#I just want to know someone thinks about me half as much as I think about them

[backofthebookshelf]

It's not a controversial take necessarily -- it's just that the particular environment of AO3, where you can see how many times your fic was loaded in a browser window and where the little heart button has a different meaning than it does on every other social media site, is uniquely bad for the human brain.

For the VAST majority of history, both the history of making art generally and the history of writing fanfiction in particular, you did not get to know how many people gave your work a cursory once-over, or how many people checked your book out from the library and never read it, or how many people overheard a line of poetry and thought "huh, neat" and never did anything else. These interactions were, as they should be, completely anonymous and uncountable. Even in the pre-AO3 days of fanfiction, there was an understanding that page hit counters were kind of crap (for one thing, they would count you every time you loaded the page, and you had to load the page to check the counter, so that was incentive not to look at it that much).

Even in other artistic contexts where you do now have page hit counters on everything, they're contextualized through marketing research, not consumed as a raw value. Marketing talks about conversion rate, which is the % of people who saw something who then went on to do the thing you wanted them to do - for a business that's probably buy the thing, for a nonprofit it might be donate or sign up for a volunteer session, for a fanfiction writer it's leave a comment. At work I work with multiple major companies you have definitely heard of who spend half a million dollars and 1-3 full time employees every year on something that increases their conversion rate by 1-2%. They do this because the conversion rate on our emails is 5%, which is INSANELY high.

And yes, leaving a comment doesn't cost money, but it does cost time and energy. Writers overestimate how easy it is for people to write comments--my coworkers are out here using chatgpt to write boilerplate work emails, I can't imagine ANY of them ever leaving a comment on a work of art they enjoyed. Verbally, yes--and "in a friend discord is much closer to verbally than in a comment form--but in writing? Absolutely not.

As for kudos, I can't help but think that the "likes don't do anything, you have to reblog" culture of social media like twitter and tumblr affects that too (and yes, by the latter days of twitter I was seeing people saying that on there, because the algorithm was so broken). Kudos is essentially a like button, and like the like button on twitter that used to be a favorite button before they changed it and some people never stopped treating it like one, it has meanings for people you'll never understand. "It's just a click!" It is a symbol with vague connotations but no specific universally agreed upon meaning; it tells you how many people clicked on that button, and that's all.

So yes, actually, I guess I am saying that as a writer, you are supposed to assume that many more people liked your fic than you will ever hear from or even know about. And that's a good thing! You have the chance to touch someone's life even though they have no idea who you are and don't think of you as a person so much as a semi-mythical figure called "the author". And that's part of the magic, to me, of creating things. You pour yourself into a thing and then you set it loose into the world and you hope it means to someone else as much as it meant to you. Sometimes, very rarely, someone will tell you so, and that's amazing, I'm not going to pretend it's not, but you have to have enough faith in yourself to believe it happens whether you hear about it or not.

I really don't understand how "without getting kudos or comments a fanfiction author is going to assume that people who clicked their fic didn't like it" became a controversial take.

I don't know why some people think an author should imagine, or guess that people who click their fic enjoyed it it when nobody is telling them that.

If you're re-reading a fic constantly, or leaving it up in your tab so that it re-loads every day for a hundred days the author is not going to know that unless you tell them. They'd love to hear it. It would make their day.

And if you don't tell them you liked their fic, there's no reason for them to assume you did.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two

It’s dark. The window is still open, but the chillier air is kind of nice on Eddie’s flushed skin.

The clean bedding is nice too; Eddie tries to remember the last time he appreciated something as nice as clean sheets and draws a blank.

Probably when he still lived with Wayne. Probably before they made it big. Probably before the partying started.

Eddie picks up his phone, his thumb hovering over the call button. He presses it.

Wayne doesn’t pick up. Eddie’s not surprised, not really.

He tries Chris; she doesn’t answer either.

Likewise Gareth.

He doesn't bother calling Jeff.

There’s no one else in his phone; Chrissy took it all away when Eddie couldn’t differentiate between a friend a dealer or a booty call.

Like the worst Marie Kondo ever, Chrissy had held up the hundreds of friends Eddie had in his phone, one by one, ‘does this spark joy?’

No. Sometimes sucked his dick, though.

Eddie has money though. He twirls his phone on his chest, flipping it from long edge to short. There’s always somewhere open. Flip. Flip. Flip.

Not like anyone's answering him right now anyway. They’ve just left him here. With fucking Steve. It’s just one time anyway, he wouldn’t get away with it more than once. Chrissy would put him on proper lock down if she found out. Probably shove him back in the clinic.

