.” Peter says it with a warm tone.

“Yep. Uhm… we were partnered for the project?” You say it coolly, staring down at him.

“Ah- so that's who you are, huh?” He tilts his head, slowly shutting his beat up laptop and leaning back in his chair. He says your name a few times under his breath, as if reciting it to himself.

“Uh-huh….” You nod, something weird stirring in your stomach at the timbre he uses when whispering your name to himself. “So, what days are we meeting for this thing?”

“Uh- we could use the free period on whatever days you want. As long as it isn’t at night, I have a job.” He shrugs, looking up at you and his smile falters.

“Monday, Wednesday and Friday it is then.” You decide, grabbing the paper you scribbled ideas on and hand it to him.

He takes it and looks it over, his brows furrowed for a moment before looking back up to you. “We can’t meet today, but if you give me your number I’ll look these over and text you.” He is so soft spoken compared to the other frat guys around you, it is almost shocking.

“You have my school email. Use that.” You shrug, your tone almost rude as you speak. “Sorry, I mean- just email me about it and we can talk Wednesday….” It’s kinder this time, but the tone correction feels embarrassing.

“Oh- okay. Sure thing.” He nods and starts to gather his things around, looking you over before slinging his backpack over his shoulder, you couldn’t help but notice the skateboard sticking out from it. “See you then.” He says your name then he is gone, quickly leaving to go wherever he needed to be.

—-------------- <[email protected]

Sent at 2:27pm 10/21/2024

Let's do the hurricane and Louisiana idea. Meet me at the library at 12:30.

Peter B. Parker

Get Outlook for iOS>

—--------------

Wednesday, October 23rd, 2024

You walk into the library, your eyes scanning the large area. Peter and you had agreed to meet on the first floor for ease of finding one another, but he hadn’t specified if he was at a table, a computer or in a private study room. You groan at the fact you never asked for any more specifics.

The building had three levels, ground floor was all peer-reviewed journals, textbooks, anything that was used for research and could be ran through scribbr for essays, the middle floor was dedicated to fiction and had very limited stock, only a few of the books were actually worth a read, the top floor was just old archives, nothing that was allowed to leave the library.

It was a very tall, circular shape. Each floor visible from the entrance, glass sidings and the small tables or armchairs pressed against them. Red and gold quotes painted along the walls. Your personal favorite was by Madame Curie, it was directly above the checkout desk.

"One never notices what has been done; one can only see what remains to be done."

Slowly walking through the shelves, looking at each and every table and bean bag, you can't seem to find that stupid mass of brunette hair and slushy posture anywhere. In all seriousness, you’re getting angry. Had he stood you up? Was he running behind after he set up the whole meeting in the first place?

Just as you were about to give up you felt a hand fall on your shoulder, a breeze of honey and pine enveloping your nose.

“Finally, I found you!” Peter's voice was easy to recognize, especially with how sweet he smelt.

You turn and look up, giving him a skeptical look. “Where are we going to study?”

He took a moment before pointing at the private study hall, his smile smooth and easy to take in. With a quick nod, you walked towards the hallway, looking in each room to decipher which had his items in it. To your delight, it was easy. Every other room was filled with people, some studying, others playing some tabletop games. You walked in, sat at the empty seat closest to the computer and started pulling your notebook out.

He was right behind you, closing the door and settling in across from you. In one foul swoop his legs were propped on the table and he leaned back a bit. “So do you really think this assignment is going to take ten weeks to research?” He sounded so… carefree.

You respond with a shrug, looking at the page on natural disasters.

Peter hummed a small ‘mhmm’ and drummed his fingers on his chest, staring at you. “So, are we gonna challenge ourselves and use just our textbook as a reference?” A small smile.

“That's dumb.” You scoff and put your book aside, logging into the school computer and doing a quick search for Louisiana and scrolling through its map, trying to find the city to zone in on.

“Oh. Okay… uhm….” He sits forward, dropping his legs and leaning forward, craning his neck a bit to try and get a peek at the screen.

“New Orleans is probably a good one. Super populated, a staple for tourists. It would be a big tragedy for it to get destroyed.” He pointed at the spot on the screen, his tone still just as warm as usual.

“No, too predictable.” It comes out like an insult, and you internally kick yourself.

There's a pause before a defeated sigh and he points out another spot on the map, it’s random and his smile is gone now. “What about there? Grand Isle?”

You take a long look at it before nodding and writing the town name down, looking over at him with a forced smile. “Cool.”

“You know, we’re gonna have to talk like real people eventually, right?” It’s frustrated and a bit.. sad. Another internal kick.

“Listen I-” you pause, not sure of how to put it at first, “I’m not good at talking. Never have been.”

“Yea, I’ve noticed.” He shrugs and pulls out the most beat-up laptop you’d ever seen. “But, that night in the courtyard you seemed pretty chatty.”

The memory flashes in your mind and you touch your nose, your new pair of glasses hasn’t arrived yet. “It was a momentary lapse. Probably won’t happen again.”

“Why not?” He stares intently, a stomach turning, heart flipping look on his face as he asks.

“Why would it?” You stare back, your hands starting to fidget with your jean pocket.

“Cause we’re friends now.” He spoke so nonchalantly.

“Not friends.” A groan

“Oh come on, you’ll learn to love me eventually.” His voice was soft and he brought the backside of his fingers against his chin, batting his eyelashes.

“Eh, doubt it. I’ve had enough of love lite.” You said it, genuinely grossed out.

There was a moment of silence, the buzzing LED above you making you think you won Peter's yap battle.

“What?” It came out after a hearty laugh, one that felt like it had to come from his stomach.

You roll your eyes, looking into Grand Isle, writing its population count down as you respond. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

“So you think I’m pretty?” He gasps, his hand pumping in the air as if he’d won something.

A shiver runs down your spine but you don’t let it show. “Sickening thought. Thanks, Mr. Aracnophile.” You grimace, making a fake gagging sound even though deep down you were enjoying this stupid conversation with him.

“Oh ew- never call me that again. What did I ever do to you?” His hand flew over his heart, squeezing his pullover with a dramatic gasp.

“You haven’t shut up since we got in this room.” You looked him in the eye, an almost unamused expression on your face outside of the small smile that was fighting its way past your ever slipping mask.

Peter is quiet for a moment again before rolling his shoulders back and sighing. “Got you pretty chatty though, didn’t I?” A shit-eating grin and a teasing tone accompanying his words.

You go to speak but nothing comes out. He did get you chatty. For some reason it makes your face heat up and you roll your eyes before looking back at your computer screen. “I’ll look into the town, you look into the likeliness a hurricane would destroy it?”

He nods and opens the laptop, it has several cracks in the screen and duct tape holding a few of the plastic parts down. You take a mental note not to ask about it right now, but maybe later.

The next hour progresses quickly, handwritten notes torn out of notebooks and stacked neatly into a pile in between the two computer screens. There are a few sneezes and quick exchanged glances while you work, but you ignore it. No reason to think too hard about it.

As you start to type a few sentences into a digital outline, your phone buzzes, indicating your next class would be starting in twenty minutes. You sigh and start to boot down the computer. Peter lifts his head, looking at you and furrowing his brows a little bit.

“Got somewhere to be?” He says your name so smoothly, you almost miss that he said it at all.

“Yea. My next block of classes is about to start.” You shrug and sift through the different notes he and you had written, letting your eyes graze each one to see what’s what and how you should organize it in your folder.

“I can take those.” He gently taps the top of the papers and you’re reluctant to hand them over. It was hard to say yes, because what if you needed to double check them and retrace your steps before- “I’ll scan them and send them to you after work tonight.”

A wave of relief washes over you, and you nod, letting his hand take them from you. “Sounds good, Spider-guy.” You say with a tight lipped smile and start to leave the study room.

“Hey, wait. Let me walk with you.” He calls out to you but you put your earbuds in and pretend you didn’t hear him.

—-----------------

<[email protected]

Sent at 3:06am 10/24/2024

2 attachments (4 MB)

Here you go, just as I promised. Oh, also, here’s my number, you know, if you want to be a normal 21 year old someday. Also, can't meet Friday. Something came up.

See you soon, trouble.

(xxx) xxx-xxxx

Peter B. Parker

Get Outlook for iOS>

#fanfic #peter parker x reader #frat!peter #x reader #spiderman #peter parker #peter parker x you

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imari4444 · 5 months ago

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My reaction to the Natlan archon quest I guess (very much spoilers BEWARE)

MY DAUGHTER!!!! MY CHILD!!!! NOTHING BAD BETTER HAPPEN TO YOU MY SWEET PEA!!!! (bad stuff happened and I am not okay-)

No… you didn’t-

NOOOOOOOO!!!!!! (Crying cat in the BG is me-)

I HAD A WHOLE GAG IN MY FIC FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER ABOUT HOW THE TRAVELER NEVER REMEMBERED THAT POWER AND IT WAS GOING TO BE SUPER IMPORTANT WHY HOYO?!?! WHY NOW!?!? YOU COULDNT WAIT LIKE ONE MORE UPDATE 😭 (this is my fault for taking to long tbh-)

BAHAHAHA!!!! Venti mentioned(?)