So...just once.

One last go. And then he’d quit for sure. He hasn’t touched it for months, so he’s pretty much proved he can do it, anyway.

Eddie gets dressed. Finds cash balled up in random places.

Eddie stands in the doorway. Look up at the stars and then across the lawn at the security gates. He hasn’t had so much as a cigarette in nearly half a year. This is fine.

“Where you going, Eddie?”

Eddie sighs. Fucking busted. Still, “no where you need to worry about.”

“Uh hu.”

“Look, I’m not on house arrest okay? I can go out, I’m a grown fucking man.”

“You totally are. You want to go out, you go for it. No skin off my nose.”

Eddie whirls, shocked, “what the fuck? Aren’t you supposed to try and stop me from doing dumb shit?”

Steve raises the eyebrow, “so you admit it’s dumb?” He looks sleep rumpled, wearing sweats and a white tee shirt.

Walked right into that one. “You’re dumb.”

The face again. The totally schooled features that are utterly professional and give absolutely nothing away and yet...somehow...he’s laughing at Eddie. Eddie can feel it.

“So you go out,” Steve saunters over, stands next to Eddie, bare toes curling over the doorstep, “you score or drink or do whatever it is you’re aiming to do. Then what?”

“Then what,” Eddie mimics, all bitchy, “I’ll come home, and I’ll sober up, and it won’t change a fucking thing,” Eddie bites out.

“You think? You’ve had sober spells before, is that how it’s gone in the past?”

Eddie takes a deep breathe, because no, no that is not how it’s fucking gone in the past, “this time is different.”

“Is it?” Steve asks, completely fucking nonchalant, “how so?”

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to punch someone so bad in all his life. Imagines it viscerally, Steve's fucking head cracking on the door frame while he slumps to the floor in a bloody heap.

Eddie does not do that, obviously.

“Look, I’ll come home, we don’t do anything about it, you still get paid, sound good?”

“I get paid either way,” Steve shrugs one shoulder, because he’s a cunt. “This is how a lot of addicts die, did you know that?”

“What?” Eddie asks, startled by the left turn.

“Yeah, get out of rehab, think their tolerance is still the same, get back on it…” he doesn’t bother to finish.

“That won’t happen to me.”

“Oh yeah, right. Of course. Because you’re Eddie Munson, sorry, sorry, forgot a second there.”

Eddie takes two thumping angry steps into the yard and just...just fucking screams at the sky. Just...roars at nothing. This is shit. It’s so shit. Everything is shit. And Eddie nearly fucking died last time and there’s no escaping that fact. There’s no help. There’s no point to any of this. There’s just pain and fucking misery and something clawing at Eddie’s insides trying to get out.

He roars until he’s hoarse. Until he can’t any more. Until his chin is wet with spit and he feels week and rung out.

He sits on his ass on the cold, dewy lawn.

Steve is still standing in the doorway, he doesn’t look like he’s moved at all. If he’s at all bothered by Eddie’s little meltdown, he isn’t showing it.

“Why did you want to go?” Steve asks finally, "did something change?"

Eddie shrugs, he’s got nothing, not really. No real reason past just wanting to get fucked up. Because it feels good. Because he likes it.

“Okay, what’s worth staying for?”

Eddie makes a dismissive ‘pfffft’, made croaky by his fucked out voice.

“They always say you need to do these things for yourself,” Eddie glares at Steve, because that's some dumb shit right there. Always had it in therapy though. Self worth. Mindfulness. Living in the moment and being proud of what you’ve already achieved and every journey starts with a single step and all that other bull shit they try and feed you. “I know. I agree. When you...feel like you’re nothing, you’re not worth any effort. It’s the hardest time. So pick someone else. Who can you do it for?”

“They don’t care,” Eddie croaks, “they didn’t answer,” he pulls his phone out, flips it onto the grass.

“Who?”

“Chris. Wayne.”

“Okay, give me a good reason why Wayne didn’t answer? That’s your uncle, right?”

“Yeah he...he could be at work,” Eddie admits quietly. Eddie’s given Wayne money. Well, practically forced it on him. Set him up with a nice place; or at least as nice as he could talk Wayne into. Wayne doesn’t believe in free loading though. Eddie’s convinced him to do less hours, but he still works nights two or three times a week. Claims it’s ninety percent of his social life, or some shit like that.

“Okay, and Chris?”

Eddie shrugs, embarrassment over his outburst making him petulant now.

“Eddie, what time is it where Chris is, right now?”

Eddie sighs up at the stars. It’s the middle of the fucking night, “late. Early. I guess.”

“Okay. So they’re not ignoring you, they’re just living their lives like normal human beings. Come on, get up, your ass is gonna be wet.”

“And do what?” Eddie snaps, “what’s the fucking point.” It’s not a question.

“Come on, I want to show you something.”

“It was a tough time, you know? Like, life sucks hard sometimes. Music helps. My favorite is The Wilds, you know? You heard that one?” The interviewer mumbles something indistinguishable, “it’s kind of...like the bit about the shining sea, you know? How like, it’s so beautiful, but it’s fucking hard to sail on. Or like how the mountains are so beautiful, but if you go up there alone, you’re gonna’ die, right? So I think...like how insignificant, and meaningless my life is, in like, the grand scheme of things, but like...that makes what you do even more important, right? Like, it means more, when you choose to be...I dunno,” the kid with a million piercings shrugs, “like just be good to each other, you know?”

“That’s not even remotely what that song is about,” Eddie mumbles at the laptop monitor.

Behind him, Steve snorts a laugh, “well that kid thinks it is.”

Another kid, more makeup than the whole of Kiss slathered on her face, “I just think it has meaning, you know?” The interviewer mumbles something again, “oh my favorite?” A lip bitten in thought, she looks at the sky for inspiration, it’s sunset, Eddie figures. Lots of similarly dressed kids in the background. Takes him a second to realize this was filmed outside of a gig, or something like that. “It’s hard to pick, but if I gotta’, it’s definitely Double Down. Those lyrics are just...Eddie Munson is just...he’s a fucking genius, you know?” She frowns, “but also really fucking dumb soemtimes, I hope he’s okay.”

“I didn’t even write that one. Jeff wrote most of that. On napkins, I think. I just...worked it together.”

Another kid, saying how important Corroded Coffin are; how they helped this kid through hard times. Honestly it’s a difficult watch, Eddie has no fucking clue where Steve even found this, and when Eddie’s phone rings he jumps on it, glad of an excuse to slap the screen of the laptop closed.

“Hi, Eddie! You called, sorry it’s early I got up to go for a run-”

“No. No, it’s fine, I...I shouldn’t have called you so late. Early. You were probably sleeping.”

“That’s okay, of course it’s okay, it’s nice you called me,” she snickers, “you never call me.”

That’s true, and Eddie feels bad. It’s always Chrissy chasing after Eddie. Trying to keep a lid on him...trying to keep him safe. He was always the one dodging her. “Yeah, sorry…” Eddie gets up so he can walk away from Steve, tail between his legs he slinks into the hall, he vows, “I’ll try and do better.”

“Good, how are you feeling? Hows your rut?”

Eddie is not fucking admitting that he just had a breakdown and nearly fucked it all up in the middle of the night. No fucking way is he admitting that, “yeah...yeah, just...couldn’t sleep, you know? I guess the rut...still going. Feels weird.”

Eddie can hear Chris moving around, figures she has him on speaker or something, “uh hu, that’s because you haven’t cycled a proper rut in like, four years honey, these things take time to settle. Is Steve doing okay? You’re not being a cunt to him are you?”

“Well I’ve only thought about punching him,” something jogs in Eddie’s mind, “Chrissy, what happened to the cleaning lady?”

“Oh...we did talk about it honey but you weren't really...taking it in, I don’t think-”

“I was fucked up.”

“Yeah...but she…”

“Just say it.”

“The...you know, the vomit. You were constantly trashing the place. She was worried she was...well she was mostly scared she was going to walk in one day and find your body.”

“Oh.” Eddie slumps down on the bottom step, “that sucks. I liked her.”

“Don’t worry, her final pay was incredible. She got a really impressive bunch of flowers.”

“Oh...well. Thank you. For sorting that.” Eddie’s eyes feel wet. His lip wobbles a little, but he holds it in. He’s got no right to guilt about that, not now. “The place looks okay though, I think Steve’s been cleaning some.”

“Yeah, probably, he seems like a good guy.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, but the first tear breaks free and he knows he can’t hide it much longer, “go on your run.”

“Okay, speak later?”

“Yeah, course.”

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s so great to hear you sounding more like yourself, I missed you so much.”

Eddie hangs up, draws his knees up to his chest, the material of his sweats already darkened with tears.

[tender-rosiey]

lock jaw — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: when I said silence, I meant it literally btw <3

it starts the way it always does—with him talking.

satoru loves to talk. he thrives on it, really.

his voice fills every space he enters, a mix of cocky and teasing remarks, words tumbling out of him like they were just waiting for an audience.

he has no problem being that audience himself, either, monologuing even when no one’s listening.

and right now? right now, he’s very much talking at you.