We love the broken holy lyre <3

This made me laugh… this lady is slowly becoming one of my favorite archons (which this is very odd to think about but human archons? I feel like venti would’ve done something like this since he wanted humanity to be free of gods? Why didn’t he do it((well I have an idea as of why but more importantly why does venti seem to dislike the ‘pyro archon’ or at least describe them as a war mongering wrench? Could he perhaps be speaking of a specific archon or is there more to the human archon than just humans? Maybe we have another Furina situation? So many questions!!! So many theories how exciting!))

This brings up more similaritiesand quesitos I have about Natlan and Mond (you know I have to bring up Mond because I’m constantly thinking about how to fit everything into my messed up fics timeline. forgive me 🙏🙏🙏) but the Abyss/abyss order.

This is the first time they attacked another nation and was the main perpetrator since Mondstadt and Dvalin!

Liyue was the fatui, Inazuma was the fatui, sumeru was… the fatui. Fontaine was celestia and one of the sinners pet narwhal(plz let me know if I’m wrong on that-) now finally the abyss makes an appearance again but I don’t think it’s the abyss order, just the abyss (?) how Intresting. So many ties with Natlan and Mond already it has been at a puzzle.

That brings up a sort of theory that’s been in my head recently.

There are six tribes and one each represents an element in Natlan. But we’re missing pyro, which could be because it’s the nation of pyro but then we remember that Vanessa’s clan left Natlan. The ‘children of murata’ I’m starting to realize was not the pyro archons name but the tribes name, like the children of echoes.

So Vanessa’s tribe was the pyro tribe and maybe Vanessa being able to ascend to godhood like the OG pyro archon suggests that maybe only Natlan humans can ascend, and if so why?

Does it have something to do with natlans non existent leylines? That also suggests why we’re currently being introduced to another ‘spirit realm’

So far we have four (five?) different mentions of the afterlife and how it world of genshin.

Venti: being able to guide souls to the afterlife or ‘home’ hu Tao and the exorcists in liyue introducing wayward souls, sumeru and the rebirth of life(? Samsara??? Idkkk :|) (it’s complicated I might be wrong I’m not going further into it-) and also the possible shade of death (like istoroth shade of time) but now we have the night kindom and the ode of resurrection which sorta reminds me of the souls stuck on the island in Inazuma…. Also the night kingdom lowkey feels like hell- so…

AHHH SO COMPLICATED, I wonder how it all ties together… what is the actual afterlife? Maybe non of them are and they are all just different levels of ghostly shenanigans.

Anyways no more ramble apologies… (I’m not really good with lore despite my love for learning it , so please tell me if you have any canon info or if I made an error in assumptions 😓)

OKAY! OUCH- (someone write a fic where her family reincarnates right now, I beg of you-)

Im so proud of her I feel like a mom UHABNAA

…. I’m building her DPS

She’s going to be unstoppable >:)

I’ll put her on my Klee team too muahahhahaha!!!!

#natlan spoilers #I adore kachina #she is now my child #theories #so many theories #i am confusion #my fics plot just got so much more complicated and it’s eaither closer to canon or even further from it #we won’t know till these mysteries about the afterlife are resolved #*sobs in a corner*#why did you have to ruin my gag hoyo?!#I’m glad the traveler remembered though #it annoyed me to no end how they just forgot they can cure curruption

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dutifullylazybread · 2 months ago

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Last Six Lines!

Thank you so much for the tag @graysparrowao3! 🥰 I have been working on a few things this month, and I am slowly but surely chipping away at Deeply and Immovably So (after basically creating a new draft for chapter 13.

No pressure tags @commander-kriosm @kimberbohwrites and @reverieblondie!

Here is a snippet!! :D

(By six lines, I basically did the last six mini-paragraphs 😆)

It was going to be dangerous. There would be a great deal of variation—she might not be able to predict any of it either. But she would prefer that they do this together. And he wasn’t pushing her away. That was more assuring than she could possible say. And this was his home. And it was his family. Her chest clenched. Even after all this, she didn’t know if she could fit herself into the mould that they had created. “Alright,” Tav said. “But if we're going to be working in a place rife with wild magic, then we're going to be smart about it. We’re laying wards. We're taking all of the necessary precautions and then some.” The tension that Rolan held in his shoulders dropped away. “Of course,” he said. “And… thank you.”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #rolan #bg3 rolan #baldurs gate 3 #rolan bg3 #fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction

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loveroftoomanyfandoms · 8 months ago

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Every Little Thing She Does is Magic, Chapter 2

Pairing: Platonic Steven Grant x Reader (for now)

Rating: T

Word count: ~2800

Story Summary: Steven meets a beautiful woman in the Egyptian exhibit at the British Museum...

...Too bad she's his new boss.

Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergent since Steven still works for the British Museum post-canon, No Jake Lockley, developing friendship

A/N: Here we are with chapter 2!

If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this (or any of my other writing), please let me know!

Title from the song of the same name by The Police.

“...Also, leave room for questions in between exhibits instead of just powering on through -- oh, who am I bloody kidding,” Steven said to himself as he went over his notes in the men’s room before his meetings with Dr. Y/L/N on Friday morning. “I can't do this. I can't. I never should have accepted this position. Is it too late to tell Dr. Y/L/N that I've changed my mind?”

“Hey, no, none of that,” Marc replied in his head. “You're gonna be great.”

Steven caught Marc’s reflection in the mirror. “You really think so?”

Marc nodded. “Your ideas are good. Besides, Dr. Y/L/N wouldn't have given you the job had she not believed you could do it.”

Steven took a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Clearly she saw something in me, right?”

“Exactly. Now, go get ‘em.”

Steven squared his shoulders. “Okay, off I go.”

He exited the restroom and headed upstairs to the meeting room, knocking lightly on the door before entering.

He froze as he saw Dr. Y/L/N and the entire Curatorial team already seated. Oh, bollocks. Way to make a first impression. “Sorry, am I late?”

Dr. Y/L/N looked up at him and smiled. “Ah, Steven! No, you're not late at all. Have a seat, I'm glad you could join us.”

Steven sat in an empty seat across from her.

Dr. Y/L/N shuffled some papers in front of her. “Okay, let's get started. First, I'd like to thank you all for making me feel so welcome during my first week as museum director. I know I have some big shoes to fill, but I truly think we have a wonderful team here and I'm looking forward to working with all of you to make the museum's collection the best it possibly can be.

“Second, I'm assuming you all know Steven Grant, who is currently one of our gift shop employees but as of this coming Monday will be our Visitor Engagement Specialist.”

Steven gave a small wave as six pairs of eyes turned towards him. “Er, hello.”

“Steven’s first task as our new VES will be to update the guided tours,” Dr. Y/L/N explained, “so I asked him to sit in on today's meeting so he can include our new artifacts in his planning. Christina, why don't you go ahead and tell us about them.”

Christina, the head of the Curatorial department, cleared her throat. “Yes, well, the Cairo Museum has very generously loaned us the coffin of Akhenaten as well as a rather extensive collection of funerary masks from various ancient Egyptian kings and queens. Steven, I can email the list of who they were made for to you this afternoon.”

Steven nodded. “That sounds brilliant, thanks.”

“We'll have to pull a couple of display cases from the basement to house the masks, but we should be able to fit everything with the rest of the Ancient Egyptian artifacts on the 3rd floor without having to take anything out or move too much around, so that area should only be closed for a few days while we get the new display set up.”

“Excellent.” Dr. Y/L/N made a few notes. “Is there anything else that we would want to add or rearrange in any of the other areas while we're at it, to sort of refresh the rest of the collection?”

“Actually, a member just donated their private collection of first-edition classic British novels,” James, another member of the Curatorial staff, said. “There’s several Dickens, a couple of Austens, and even copies of Dracula and Wuthering Heights .”

Dr. Y/L/N’s eyebrows raised. “Have they been authenticated?”

James shook his head. “Not all of them. We're working on getting that done now.”

“Please let me know as soon as you do. I'd like to have those out on display as soon as possible as well. Anything else?”

Steven cleared his throat. “Er, actually, if I may…”

Dr. Y/L/N turned to him. “Yes, Steven?”

“If I remember correctly, a few years ago there was a lovely collection of Grecian pottery on display, but it was removed and I believe put in storage in order to make room for a statue of Zeus.”

“Oh, I think I know which collection you mean,” Christina replied. “The one that included a scene of Hercules fighting the Nemean lion?”

Steven nodded. “Yeah, that's the one. Do we still have that?”

Christina nodded as well. “Yeah, we still have them.”

“Perhaps we could put those back out?” Steven faltered when there was no immediate response. “Or not, I just thought…”

Christina shook her head. “No… no, you're right. We have the space for them, so there's no point in leaving them in storage.”

“Wonderful idea, Steven,” Dr. Y/L/N added. “Thank you. Any others?”

When no one else offered up any other ideas, she nodded. “Okay then, thank you everyone. I know sometimes things come to people after the fact or they don't feel comfortable sharing in a group setting, so if anyone has any other questions or ideas for sprucing up the displays my door is always open -- unless I'm in a meeting, of course, but in that case feel free to email me.”

As everyone began to stand and file out of the room, she looked over at Steven. “And speaking of meetings, instead of taking up the meeting room with just the two of us, how about you and I meet in my office instead, in say, 5 minutes or so? I need to stop off for some coffee first.”

Steven nodded, starting to get nervous again. Maybe I should brew myself a cup of tea while I'm at it. “Yes, ma’am.”

He headed downstairs to the staff kitchen, where Donna was sitting at a table eating a sandwich.

She glowered at him, but said nothing.

Steven caught Marc's reflection in the microwave. She doesn't look too pleased, Marc said with a smirk.

Steven bit back a smile as he filled the electric kettle with water then turned it on. Yeah, she's barely said two words to me ever since she had to apologize to me on Monday.

God, I wish I had been a fly on the wall for that meeting.

Steven grabbed a to-go cup and chose a tea bag before opening it and setting it in the cup. Me too, actually. It'd have been nice to see Donna get put in her place for once.

I just wish I'd have seen the look on her face when she found out that you were getting promoted to Visitor Engagement Specialist. I'm surprised she didn't quit in protest, especially since it meant she'd actually have to do inventory herself next week instead of pawning it off on you like she always did.

Steven shrugged slightly. I actually didn't really mind doing inventory. The stockroom was always quiet and it made the time pass by.

Once the kettle started boiling Steven poured the water for his tea into his cup and popped a lid on it. Alright, here I go.

He headed back upstairs to Dr. Y/L/N’s office and knocked on the open door. “Dr. Y/L/N?”

Dr. Y/L/N looked up from her computer screen and smiled. “Hi. Come on in.”

She stood and walked behind Steven as he entered, shutting the door behind him. “Have a seat.”

Steven sat in the same chair he had sat in on Monday when Dr. Y/L/N had offered him the VES position.

Dr. Y/L/N sat across from him and reached for a folder. “Alright, before we get started, I have the HR paperwork officially instating you into your new position ready for you to sign.”

She slid it over to him. “You can wait until Monday, of course, but I figured if you signed it today that'd be one less thing you'll have to worry about.”

“Oh, erm…” Steven opened the folder and quickly scanned the documents, still marveling at the massive (to him, anyway) raise that he would be receiving. “I can sign it today. That's not a problem.”

“Fantastic. Here you go then.” Dr. Y/L/N grabbed a pen and handed it to him. “By the way, I've scheduled a meeting with the rest of the Programming staff for first thing Monday morning to formally introduce you as the Visitor Engagement Specialist and to let them know that we'll be modifying the tours.”

Steven nodded and set his cup of tea down before signing the paperwork. “Oh, brilliant. Thanks.”

“By the way, it was really a great idea to add that pottery collection back to the Ancient Greece display. Your clear knowledge and enthusiasm for history and your attention to details like that is why I know I made the right decision in offering you the Visitor Engagement Specialist position.”

Steven flushed at the praise. “I, er, I took a bit of a wander through each area while I was making notes for our meeting and since I always liked that collection I thought it might bring some fun and excitement to the tours to be able to kind of tell the story depicted on each piece.”

He bit his lip. “I hope I didn't step on any toes by suggesting that though. I know that I was mostly just there to observe.”

Dr. Y/L/N shook her head. “No, I want to see collaboration between departments, especially between Programming and Curatorial. We're all part of the same team and are working together towards the same goal, so don't ever be afraid to make a suggestion.”

She took a sip of her coffee. “Now, what else do you have in mind to improve the tours?”

“Well…” Steven pulled his notebook and a map of the museum out of his messenger bag. “First off, I think we're going about the tours themselves the wrong way.”

He pointed at the map. “Currently, we're starting on the ground floor and working our way up to the fifth, which means when visitors make their way back down after the tour is over they mostly tend to just leave rather than stopping by the gift shop or the bookstore.”

Dr. Y/L/N nodded. “So what do you think we should do?”

Steven moved his finger to the group entrance. “What I suggest is that we have tours meet on level 1 at the group entrance and head up to level 5 whilst whoever is leading the tour gives a general overview of the museum, then we work our way through the collection back down to level 0 and end our tour there with a gentle reminder to check out our gift shop and bookstore.”

Dr. Y/L/N hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Steven was encouraged by Dr. Y/L/N’s positive reception. “Also, I believe we're spending too much time on certain exhibits and not enough time on others. There needs to be a better balance so we're not rushing through the last few exhibits trying to squeeze everything in because we've spent 20 minutes lecturing on the Siege of Lachish.”

Dr. Y/L/N huffed out a laugh. “I agree. I noticed that as well.”

She made a few notes. “Anything else?”

“Just that I also think we should allow time for a few questions about the collection while we're in each area rather than wait until the end of the tour. Again, we frequently run out of time so there's usually not even a chance for visitors to ask questions anyway, or if there is time we've thrown so much information at them that they've likely forgotten what it is they wanted to ask.”

Dr. Y/L/N made another note. “Absolutely. These are all really great ideas, Steven. Think you can implement them into a sample tour for me?”

Steven nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I can have something put together by Monday if you'd like. It won't include the new exhibits, of course, but it'll at least give you an idea of the direction I want to take the tours and give me a chance to retool them if necessary.”

“That would be wonderful.” Dr. Y/L/N reached for her coffee and took a sip. “By the way, how are things downstairs? Donna isn't still speaking disrespectfully to you, is she?”

Steven shook his head. “No, ma'am. Actually, she hasn't said much of anything at all to me since Monday.”

Dr. Y/L/N sighed. “Okay. I'll talk to her again.”

“No!” Steven cleared his throat. “Er, no. No, that's quite alright. I’d actually prefer it that way. Besides, it's not like I'll have to deal with her on a daily basis after today anyway, innit?”

Dr. Y/L/N took a sip of her coffee. “Regardless, I really am sorry that you’ve had to endure such treatment, especially for so long. No one should ever be spoken to with such blatant disrespect, especially by their supervisor.”

Steven nodded. “I appreciate that.”

“If Donna does ever speak to you like that again, please let me know.”

“I will.” Steven bit his lip. “If there's nothing else, I er, I should probably get back to the gift shop. Technically I'm still a clerk until Sunday.”

Dr. Y/L/N looked chagrined. “Oh my goodness, you're absolutely right. I’m sorry, I probably shouldn't have asked you to do anything pertaining to your new position just yet since you haven't officially started.”

Oh, bollocks, Steven thought. She thinks I'm complaining. “It's nothing like that, ma'am, it's just that I'm sure you're busy and I don't want to bother you by hovering, that's all.”

“Oh.” Dr. Y/L/N shook her head with a smile. “No, you're not bothering me at all. Most of what I've been doing all week is reading over museum policies and procedures and meeting with the board of trustees and various benefactors, so it's actually been nice to get a little break from that and talk to someone who actually works here.”

Ask her how she likes being here so far, Marc said in Steven's head.

Steven cleared his throat. “How has your first week as Director been otherwise?”

“It's been good. A lot to jump into, of course, but you and the rest of the staff have been incredibly kind and welcoming.” Dr. Y/L/N paused. “I wasn't quite sure how the staff would react to me, especially with me not being British.”

Steven shrugged. “Well, it's like you said, we're a team, right? That includes our team leader, no matter where you're from. Your qualifications speak for themselves.”

Dr. Y/L/N shot him a small smile. “I really appreciate that, thank you.”

Her office phone rang. “Sorry, one second.”

Steven waited as she pressed a button on the phone. “Yes?”

“Dr. Y/L/N, the Chairman from the Board of Trustees is on hold for you,” Helen, Dr. Y/L/N’s executive assistant, said through the speaker.

“Okay, one minute. I'm wrapping up a meeting.” Dr. Y/L/N sighed and picked up the receiver before covering the mouthpiece with her hand. “I'm sorry, Steven, I have to take this. If you happen to think of anything else you want to add to the tours or if you have any other questions or concerns, please let me know.”

“I will.” Steven put his notebook and map of the museum back in his messenger bag and stood.

He picked up his cup of tea. “Want me to close your door on my way out?”

Dr. Y/L/N shook her head. “No, you can leave it open. Thank you.”

Steven stood and started to walk towards the door.

“Oh, Steven?” Dr. Y/L/N called out. “One more thing.”

Steven stopped and turned back around. “Yes, ma'am?”

“If I don't see you again before you leave today… have a nice weekend.”

Steven smiled. “You too, ma'am. See you on Monday.”

I told you she'd like your ideas, Marc said as Steven headed out of Dr. Y/L/N’s office.

I really think I'm going to enjoy working with her, Steven replied. She seems really open to collaboration.

Yeah, she seems great.

Steven arrived at the elevator and pressed the button to go down. Maybe we can come back on Sunday when I'm off and do a trial run of the tour so I can double-check the timing. I want to be as prepared as I possibly can be.