“—so obviously, I had to step in, because nanamin was totally going about it the wrong way, y’know? I mean, the guy’s got skill, sure, but zero flare. no pizzazz. no—hey, are you even listening?”

you are. technically. but you don’t give him the satisfaction of confirming it.

instead, you tilt your head up at him, one brow raised in that way that always makes his grin twitch wider.

satoru doesn’t like being ignored. that’s why you do it.

and, sure enough, he scoffs. “oh, I see how it is. you think you’re cute, huh?”

you hum, noncommittal.

his fingers drum against the table, restless energy leaking into movement. “it’s a good thing you’re married to me, ‘cause—”

you lift a hand.

it’s not much. just a simple flick of your wrist.

the moment your fingers move, his words catch, cut off like someone pressed pause on a song mid-verse. his mouth is still open, brows furrowed like he can’t quite believe it.

oh, but he believes it.

your technique has always been a thorn in his side. you don’t know what makes it work, just that it does.

no one else can silence him like this—literally silence him, rendering every word, every noise, completely null the second you decide you’ve had enough.

it drives him insane.

you let a few beats of silence pass before you drop your hand. his voice snaps back into existence, mid-word.

“—ain’t no way you just did that again,” he grumbles, like this is somehow the first time.

his mouth pulls into a pout, the corners twitching with the threat of a smirk. “y’know, most wives enjoy hearing their husband talk.”

“I do,” you say, because it’s true.

satoru leans in, one hand propped beneath his chin. “so? why do you keep shutting me up, then?”

you lift your fingers again, just slightly, and watch the way his whole body stiffens in response. he goes silent before you even activate it, eyes narrowing.

“I swear—”

your fingers twitch.

nothing.

his mouth slams shut anyway, like muscle memory has kicked in. his whole face scrunches up, torn between irritation and reluctant amusement.

it takes him a second to realize you never actually used your technique, and when he does, his eye twitches.

“oh, you suck.”

you smile. “I know.”

satoru groans, dragging a hand down his face. “how’d I get stuck with you?”

you just hum, pretending to think. “bad luck?”

he snorts.

and just like that, whatever annoyance he was pretending to have dissolves into something else—something warmer. his head tilts, his voice dropping into that low, teasing hum. “or maybe good luck.”

you don’t let yourself react, but a wave of warmth rushes through you anyway. his eyes gleam behind his glasses, sharp and knowing. he feels it, too.

it’s always been like this with satoru—this push and pull, this game of who can get under whose skin first. he hates being shut up. but he loves being shut up by you.

that’s probably why he keeps trying.

the next time he catches you alone, it’s in the kitchen.

you’re getting water, half-distracted, when arms loop around your waist from behind, a chin dropping onto your shoulder.

“whatcha doin’?”

“getting water,” you deadpan.

“oooh. riveting.” his arms tighten just slightly, like he’s trying to keep you there. “y’know, I was thinking.”

“that’s new.”

satoru gasps, scandalized. “rude!”

he nuzzles closer, all dramatic offense and fake hurt. “as I was saying—I was thinking about how unfair it is that you get to shut me up whenever you want, but I can’t do the same to you.”

you sip your water, unimpressed. “sounds like a you problem.”

“exactly! and since we’re married, your problems are my problems—so really, we should fix this together.”

you know where this is going. you don’t like where it’s going.

“…no.”

“but I didn’t even—”

“no.”

his arms squeeze tighter, his voice dropping into that saccharine lilt. “c’mooon. just one little pact—no more silencing me, and in return…”

“in return what?” you ask, humoring him.

“in return, I’ll—uh—” he pauses. “I’ll try not to annoy you as much?”

you turn your head just enough to squint at him. “you could just not annoy me in the first place.”

“pfft. impossible.”

you roll your eyes, setting your glass down. “then no deal.”

satoru pouts. “you’re no fun.”

“I’m plenty fun.”

“not to me.”

you lift a hand.

his mouth clamps shut instantly.