I'm sure you'll impress the hell out of her.

Steven waited for the elevator to arrive, then stepped on and pressed the button for level 0 . He had to admit that he not only wanted to impress Dr. Y/L/N professionally, but he also wanted to impress her personally as well. I certainly hope so.

#lotmf writes #steven grant x reader #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant x female reader #steven grant x f!reader #steven grant fanfiction #ELTSDIM Masterlist

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sagemoderocklee · 5 months ago

Note

pleas my beloved, tell me more about cats guide and secret liaisons im blowing u so many kissies about it also hi it’s kel

genuinely was like "is that kel?" when i saw the start of this ask cause who else would be callin me 'my beloved' XD

ANYWAYS! i am sooooo excited for both these fics and it's a travesty that SL is still so far out... i NEED to work on Honor Bound T___T but god the editing on Alliance... and just the years and years its been since Alliance and how much my view of like EVERYTHING has changed...

okay so let's start with A Cat's Guide, which is a gift fic for @ghoste-catte (surprise!) that has been sitting for like 2 years now and was prompted by a video of a cat living in an apartment that i saw. this cat was like obsessed with the neighbor and always wanted to visit him, and i thought it would make a cute story from cat!Shukaku's pov as he tries to set up Gaara with his cute, nice neighbor who always gives Shukaku fresh salmon whenever Shukaku slips out of his own apartment to go visit Lee. it's 9 chapters cause you know cats have 9 lives (and i have years worth of gift fics for greyson to make up for) and the chapter titles are structured like a self-help sort of book and im genuinely so excited to work on this fic i just suck at getting anything started. but here's the opening:

---

Step One: Selecting an Ideal Match

Shukaku had been around for at least as long as Gaara had been alive, but for a cat pushing twenty-one he was a surprisingly healthy beast, except for the arthritis that had set in some six or seven years ago. Not that this deterred him in the least.

Quite the contrary, Shukaku spent much of his time climbing things he shouldn't and jumping from places far too high.

Yet however much trouble he managed to get into, Shukaku was a cat of breeding, and he took himself quite seriously. He did not, for instance, protest at the groomers because he liked to be clean; he did not, as a matter of pride, shove his face into his food dish and gobble it up; and he only slept on the nicest, softest cat beds money could buy. He ate expensive food, slept on expensive things, and shat in premium cat litter.

All in all, Shukaku was spoiled, and he liked it that way.

He was also picky, persnickety, and prone to biting for no discernible reason—at least, not as far as his human could tell. If Shukaku had been able to explain himself, he'd have told Gaara he was quite the sensitive soul and sometimes his mood simply got the better of him.

Gaara's brother might not be so sympathetic, having been on the receiving end of one of Shukaku's many fits of fury, but Gaara was understanding despite the language barrier.

(And that's all I have besides chapter breakdowns and chapter titles)

---

and now to Secret Liaisons, which is the third installment to the Allied Nations Saga and at one point was the FINAL part of it back when it was a trilogy, but I knew that there needed to be a fourth fic to that series because there were too many questions left unanswered at the end of SL.

So without spoiling anything for HB, SL continues to follow the ensemble cast with Gaara and Lee being like the main protagonists. This is yet another political drama and it starts off with a blow to Gaara and Lee.

SL is also where GaaLee actually comes into play, but I'm trying not to spoil too much so we'll leave it vague enough. However, I do have lots of snippets for this fic and can share the prologue because I'm just that generous. (Please keep in mind, I wrote this prologue like... 14 years ago and my writing has since evolved):

---

“We await your decision, Kazekage-sama.” The council rose as one, filing out of the room, leaving Gaara to sit with his thoughts, his siblings sharing significant looks over his head.

“Gaara,” Temari began, reaching for her brother.

Gaara rose quickly, stepping out of her reach. “I have things to take care of.”

Temari and Kankurou watched Gaara leave, helpless to do anything else.

***

“You wanted to see me, Kazekage-sama,” Lee said, bowing before Gaara’s desk.

Gaara turned from Lee, rising to his feet and moving to the window overlooking his village. This was his home, it was everything he had fought to protect in the war, it was the most important bond he had. He was the Kazekage of Suna, first and foremost, but that knowledge did little to sooth him.

“Do you miss Konoha?” he asked, not daring to glance at Lee.

“Of course,” Lee said, certain as always. “It is my home and my friends are there, my sensei. But I am happy here.”

Gaara didn’t reply, watching as a child ran past on the street, chasing a ball. It was his job to protect that child, to protect that child’s mother and father. The choice should not have been so difficult to make. He loved his village powerfully, he loved his people and his siblings just as much. They were a part of Suna.

Lee was not.

“I… have no more need of you,” Gaara whispered to the wind, not daring to turn around, almost hoping Lee hadn’t heard.

Silence stretched between them for a minute before Lee found his voice, cracked and uncertain. “I—beg your pardon, Kazekage-sama?”

Gaara closed his eyes, fisting the fabric of his Kage robe above his heart. “I am sending you back to Konoha.”

“Wha—but—why?! Have I done something to upset you? Whatever it is, I will make up for it! I will not do it again! I promise!”

Gaara shook his head. “You are a liability. You cannot stay here.”

“I do not understand,” Lee said, his words shaky and broken.

“It is not complicated: You will return to Konoha. I am releasing you from my service.”

“I—but I swore to stay by your side. I swore to always—you accepted me! Why would you do this?”

“Because I have no other choice.”

Lee was silent save for the heavy breathing that seemed to fill Gaara’s ears, making them ring. He had prepared for Lee to fight him on this, he had known Lee would want answers, but he had not been ready for the obstacle his own feelings created.

“Do you not trust me anymore?”

Gaara turned enough to glance at Lee over his shoulder. Lee’s expression was crumpled, his eyes wet and his lip trembling. In that moment, Gaara understood the power he had over Lee: the power to break him by words alone. He had never known that power and he never wanted to again.

“Kazekage-sama?” Lee asked desperately when the silence went on for too long.

Gaara’s vision swam for a second and he turned away. “With my life. That is the problem.”

“But why? What have I done? Why would you send me back?”

“Because the council does not trust you and my trust in you gives them reason to doubt me.”

Lee faltered, the words he’d been about to speak dying on a choked back sound, as though he were trying to keep from crying. Gaara could not stand to look at him anymore. “This is… temporary, right? Until they see, until you convince them—”

“No, Lee,” Gaara said, his knuckles white against the windowsill. “You will return to Konoha permanently. We are done.”

“N-no, I cannot accept that!” Lee cried suddenly. “Y-you cannot just send me back—I—you are everything to me. I have given my life to protect you—”

“Then honour your promise and leave,” Gaara said harshly, turning to stare at Lee. “If you wish to protect my life, then protect my title as Kazekage and leave Suna.”

Lee reeled, lowering his head. “I did not mean to speak so forcefully, Kazekage—”

“I am not your Kazekage. You are no longer bound to me.”

Lee closed his eyes tight, his hands in fists at his side that shook with the effort Lee exerted to hold his tongue. He took in a shaky breath, his eyes on Gaara’s feet. “I will a-always be bound to you, Kazekage-sama. Even if I leave…”

“You are a fool to think that,” Gaara said. “When you return to Konoha, in time you will forget your loyalties to me.”

“Forgive me, but you are wrong,” Lee said passionately, looking up at Gaara, his eyes hard and wet. “I will never forget this bond.”

Gaara stared, wide-eyed at Lee. “Why are you so determined to stay with me?”

Lee looked away, hiding his gaze. “Because you are important to me. Why should I waver in my affections for you? Why should I deny my loyalties when they mean so much?”

Gaara had no answer, but Lee’s words would not change their situation, no matter how much they both wanted them to.

“You will go back to Konoha. This matter is no longer up for debate.”

Lee closed his eyes, his face still turned away. “…as you wish, Kazekage-sama.”

“Don’t—”

Lee bowed and turned, leaving before Gaara could say more, the door clicking gently closed behind Lee. Gaara let out a shaky breath, sitting back down at his desk and pulling his official statement to the council towards him.

Rock Lee will return to Konoha…

The words blurred for a moment and Gaara blinked several times before his vision cleared, the report now stained with several drops that smudged the ink. Gaara set his brush down, staring at the report, only distantly aware of the wetness on his face and the ache in his chest.

---

I would definitely want to edit this before actually posting. I don't really like how choppy it is from that very first extremely brief scene which is just the like obvious tail end of a council meeting, and i think the actual pros are just… not great. i can def do better. but this is like the main obstacle of the fic and well I'm sure you can guess who these liaisons are between based on that lol

anyways <3 thanks beloved for the ask! hope you enjoyed these and they satisfied your curiosity

#ask game answers #gaalee #my fanfiction

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malewife-overlord · 3 months ago

Text

Six Cycles Later -- Part II

Prior chapter can be found here. Next chapter is here.

Word Count: 7471

Trigger Warnings: none

Chapter summary: Invert leaves for Bali, Luster goes to the doctor.

“Victory, cmon!” Invert stood before the double doors of the weapons vault, a frown etched on her faceplate. “Open the weapons vault! It’s an emergency!”

Emergency protocol not engaged. Clearance level 3 required to access weapons vault. Present clearance level: 1. Weapons vault cannot be accessed.

“Victory!” She pouted, shaking a fist. “Come on! It’s me! I’m the only ‘con on this ship, I should have maximum clearance!”

Clearance level: 1. Weapons vault cannot be accessed.

“Victory!”

The ship gave her no response. Invert growled and tried the keypad again, then the scanner, then the keycard. Nothing. As if in warning, a loud buzzer sounded at the end, a illuminating a red light above the vault.

“How am I going to rescue my fellow Decepticons if I don’t have a weapon?” She asked aloud, glaring up, as if Victory would answer her. “I don’t even have proper blasters anymore!”

Silence. Maddening, maddening silence.

“Fine! Fine. I’ll make due. I’ll just run headlong into the Autobots and die, and no one will be left to maintain you! Then what?”

Nothing.

A groan escaped her. “Really? …really. Fine.”

She turned on her heel and stomped for her room, where she knew at least one weapon was waiting. It was dangerous, and could possibly blow up in her face again, and hadn’t seen actual use since the first test, but…well, it was better than nothing! And sure, she could access the weapons collection Starscream had in his habsuit, or the rare crafts Megatron had in his, but…

The punishment for even touching any of those would be far worse than anything the Autobots could do to her. She shivered and pushed the idea aside. Nope, not risking that. If she touched anything in their rooms, when they returned, they’d kill her.

Then again, if she died on this mission, she wouldn’t have to worry about them killing her.

Her personal pet project was in her habsuit, resting on the tiny desk she’d dragged into it. Her habsuit was at the very end of all the others–the Constructicons had had no desire to build it, so they’d shoved her in what had been the previous broom closet. The fact that she fit at all was a miracle, as was that they let her get away with stealing a desk for it.

Perhaps after seeing what she’d started to make, they’d decided against reclaiming it. After all, not many bots could say they got to personally observe Shockwave working in his lab, and even fewer could mimic his proficiency with crafting weapons.

She was not one of those fewer, but she had watched him work in the past. Being his personal lab assistant/slave had been eye opening in that way. And furthermore, it had led to her accumulating a few parts that would otherwise be impossible to acquire on Earth.

All of those factors combined to let her craft her own weapon. The intention was for it to be a sniper class with a greatly extended range starting at ten miles. That was to start. If everything went according to her dreams, it would be able to fire more than twice that on both planets and the cold void of space.

Dreams, however, didn’t guarantee results. The prototype she kept in her habsuit had been her pride and joy until its original test fire had caused the damnable thing to blow up in her face, right in front of her fellow Decepticons. If anything had wounded her ego, that was it.

And since then, she hadn’t bothered to fire it once.

She stepped into her habsuit and observed her experimental weapon for only a moment before picking it up. This would be the second time it’d be in the field. She’d tweaked it over and over since that embarrassing day, changing the scope, the trigger, the barrel, the energon pump, and even provided it the ability to transform. The latter wasn’t anything particularly impressive–the scope and barrel disengaged anyways to permit carrying it, and without the barrel the rifle was the same size as a blaster. Furthermore, despite its simplicity, the rifle had to be manually transformed, something that even simple blasters could pull off otherwise.

But it was her first attempt, her first real, genuine attempt, at making a weapon, and she felt she’d done a decent job for someone who’d never previously handled tools.

It took a few seconds to convert the rifle, which was almost as long as she was tall, to its smaller, spike shaped form, which she then attached to her forearm via its magnetic underside. Utilizing it in jet mode would be impossible like this, but it was better to know she had a weapon than be a sitting quasiduck on her mission.

Her blasters had been sacrificed to make the rifle. She sincerely hoped that the investment would pay off.

“Alright!” She yelled, throwing her arms out. “That’s all I get, Victory! Just one experimental weapon! No blasters! No grenades! No fusion cannons! No null rays or swords or electric staves! All of which I could use if you’d just open the weapons vault! Are you really going to send me off with only this?”

Judging from the lack of response, it seemed that yes, it was.

Frag this. She kicked the doorframe and stormed Skywarp’s habsuit. He was bigger than her and would make her life a living hell for two chords, but he’d get over it. Besides. She could punch him back without anyone giving her trouble for it. What occurred between Skywarp and whoever punched him stayed there.

His habsuit was sparsely decorated, and what existed in it was usually so filthy no one else would touch it. Today she lowered her standards and grabbed one of the blasters she knew he kept under his berth in the hopes that no one would find them; considering how often he had his own revoked, and how much the others hated him, Skywarp had found it necessary to maintain some form of private collection, if only for self-defense from revenge that was absolutely earned.

And now his constant need to misbehave was paying off: she wouldn’t be entirely unarmed for this flight, and having a sidearm was better than gauging her hopes on an experimental rifle.

Attaching the blaster to her other forearm, she made for the hangar. Her tank felt like it was fluttering with each step. A quick diagnostic scan revealed nothing unusual–nothing besides her own wiring. For this first time ever, she was going to visit the hangar and take off from it.

The idea that she was flightless was, in truth, only partially correct. Invert, like all Seekers, had been forged with wings on her back. Yes, they were upside down, and yes, when she transformed, they pointed the wrong way, with the delicate trailing edge leading as opposed to the leading edge itself. This caused the angle her wings made to work against her, and normally kept her out of the air. But a messed up angle alone was not enough to keep her grounded forever.

An Earth plane would struggle and stay put, never to dream of the sky. A Cybertronian would reason that with enough Energon and determination, anything could be done. And that was exactly how she intended to fly to Bali.

She could fly. The force from her thrusters alone, once in the air, could keep her going upwards, though they would consume Energon at a rapid rate. For this reason she visited the Energon vault and procured five additional cubes–her present fuel levels were adequate enough she felt no need to recharge. As long as she kept her thrusters engaged and made sure to ride the wind currents of Earth perfectly, she calculated a likely path to Bali that only had a 32.6% chance of her crashing and dying in the process.

Odds of 67.4 percent seemed favorable enough to her. She paused before the double doors of the hangar, vented, and opened them, stepping in.

“Victory, elevate the hangar.” The entire structure rumbled as it rose, the whoosh of water outside indicating they’d broken the surface of the ocean. She could hear waves beating against the metal. “Open. When I leave, return to the bottom of the ocean. I’ll be back. Even if you don’t seem to want me to.”

She grumbled that last part.

The hangar doors opened. Bright sunlight poured in, causing her optics to readjust. She blinked a few times and took several steps forward, gazing out at the outside world.

The ocean seemed to go on for eternity. Its color was a deep blue. White peaks formed and faded away as they crashed over and over against on the hangar.

Above, the sky was cloudless. The winds were strong, rushing past her and howling in the enclosed metal environment. It was a good day for a flight.

Invert returned to the back of the hangar and pulled up the coordinates in her hub. Approximately 8,502 miles. She’d cross it in a few earth hours if everything went well.

If.

The Energon cubes felt heavy in her chassis as she transformed, lowering to the ground. The movement of her wings, shifting to her sides, becoming the things she’d have to rely on, felt wrong. It always did–like going from standing on two steady pedes to posing on one’s servos. One was natural, normal, comfortable, done without even thinking. The other required precise balance, intense focus, and a constant consumption of energy to maintain.

She’d be more used to it if they let her practice more or gave her some lessons, perhaps. Perhaps they would do just that when they came back. And when they came back, they’d be proud, perhaps, of what she pulled off while they were gone.

Giving her fuel supply one final check over, she engaged her thrusters and charged forward.

Just like what you’ve seen Starscream do. Engage, shoot forward—

And she plummeted, shooting right into the ocean instead of the air. Spluttering, Invert turned back and barely managed to regain her balance before smashing into the seabed. A school of fish shot away from her, followed by some of the many legged organics and one of the squishy, color changing ones.

She groaned, knocked a fist against her helm, and turned back to Victory, determined to try again. She’d get this right. She had to.

She wouldn’t stop until she did.

—

Eight hours was all it took to reach Bali with the speed she maintained once airborne. High above the cruising altitude any human plane would comfortably fly at, she watched the unbroken ocean, speckled ever so slightly by the white peaks of breaking waves, and read over the logs on Insecticons. According to the writer of the Decepticon database, Insecticons were about as useful as unrefined Energon and equally likely to explode. Good to know.

They were also incredibly disloyal. Of the three, Shrapnel, Kickback, and Bombshell, none had any kind of investment in the Decepticon cause. Their adaptations had given them the ability to consume organic matter and drastically increased their hunger. All they cared about was food.

That would be troublesome, if she took them back to Victory immediately. With how low the Energon supply was getting, even one of them deciding to stuff himself could mean that the Decepticon cause on Earth died, permanently.