“…I hate you.”

you drop your hand. “no, you don’t.”

his pout deepens. “no, I don’t.”

and because he’s satoru—because he’s infuriating—he suddenly dips forward and presses a kiss to your cheek.

it’s quick, but deliberate, with his lips lingering just enough to tease you. by the time you turn to scold him, he’s already slipping away, whistling like nothing happened.

the sneaking doesn’t stop.

if anything, it gets worse.

he tests you in public now, dropping snarky comments just to see if you’ll silence him mid-sentence.

he tries to get the upper hand, too—kissing you without warning, murmuring things low enough that only you can hear, things designed to throw you off balance.

and it works. sometimes.

but the thing about satoru? he talks a lot.

he always has.

and that’s exactly why you win.

it happens in front of his students.

which, really, is something he should’ve seen coming.

you’re standing off to the side, arms crossed, watching as megumi practices his stance. nobara is stretching. yuji is bouncing on his feet like he’s ready to fight someone on the spot.

it’s peaceful. quiet.

and, naturally, satoru can’t have that.

he claps his hands together. “alright, kiddos! who’s ready for an essential, life-changing lesson?”

yuji perks up immediately. “ooh, what kinda lesson?”

“the most important kind,” satoru declares, straightening his posture like he’s about to reveal the secrets of the universe. “a lesson in style.”

megumi exhales sharply. nobara groans. you don’t even have to look to know they’re both already tuning him out.

but he’s not done.

“you may think you know fashion, but you don’t. not like me. there are levels to this—depths of drip, if you will—like an expertly curated wardrobe of absolute perfection.”

he gestures grandly to himself. “and lucky for you, I am both your teacher and your fashion icon.”

nobara shoots you a look. “this is every day for you, isn’t it?”

“unfortunately.”

satoru hears it. of course, he hears it.

he places a hand over his chest like you’ve wounded him. “unfortunately?” he echoes, all faux devastation. “sweetheart, you wound me.”

yuji chokes on a laugh. “wow, sensei. that was fast.”

“you don’t get it, yuji.” satoru points at you, sunglasses slipping down his nose.

“this woman right here? my beloved, my precious, my better half? she is cruel.” he sighs, tilting his head dramatically.

“every day, she shuts me up without a second thought. do you know how unfair that is? the strongest sorcerer in the world, silenced—just like that.”

megumi, who has absolutely witnessed this before, doesn’t even look up. “sounds like you deserve it.”

satoru gasps. “et tu, megumi?”

“yeah,” megumi deadpans. “et me.”

satoru clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “see? this is what I deal with. betrayal. disrespect. my own wife using her technique against me at every turn.”

yuji raises a hand. “wait, wait—so she actually can shut you up?”

“oh, she can,” satoru grumbles. “and she does.”

nobara perks up, eyes gleaming. “no way. prove it.”

satoru freezes.

you see the exact moment realization dawns on him—what he’s just done, the challenge he’s issued on your behalf.

you see it in the way his jaw shifts, the way his weight shifts ever so slightly on his heels.

you raise a brow. “you want me to prove it?”

satoru narrows his eyes. “don’t you dare.”

you lift your hand.

“don’t you—”

silence.

satoru’s mouth is still open, but no sound comes out. nothing. not even the beginnings of a protest. his lips move, forming words you can’t hear, before he snaps his mouth shut entirely.

the silence stretches.

then—

“oh my god,” nobara breathes.

yuji loses his mind.

megumi simply nods. “good.”

satoru’s eye twitches. he points at you, accusing, but there’s nothing he can do. you smile sweetly.

after a long beat, you drop your hand.

“—believe you just did that in front of my students,” he huffs, voice returning in the middle of a sentence.

his sunglasses slide down his nose, revealing wide, scandalized eyes. “my own wife, betraying me in front of my kids.”

“they asked me to.”

“yeah,” nobara pipes up. “that was amazing. do it again.”

satoru splutters. “hey! whose side are you on?”

yuji is grinning. “I mean, sensei, that was kinda cool.”

“it was humiliating!”

“you deserved it.”

“I did not!”

you hum, faux thoughtful. “you kinda did.”

satoru stares at you, horrified. “et tu, my love?”

“yeah.” you smirk. “et me.”

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[sirithesillies]

hello people i was given cocon and im so bored so take way too much info about me (more than you will ever need):

obligatory this is a hella long post below :) :

i have multiple names, and therefore multiple middle names !!! notable ones are Luci (Lucifer or Lucious, whichever idc) && Nex :)

rn? 15 bodily

July 31st :D :D

^ that makes meeee a leo >:)

i like reds, greens, n purples

2 or 7 :D

YEAH !!! i have a bearded dragon named buddy, and i also share three dogs (sasha, sheeba, and albus.)

i was born in indiana? i think? but we moved so often iderk. lived in britain for a while but don't think i was born there?

a measly 5'3 :(

uhm.. american women's 8 1/2? i think?