She’d have to approach them cautiously, without the same hospitality she’d extend to her fellow ‘cons (a good punch to the face, usually). What approach she’d provide, she’d have to decide, soon, since the coastline of the island nation had just manifested on the horizon–

When a warning suddenly appeared on her hub, covering almost her entire vision in red:

LOW POWER. ENERGON LEVEL: 10%. SEEK IMMEDIATE FUEL SOURCE.

She cursed, but before the word could even escape her, her body convulsed, forcibly transforming back into its robot mode. Her nose cone dipped before turning back to her chassis and head, leaving her plummeting head over pedes. Her balance modulator began to scream in its efforts to right her, only to immediately disable as the rest of her forcibly entered power saving mode.

The ocean was coming up fast. The wind whistled past, blocking out her audials. Tumbling over herself, Invert tried to use the boosters in her struts in an effort to slow her descent–and their force promptly made her tumble even faster. The world became a blur of blue as her systems flashed every warning under the sun.

Then she hit the ocean, and the impact was so painful she momentarily offlined. Something cracked. Pain shot all throughout her frame, a damage report automatically pulling up in her hub as she sank below the greenish water, straight to the bottom below.

It wasn’t a long drop, but just the act of hitting the sandy bottom exacerbated the pains shooting through her frame. She may as well have hit a wall at full speed. Blinking her optics several times, her damage report finally came into proper view.

It wasn’t particularly savage, but neither was it promising. As she moved her arms to pull herself from her prone position on the seafloor they creaked ominously, the sound accompanied by broken glass spilling from her cockpit onto the sandy bottom. Glowing Energon joined it.

That got her up. She practically leaped to her pedes, grabbing the cubes and stuffing them back into her chassis, cursing a storm as two of them began to leak. Cracks were apparent in both, and the delicate energy they provided bled out into the ocean currents. Two would be an entire recharge for her–she couldn’t let them go to waste.

Pressing her servos against the cracks and praying that would be enough, she swiveled her helm, searching for the shore. The water was shallow–only about fifty feet, if her depth meter was to be trusted–but the open area she’d found herself in was still miles from shore.

Miles she would not make without more Energon. Grimacing, already aware of just how poorly this would fare for her tanks, she brought the first of the cubes to her dermas and forcibly gulped it down, taking in far too much seawater in the process. Warnings popped up about contaminated fuel, followed by analysis of the contents: 96.5% water, 2.5% salts, .2% inorganic particulates, .8% organic particulates.

The latter part almost made her purge what she’d consumed, but she kept it down. It was energy enough, she wouldn’t have to do it again and once she was back on land she’d purge anyways and forget that this ever happened. Tossing the empty cube aside and pocketing the second, she checked her map again for which way was land.

North. She took off in that direction, the sandy floor gradually turning into some kind of living rock formation. Slimy looking organics of odd shapes populated the colorful stones, darting away as she stepped on and crunched them with ease. They left slime on her plating, which did not help her growing desire to purge. Stepping over what seemed to be an entire shelf of the organics, her helm finally broke water.

Ahead of her was a beach densely populated with humans. Around her, gasping and shrieking as they swam away, were more humans, all of whom had been previously enjoying themselves, somehow, in the ocean.

She gave a dirty look to the closest ones and stomped forward, gradually rising out of the water as she approached the beach. The humans occupying it screamed and scattered, abandoning their little colorful fabrics and strange striped pole structures. A few foolish ones froze in place, staring at her in awe.

Dripping with saltwater, covered in slime, and with a broken, gaping cockpit on display, Invert didn’t have the time nor patience to put up with any of them. Decepticons hardly had any concern for humans anyways, but it was generally discouraged to avoid stepping on them–it ruined your paint.

Considering the damage her beautiful lime green had already attained, she didn’t think she could care less now.

“Hey!”

With her map pulled up in her main hub, she hadn’t noticed the one human that, as opposed to running in fear, had frozen up and stood their ground. She glanced down, spotting a tanned one just by her pedes.

“Are you one of those Autobots?”

The question actually made her pause for a moment, considering the Decepticon brand on her wings. If she were feeling a bit more patient or playful, she might tell him yes, she was, and he and all his friends should absolutely be fine with her holding a few of them for potential hostage situations later. Perhaps she could convince them to take her to her quarry without even an ounce of concern that they might call for help. It was an action that would make strategic sense, that any intellectual Decepticon would leap at.

Invert, however, was tired, cranky, and not particularly fond of anything made of metal at the moment.

She bent and flicked the human aside, not paying any attention as to just where the hell it might have landed. Humans. Worthless, bold, idiotic creatures. So tiny and delicate. And yet they still thought they could talk to beings like her.

“How much longer till I get there?” She asked her systems as she headed off the beach, crunching a few human structures along the way. It responded with a calculation of the remaining distance to her quarry: halfway across the island, nestled in a ‘mangrove swamp’. Another thirty minutes of walking.

Her pedes crushed plants and bent concrete as she followed the straightest path, ignoring whatever might have been built upon it. Humans panicked and ran in all directions to avoid her, their tiny screams grating on her audials. They were turned down in response, muting any potential crunching that may have occurred as she kicked aside a wooden structure marked with the image of a cone. The humans and their worthless, useless, delicate structures, were left behind in no time.

And foolishly, she did not once consider that one of those screaming, fleeing humans might have called for help.

—---------------------

The coordinates lead her to a swamp. After a good ten minutes of walking, Invert found that the island gave way to less populated areas, rife only with animal and plant based organics. They were no more pleasant to deal with, but they didn’t scream nearly as much, and their movement patterns were relatively predictable. They fled to the undergrowth and hid there, as if they were praying she’d leave them alone.

Good organics. They knew where they belonged.

As she neared the swamp the dirt moistened, sticking to her pedes, and the water made its damnable return, flooding the land and forming pools that ran up her cadulens. The trees lifted themselves upon their roots as if they intended to walk away, forming cages which entrapped more organics within them. It seemed to her like a great prison, formed by the rejects of the Earth itself.

Her map suddenly lit up, providing her with a name for the place she’d stepped into–the “Demon Swamp”. An informational packet came along with it, indicating that the Insecticon ship was nearby and that her Decepticon brethren had visited this place prior. She ignored everything except the part about the Insecticons.

Invert was hasty, but not stupid. She done her research on the three of them during her flight–it had been difficult with the amount of focus she’d had to maintain at all times, but she’d pulled it off, because unlike some other one trick mechaponies in the cause, she could be taught how to do more than one thing.

Of the three Insecticons, her greatest interest was in Shrapnel. They all seemed like frankly awful comrades, but the ability to produce clones was undeniably powerful. It wouldn’t matter if she was the last Decepticon on Earth. It wouldn’t matter if she only found him. It wouldn’t even matter if he could only make a few clones–a clone was still another robot, and numbers were what they needed more than anything.

Silently, she hoped that he was the one who had created the distress signal, and that maybe, because of his electricity powers, he’d caused that infernal buzzing. It made sense. What else could have?

She made her way through the Demon Swamp cautiously.. For all she knew, Autobot soldiers were waiting around every corner. But more than that, the environment itself was actively hostile to her kind.

The water was brackish, and sediment easily gathered between plating. The air was humid, which could clog vents. Organics constantly chirped in the background, distracting audials. The foliage from the mangrove trees moved constantly in the wind, requiring constant optic adjustments for lighting. And the water she waded through gave her position away to anything with ears in the general vicinity.

There was no approaching stealthily, not with the twisting roots that threatened to constantly trip her or the water that sloshed and bubbled like it was boiling. There was so much noise, even with her audials turned down, it was almost difficult to think.

And that didn’t even begin to cover the constant buzzing that had risen into the air, one that she recognized. She was approaching the ship, she could feel it. Her map was pinging wildly, her coordinate numbers were rapidly growing smaller, and the buzzing of the signal, audible to everyone in a mile radius at minimum, was practically screaming.

Actually…she paused, disabling her coordinates and turning her map off. The buzzing was still audible. Raising a hand to her helm, she disabled her comms as well.

The buzzing was still audible.

It wasn’t a signal, then.

She took in a sharp ex-vent and continued forward, the mangrove trees overhead beginning to close together, blocking out the sunlight from above. The route she was following had taken on the qualities of a tunnel with mangrove roots forming its walls. They twisted and crawled over one another like tentacles. It made her plating crawl.

The path curved sharply. She was met with a curtain of organic filth, gray and twisting. The buzzing had turned to almost shrieking now, and her scanners indicated that Cybertronian technology was very close now. Grimacing to herself, Invert grit her dentae and shoved the curtain aside, convulsing only slightly as it draped over her plating. It worsened her desire to purge–but that wasn’t the only contributor to the growing feeling.

Before her, nestled in a massive grotto, was an old, crashed ship of Cybertronian origin. The doors to it had long been blown off and water had pooled over its floors. Organic filth grew over its top and mangrove roots had looped over its wings, trapping it in place. Its interior was pitch black, but she could detect some kind of movement from within.

From the heart of that dark void the buzzing originated, sounding like the shriek of static. And just below it, she could hear a voice.

“LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!”

—---------------------------------------------------

Seek alternate fuel source.

By the time Uptick’s data package sent him the notification to end recharge, Luster still hadn’t managed to offline for even a moment. Throughout the entirety of Earth’s night he’d laid still, listening to the endless humming that droned in his processor while watching the light of the moon creep across the floor. Earth’s moon was a small satellite structure about fifty times smaller than the planet it orbited. From the safety of the organic’s home it appeared as a particularly large orb in the sky and went through eight different phases: full, waxing gibbous, first quarter, waxing crescent

He vented harshly at the image and promptly sat up, the constant pinging in his helm only now properly registering. Uptick had so graciously set an alarm for him that was thirty Earth minutes prior to when he was expected at the clinic. As if on cue, he heard a knock at his door, and a quick check of the electrical field coming from outside told him all he needed to know of who was waiting for him.

A comm arrived in his link before he could disable it. Despite the alarm literally ringing in his processor and telling him to get up, which Uptick would know he was presently experiencing, another notification from the same mech now waited patiently in his inbox, politely and firmly reiterating what had been told to him the night prior.

It would soon be time to go to the clinic. He was not permitted to avoid or skip this appointment. He was on his second strike, and a third would mean that he would go into lockdown. They did not want to make him a prisoner. This was for his own good.

Tank capacity at 50%. Fuel uptake at 15%. Seek alternate fuel source.

He didn’t manage to close the notification in time and it promptly opened a dozen more. Groaning to himself, Luster slammed his helm into the nearest wall, the damage report temporarily clearing his hub.

Another comm and knock arrived only a second after he completed the action. If his optics could roll into his helm, they would have.

‘I’m up,’ he sent back. ‘Out in a klik.’

His comms were promptly disabled, blocking out Uptick’s response. Then, the damnable alarm that hadn’t once stopped ringing was seized, taken to the back of his processor, and disabled in the least humane way he could imagine. Lastly, every last notification was closed and its accompanying pop-ups blocked.

Finally, a moment of quiet. He swung his legs off his berth and took in a few ex-vents, mentally preparing himself for just what he was going to experience at the clinic today. During his last visit, they’d given up on trying to get him to manually recall the details of his trip. Whispers between the medics had agreed upon bringing in “the big guns”.

Whatever “the big guns” meant, he couldn’t say he was eager to find out.

There were guesses he’d had towards just what such a term might be referring to–a psychic patch in, perhaps, or maybe the complete removal of his processor for dissection. Maybe they’d do a deep scan and recreate him in a digital space, just so they could pick him apart like a particularly interesting puzzle.

That was all he was to them. A puzzle. Something to be solved, categorized, put together, pulled apart, and put away once solved.

He couldn’t even solve himself. What made them think they could do it?

Uptick pinged him again. It had been exactly 16 kliks of blissful silence. Luster vented and stood. Despite his tanks remaining half full, he could feel the aggressive pangs of hunger nipping at him, ever on the edge of his mind. They were pushed aside as he tapped the keypad to his habsuit, opening the door.

Uptick stood just beyond it, taking up the entire frame and more with his bulk. He stepped back when the door opened, a mandatory smile crossing his faceplate.

“There you are! That’s the fastest you’ve ever arisen!” He beamed at the prospect of his work bearing fruit, which Luster found annoying. “I’ll keep this in mind for next time. Now, are you ready to go? If we’re early, they might be able to admit you faster, which means a shorter session, eh?”

“Sure. Shorter.” He grumbled and slinked past Uptick, who closed the door he’d left open and followed along.

The clinic he visited on a weekly basis was located on the opposite side of Metroplex, towards the back of his city form. During the war, there had been dozens of buildings just like it, designed to hold the wounded and dying. After the assault on Autobot city and the incident with the Chaos Bringer on Cybertron, many of the clinics on Earth had closed down as the medics and doctors returned home. There were, after all, far more injuries and casualties on Cybertron, even without the war raging.

The peace of Earth had seen all but two clinics close, which were kept open out of necessity. Rare as it was, on occasion an Autobot might return from sparring with half his arm blasted off, or from a drive amongst humans with his front completely ruined. Humans, as Luster had quickly come to learn, were awful navigators and drivers. They ran into everything from still trees to moving cars to thin pedestrians on the side of the road.

And sometimes they ran into Autobots, and what was merely an inconvenience for them was a fatality for the fragile organics.

He didn’t feel quite strongly about the humans. They were alright. They were small, and weak, but surprisingly intelligent. They thought he was fascinating and scary. Some thought he was a friend. Many had grown accustomed to his kind, and would look at him with expectant eyes.

He couldn’t offer them anything. He didn’t know why he intrigued them. The less interactions he had with the small things, the better, he supposed. The only slightly less maddening thing about their company was that the beat of their ‘sparks’ didn’t drive his processor crazy.

Which was reason more why he despised the clinic. If there were weak in Autobot City, they were here. And the weak…the weak made easy prey.

The streets were full of Autobots this early in the morning. Most everyone was up at this point, stretching their legs, tires, and waking up their engines. With every Autobot that dashed past them, racing along eagerly in alt mode, Luster felt his solvents building. The clinic was within sight, and he could see a black and yellow mech lingering by it, chatting up one of the nurses.

Their sparks were so bright he could almost see them through their plating.

Seek alternate fuel source.

Luster staggered to a halt in the middle of the street, venting harshly as he slammed a fist to his helm.

Uptick startled behind him, instantly raising a hand. “Luster? What’s the matter? Are you alright?”

He gagged, hissing through his dentae. “I…I need to leave. Now. I need–”

“Now is no time for cold pedes.” Uptick said firmly, crossing his arms. “I know you’ve been opposed to these sessions, but the medics have assured me–”

Seek alternate fuel source.

The notifications were building nonstop. He couldn’t focus on moving, ignoring the sparkbeats, tuning out Uptick, resisting his aching tank, and closing the pop ups, all at once. He needed just a moment of calm, anything to temporarily turn it all off.

“I need Energon,” he spat, ignoring whatever else Uptick had said. “Now.”

“Luster–!”

Jerking away, Luster staggered in the direction he knew the bar to be in. Three streets over, seven blocks down, take a left at the lamp post, follow the street until you see a lit up sign–

“Luster!” Uptick yelled, catching up with him in a moment and grabbing him by his shoulders. Luster growled and tried to shake him off, but he held on, turning him around like he was only an indignant sparkling. “You are absolutely not visiting the bar again. I tolerate this habit of yours on your best days, when it is appropriate to do so. Believe me when I say this, I understand how… appealing it can be to try and drown yourself in energy when you’re faced with the horrors of the past. But you…you’re taking it to dangerous levels.” His faceplate was more stony than the diamonds in Luster’s helm. “And I know for a fact that your tank does not empty at a rate so rapid that you’d need to refuel after only six hours of recharge.”

“I didn’t recharge,” Luster snapped back, reaching up to grab one of Uptick’s servo’s. “I couldn’t offline for even a second last night. I’m starving, I need Energon, Uptick!”

“You need to stop acting like this!” His grip only tightened as Luster scratched at it, some of the white paint chipping away. “Avoiding your appointments to drink at the bar won’t change anything for the better, Luster! If you keep resisting change, you’ll end up trapped in the past!”

The street had been sparsely populated only moments ago. Now, Luster was aware of other Autobots pausing in their going-ons. Several helms poked out from buildings, curious to see exactly what one of their enforcers had caught.

He didn’t want to make a scene. The last thing he needed was more Autobots in the area around him. The quiet pounding sounds rapidly surrounding him were like drums on a quiet evening. But before he could even try to look around another notification popped up.

Feed me.

“It’s not about being stuck, idiot!” He screamed back, a snarl twisting his faceplate. He could feel the metal threatening to crack and break apart at the seams, right where his jaws would hinge. “I NEED this, or I’ll offline! I’ve got a fuel deficiency!”

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” Metal creaked as Uptick’s grip suddenly became painful, earning him a hiss. “I’ve have personal access to your file! There’s nothing wrong with your physical health!”

Nothing wrong? NOTHING WRONG?!

The file was already so wrong by claiming that, and none of them even knew it.

Seek alternate fuel source.

There are many sources nearby.

“Is that so?” He grit out, feeling something on his back shifting. “Is that what they told you?”

Was it so, Uptick? Would it always be so? Would it be so when he broke his faceplate, snapped his servos, and–

And what was he thinking?

He froze in the middle of forming his next sentence, voice dying before it could make any words. There was something shifting on his back, beneath his drill, and it replaced all the anger he felt with instant fear. There were witnesses. There were Autobots he knew around. If he let any more of himself slip, he would never speak to any of them again.

The fight left him as quickly as it had entered, uselessly bleeding out like the Energon in his tank. Uptick seemed to sense this, his own rage subsiding, loosening along with his servos. Their impression had been left behind in Luster’s shoulderpads. He’d barely felt them bend, hissing only out of reflex.

It was supposed to have hurt. He hadn’t even felt it.