13, 14 if you count roller blades and 1 maybe 2 if you count the ones i actually wear

uhm i was. sleeping.. in my dream.. it was a dream about me trying to fall asleep and it was really comforting though so win-win

i was told i took to crochet really quickly? i work for all of the skills i have, much to my dismay.

i have amazing vibe detectors to the point people use me as a problematic-partner-bloodhound. this works for all people MINUS the ones that are around me✌️

my music taste is super finicky !!! i've posted about it before but lowk i dont rlly have a favorite

v for vendetta at the moment...

i have a variety of mental illnesses so someone who can match my freak frsies.. i need a lot of attention and give it in return so i just need someone whos chill parallel playing like 20/6 or wtv..

i like the idea of kids and i'm good with them in short bursts of time, but i would be a HORRIBLE parent, so probably not unless i fix that :)

im not sure lowkey, haven't thought much about it. i would rather it just be personal honestly

im a polytheistic kemetic and hellenistic pagan, which means i work with both egyptian and greek deities :) i worship Sekhmet, Ra, Bastet, Apollo, Hera, and Poseidon :) I... do a lot honestly :sob:

doctors fear me, nurses love me, and i know medical staff by name. surprisingly that's gone down a lot this last year or two but i also have chronic breathing issues so i go to the hospital fairly often

yeah :sob:

not that i remember at least

baths for special occasions ONLY, showers above all else otherwise

theyre green and white with christmas puppies on them :D

i've had a work of mine go #1 on the charts on webtoon if that counts :sob: i also ran a decently big editing account in like 2020-2021 on tiktok

i'd love to be as well-known as a celebrity, but lowkey i know i'd hate actual fame, and i'd get so overwhelmed being famous. i'd need to be someone with an avatar or mascot in front of me so i could still live a semi-normal life

discussed above in my "favorite song" question, but i like a bunch !!! metal, rock, pop, hiphop, rnb, emo/scenecore songs, etc. etc. etc.

no and i DO NOT WANT TO !!! you will never catch me naked anywhere near a lake, let alone in one.

8 of varying sizes.. im also counting very specific stuffed animals but not all of them, since i use some of them as pillows

on my side curled up...

we live in a two story house with one main story and a basement. main floor has two bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen and living room combo, while the basement has one bedroom (mine!!), one bathroom, a free space, and our laundry room n pantry :)

i dont. actually eat breakfast.. uhm i like Krave brand cereal with strawberries and i like bagels either with normal cream cheese n strawberries, or fried with ham and an egg

yes i have

yes and i SUCK at it

out of all words? тоска. it sounds like "toska" and is some immeasurable yearning from the bottom of one's heart. smth smth i like words for their meanings because reducing one to its sound is superficial or smth. fr tho for a word i think sounds nice, try "eloquence"

cunt... stickin to the classics here. fuck and shit are ALSO high up here.

a very, very, very horrible 14 and a half days. it sucks. don't do it.

yeah :sob: i have scars all over if you care to look tbh, most of them have luckily just faded

not to my knowledge?

i don't like lying, nor do i make a point to practice. i don't think i am? i tend to panic and give shitty stories when i lie. so.. nah, don't think i am

for all people minus those who matter to me. lord.. show me a picture of a person and i can clock little things about them, but if someone obviously is being horrible to me? nahhhhhh theyre such a nice person they would neverrr...

nope!! can't fake accents very well. i mean.. i can kinda do a southern one ig?

i can speak with an american accent, but i speak pretty naturally with a brit one. one of my largest flaws..

i think slavic and arabic accents are gorgeous..

uhmmm my mbti is INFP-T, and im. sorta just.. me on here... idk how to describe my personality :sob:

i HATE wearing expensive clothes. most expensive article of clothing i own? a carhart jacket that's older than i am

yeppers :)

innie..

ambidextrous :) i use my left primarily to write and my right for almost everything else

no, but i don't like them on me and am terrified of black widows.

I like banana pudding? im not picky at ALL honestly

i like so many... the basic bitch answers of i like most mexican and chinese dishes, but i also like viet and indian foods... uhm im again not picky

im a mess :sob:

"woof..." "oh gosh" or "HELP???" are frequents

idk lowkey i use a lotta words a lot. yapper core...

15-20 minutes from the time i wake up to the time i'm out the door

diagnosed narcissist goes crazy

i just.. let lollies melt on my tongue... no sucking or biting required.. no conscious effort... just leavin it there

uhm i talk outloud to think but also this is biased of multiple consciousnesses in one so it's sometimes hard for me to pin if im.. just.. monologuing purposefully for a headmate or if im just thinking to myself.

i hum, but not sing :)

i think so, but who m i to say

terrified of death, horrified of being forgotten, and i despise being alone..

god no i hate gossip

no clue honestly..

medium

all 50 states AND all european countries

ela and art

ambivert :)

no but i used to live on an island near the mariana trench and it woulda been so fuckin cool to say i scuba dived near the mariana trench..

uhm various people and touchy subjects ig? im not very easily made nervous

YES and i will NOT be taking slander for it

uhm it depends? sometimes i do, sometimes it isnt worth it to, and other times i don't

yeah

no

kinda? hard to say but uhm uhm uhm

goose lore...

.....gooose lore........

a kid named Jack that i will not be getting into for aforementioned lore reasons

rn i only have my one ear piercing, but i used to have my tongue and cheeks pierced too. i wanna get my septum done and my lips (angel fangs or snakebites) when m older

yes if i try hard enough..

anywhere from 60-100 wpm depending on what im typing and if i know what i want to say. but i also fuck up a lot, so.

not very fast..

natural blond rn but i wanna dye it lowkey

blue-green, but ideally brown :)

used to be allergic to red food coloring, but now im just allergic to tylenol... lame..

yeah !! i use digital websites to :)

my father is in the military and works a variety of handymen jobs, and my mother is a hairdresser

ehhh the people around my age that i know are hit or miss, but im not getting any younger and i sure as hell don't wanna be older so

sm stuff :sob: im hard to make mad-mad but there are a few things that make me annoyed. it takes a LOT of time and effort though so yk.

im decently happy with it- there's a slight disconnect from it but overall i think my names are nice :)

Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they?

i really honestly don't care... i dont think much would change with it, right??

i like to think im nice enough, and im smart enough at stuff to say it blankly. im good at my art stuff and im fine enough to take care of myself for the most part :)

im lowk impulsive and i have major trust and abandonment issues :sob:

"August" i stole from auguste toulmouche, sirius is a constellation i relate to (and a certain character that i also liked), and keres was a name that i just. came with. i started using it again recently :)

im not sure, but im directly related to alexander graham belle. like, the guy who made the telephone. family's wiped from all records due to divorces n the like, but yeah :)

im lucky enough that a lot of them are faded, but i have scars pretty much everywhere if you care enough to look for em tbh

my sheers are grey and my blankets are mismatched.. but my comforter is black and so are my two pillow-pillows

My room walls are green and my floor is a brown carpet :)

Get To Know Me Uncomfortably Well

PLEASE DON’T LET THIS FLOP AHHHH

1. What is you middle name? 2. How old are you? 3. When is your birthday? 4. What is your zodiac sign? 5. What is your favorite color? 6. What’s your lucky number? 7. Do you have any pets? 8. Where are you from? 9. How tall are you? 10. What shoe size are you? 11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? 12. What was your last dream about? 13. What talents do you have? 14. Are you psychic in any way? 15. Favorite song? 16. Favorite movie? 17. Who would be your ideal partner? 18. Do you want children? 19. Do you want a church wedding? 20. Are you religious? 21. Have you ever been to the hospital? 22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? 23. Have you ever met any celebrities? 24. Baths or showers? 25. What color socks are you wearing? 26. Have you ever been famous? 27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? 28. What type of music do you like? 29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? 30. How many pillows do you sleep with? 31. What position do you usually sleep in? 32. How big is your house? 33. What do you typically have for breakfast? 34. Have you ever fired a gun? 35. Have you ever tried archery? 36. Favorite clean word? 37. Favorite swear word? 38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 39. Do you have any scars? 40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? 41. Are you a good liar? 42. Are you a good judge of character? 43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? 44. Do you have a strong accent? 45. What is your favorite accent? 46. What is your personality type? 47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? 48. Can you curl your tongue? 49. Are you an innie or an outie? 50. Left or right handed? 51. Are you scared of spiders? 52. Favorite food? 53. Favorite foreign food? 54. Are you a clean or messy person? 55. Most used phrased? 56. Most used word? 57. How long does it take for you to get ready? 58. Do you have much of an ego? 59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? 60. Do you talk to yourself? 61. Do you sing to yourself? 62. Are you a good singer? 63. Biggest Fear? 64. Are you a gossip? 65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? 66. Do you like long or short hair? 67. Can you name all 50 states of America? 68. Favorite school subject? 69. Extrovert or Introvert? 70. Have you ever been scuba diving? 71. What makes you nervous? 72. Are you scared of the dark? 73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? 74. Are you ticklish? 75. Have you ever started a rumor? 76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? 77. Have you ever drank underage? 78. Have you ever done drugs? 79. Who was your first real crush? 80. How many piercings do you have? 81. Can you roll your Rs?“ 82. How fast can you type? 83. How fast can you run? 84. What color is your hair? 85. What color is your eyes? 86. What are you allergic to? 87. Do you keep a journal? 88. What do your parents do? 89. Do you like your age? 90. What makes you angry? 91. Do you like your own name? 92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? 93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? 94. What are you strengths? 95. What are your weaknesses? 96. How did you get your name? 97. Were your ancestors royalty? 98. Do you have any scars? 99. Color of your bedspread? 100. Color of your room?