The noise was coming back now. It was accompanied by the voices of other Autobots. He was suddenly so aware of the gazes upon him. Standing in the middle of the street by the clinic, he’d made himself the spectacle of the sector. And Uptick…

“We’re here early,” he muttered, venting quietly. “If you attend, and give them no issue, then…perhaps after your appointment…I…” He trailed off. “Your favorite refuge, it’s the Lead Pigeon, right?”

Luster did not look at him, or anyone, for that matter. Numbly he headed for the doors of the clinic, the red and orange nurse from before waiting for him. Uptick said something, following him halfway to his destination before stopping in the street. The medic cast him a glance before focusing back on her patient.

“Luster! It’s good to see you.” The nurse held out her arm and spoke like she hadn’t watched him almost assault an enforcer in the street. “We’re almost ready for you, if you’ll just follow me. Got to take vitals.”

“Right,” he muttered, the noise of his notifications starting to drown out the street he’d left behind. Amongst it all, a ping came in from Uptick. He lingered over it for a few seconds as his body trudged along, leaving his mind stuck at the doors of the clinic.

“Luster?” The nurse stopped by a machine. “Please step on the scanner.”

He dismissed Uptick’s ping and obeyed.

After the initial scans, he was led to the back of the clinic. The nurse took him to a small room with an examination table and a monitor. He moved to the table while she retrieved her datapad and tapped him in, the door sealing shut behind them.

He’d been to the clinic a dozen times before, but it was the first time they’d taken him to this individual room. It was smaller than he’d thought they’d put a mech of his size in. With both their frames crowded in alongside the monitor and table, the place felt almost stifling. He shifted uncomfortably, dismissing more pings and notifications as she finally looked up from her datapad.

“Alright, you’re all checked in. I’ve sent a comm to the surgeon you’ll be working with today.” She smiled, again. It was starting to bug him. “Have you been made aware of the treatment you’ll be undergoing today?”

“No,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his legs. “What is it?”

Ignoring his tone, she kept smiling and continued. “Are you familiar with mnemosurgery? Following your last encounter at the clinic, the doctor felt it would be best if an alternate approach was used to help you regain your memories. A specialist was called in from Cybertron, just for you.”

Luster cringed at that. All the way from Cybertron. Someone from home, or what home was supposed to be. Someone who’d remind him of how much he’d changed, how much home had changed. Was it anything like he remembered?

Mnemosurgery. It meant nothing to him. He frowned.

“So he’s come all the way from Cybertron to do…something weird to me?” He vented. The drill on his back felt all the heavier. “Wonderful.”

The nurse was still smiling. Did she ever stop? Did she think it was reassuring? He felt like he was going to purge.

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry. Mnemosurgery has been used plenty of times to help mechs struggling with trauma. The doctor wouldn’t have prescribed this if he thought it would be harmful to your health. And–”

A knock on the door interrupted her. Turning, she flipped the lock and it slid open, revealing a lavender mech with teal and yellow accents. He was wearing a silver visor and carrying a datapad, and gave the nurse a nod as he stepped in. “Luster of Cybertron, I take it?” He asked, silver gaze taking in the form of the pathetic creature sitting on the examination table. Upon receiving a nod, he grinned and held out a hand. “Good to meet you! I’m Redactor, and I’ll be serving as your mnemosurgeon.”

His greeting was not returned. Unperturbed, Redactor dismissed the nurse, though he didn’t bother to sit where she had. Raising his datapad, he stood by the door as it closed, reviewing whatever information was on it.

“So tell me about yourself, Luster!”

His voice was annoyingly cheerful. From the looks of his shoulderpads, tires, and the gaudy paint job, Luster guessed he was a race car. There were even rear wings on his back, split for each arm. His Autobot insignia was proudly displayed on his helm.

“What’s there to tell? Everything you need to know is on that datapad.”

Redactor shrugged. “Sure, but as your mnemosurgeon, I’d like to potentially learn a bit more about you before I go digging around in your memories. It’s never pleasant to have a stranger in your thinker, is it?” He tapped his helm and let out a light chuckle.

Luster arched an optical ridge. “What do you mean by that?”

“Do you know what mnemosurgery is?” Redactor tilted his helm slightly, and when Luster shook his own, continued. “Mnemosurgery is the process of entering another Cybertronian’s mind. We…it doesn’t have a great reputation, I’ll be entirely realistic with you.”

Despite the seriousness of the topic, he let out an awkward laugh.

“You see it has a bit of a…connection, with the concepts of shadowplay and…well, during the war, it was frequently used to pry secrets from the processors of soldiers.”

“But! Time marches on.” He gave Luster a smile that was supposed to be reassuring and failed to do just that. “You have my promise, I am not here to control you or alter your memories—I’m here to help you regain them. I heard you’ve been having memory problems?”

“That’s…one way of saying it.” He sat up, his back strut cracking as he did so. “I can’t remember anything, which I’m sure that datapad has already told you. So how are you going to fix that?”

Redactor raised one hand, needles suddenly springing from his fingers. Luster’s optics widened. Beneath his drill, something stirred, preparing to spring out defensively.

“Relax! The process is painless!” The needles retracted and Redactor waved his hand placatingly. “According to your file, your memories are damaged, but it’s likely that they still exist, buried deep within your processor. You just can’t access them. That’s where I come in!”

He gave his horrifying servos a wiggle. “With these, I can delve into your processor and potentially guide you back into those areas you can’t access. Now…granted, it may take several tries, and the process is quite dangerous to me. But…well, I can’t just turn down someone in need.”

“In need?” He was in need, all right, in need of not having needles jammed into his processor. He’d had the thing literally poked and prodded before, but this? Another ‘bot, literally inside of his head, accessing his memories?

“Yes. Whatever happened to you out there, it’s destroyed quite a bit of your processor, hasn’t it? Don’t you want to remember any of it?”

When he didn’t answer, Redactor leaned forward, pressing even further. “Don’t you want to remember Cybertron? Your ship? Whatever you found out there? Solace?”

Solace.

Don’t you want to remember Solace?

Solace.

He felt like the ground was dropping from beneath his feet, flipping his tank out of his intake. Coughing, Luster felt warm Energon spill into his mouth, dripping out from his dermas. Redactor cringed at the sight.

“Are you alright?” He asked worriedly, though his words fell on deafening audials.

Solace.

Who’s Solace?

“If you’re not feeling well, I’ll call the nurse, we can do this another day–”

“Don’t.” The words spilled out of him along with the pearls of Energon, his optics focusing on the silver of Redactor’s visor. “Solace. You can help me remember Solace?.”

There was an edge to his voice, a desperation that made Redactor flinch.

“I–yes, that’s the hope. I–have you eaten this morning? The nurse said there was an incident–”

“I’m fine. Tell me. What are you going to do?” He leaned forward, almost losing his balance on the table. “What do those needles do? Are you going through my helm?”

“Oh, heavens no. They, ah, enter through the back of your neck, where I’ll connect with–”

“Don’t care. You said it doesn’t hurt?”

“No, absolutely not. Completely painless, I assure you. Um, are you sure you’re feeling alright, you seem…well, friend, you’ve done a bit of an about face, haven’t you?”

He balled a fist and wiped Energon from his dermas. “Haven’t the faintest clue what you’re talking about. How long is this going to take?”

“The mnemosurgery? Anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours. I try to keep sessions short–the longer I’m in your mind, the greater the danger to me.”

Just a few hours at max. He could hold out for that long. With how slowly his tank drained anyways, he wouldn’t be anywhere close to empty even by the end of the earth day. A few hours. That was all.

Solace. He had to find out what happened to Solace. This would let him find out what had happened to Solace.

What happened to Solace?

“Alright. Poke me. Stab me. Whatever you’ve got to do. Let’s do this.”

Redactor winced. “It’s…good to see that you’re so…cooperative! Al-alright, please lie down.”

He did as instructed. Redactor loomed over him, needles poking out of his servos as he moved to his helm.

“Now, please try to relax. Disable your optics if need be. The more stressed you are, the more difficult it can become for me to enter, and…”

Redactor was going on and on about the process. Luster did not care. He was too busy attempting to close every notification currently crowding his hub.

Seek alternate fuel source.Seek alternate fuel source.Seek alternate fuel source.Seek alternate fuel source.Seek alternate fuel source.Seek alternate fuel source.Seek alternate fuel source.Seek alternate fuel source.Seek alternate fuel source.SEEK ALTERNATE FUEL SOURCE.SEEK ALTERNATE FUEL SOURCE.SEEK ALTERNATE FUEL SOURCE.SEEK ALTERNATE FUEL SOURCE.SEEK ALTERNATE FUEL SOURCE.SEEK ALTERNATE FUEL SOURCE.SEEK ALTERNATE FUEL SOURCE.SEEK ALTERNATE FUEL SOURCE.

A few hours. Just a few hours. That was all he had to hold on for.

He could do this.

#tf ocs #maccadams #my ocs #six cycles later #my writing #oc: luster #oc: invert #hi everyone heres chapter two again. enjoy chapter

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