[reminiscingtonight]

Guilty

Lia Wälti x Russo!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Tis the season for sequels. Featuring a lot of Kyra and Alessia and not so much of Lia

[The Thing About Families Masterlist]

You should have known better than to trust her. 

There’s a reason Steph’s always more than happy to drop Kyra off on your doorstep whenever camp’s over.

There’s a reason Mini looks like she’s gained five years every time the younger girl has been granted privileges to “babysit” her two kids. 

You have a million reasons to not trust her yet you did. 

Why did you trust Kyra with the ring?

Your knuckles are nearly white as you drag the young girl into a nearby unoccupied conference room. Kyra’s looking apologetically guilty, but a delirious haze is starting to take over you. It’s a mixture of horror and disbelief, but at the bottom of it all, you feel beyond stupid.

“What do you mean you lost it?!”

Kyra looks like she’s moments away from crying, but you can’t find it in yourself to be compassionate. You can console her later. Right now you need to get to the bottom of this and try to salvage your relationship with your girlfriend first. 

“I swear it was stashed at the bottom of my drawer but it just wasn’t there when I looked this morning.”

“Well where did you put it?”

“I never moved it! Someone must have taken it.”

You pinch your eyes shut, praying to whatever soccer gods that are above that this was just a cruel joke. This wasn’t really happening and you weren’t about to postpone all the plans you’ve spent months working on. “Kyra, I am begging you not to do this. What am I supposed to do? The dinner’s been booked! The restaurant knows I’m proposing!”

“We can get you a new one! I’ll front it, I swear.”

Forget Kyra crying, you’re going to cry. 

“Unless you’re willing to shell out five grand in the next few hours, I don’t think ‘buying me a new’ one will work.”

The young Australian’s eyes bulge out at the sound of how much you spent on Lia’s ring. 

It’s not a well kept secret that you were going to propose. You and Lia have been together for years now, married in every way except for the official one. Wedding plans have already been discussed, from venues to food to the invitation list. The last thing you actually had to do was the actual proposing and getting married parts.

Though with the ways things are going, you’re not sure you’re going to get married anytime soon. 

There’s a knock on the door but you ignore it, pacing back and forth as your mind races. There’s not really much you can do at this point. The place you got Lia’s ring custom made at is already closed at this time of day, and your girlfriend deserves something better than a last minute generic engagement ring. 

A flash of blonde enters your peripheral just as you make your decision.

“Okay. I think I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh I’ve been looking for you guys--”

“Now’s not a good time, Less,” you wave your sister off, not even bothering to pay her any attention. “Okay Kyra, listen closely because I won’t repeat myself.”

The younger girl nods, determination painted all over her features. 

“I’ll cancel the reservations. That’ll buy me a couple days.”

“Guys--”

“Less. Not a good time,” You repeat, shuffling to turn your back to her to ensure Alessia can’t interrupt again. “The jeweler still has the plans I sent him. I can probably get Gio and Luca to lend me some money, but you have to find where you stashed that ring, Kyra. It wasn’t cheap.”

“About the ring--”

“Not now Alessia!” This time your and Kyra’s voices blend together, neither of you willing to give Alessia a minute of your days. 

She lets out an offended huff and you have half a mind to just strangle her right here and now, your mother’s feelings be damned. 

Gritting your teeth you turn around, not really happy to have to find out what your sister wants. She has free reign to bother you at any minute of any day but why was she so insistent on doing so right now? “What could possibly be so important, you impatient piece of--”

You cut off suddenly, eyes doubling in size when you look down at her hands. 

There’s a velvet box clutched between her perfectly manicured nails, the tiny thing sitting there like it’s mocking you for losing your temper earlier. 

“That’s my--”

“The ring! But-- but--”

“Where’d you find it?”

“Oh god, Lessi I could kiss you, you just saved my ass--” Kyra breaks off, something clicking in her brain. “Wait, where did you find it?”

There’s a slight pause as you wait for Alessia’s answer. 

“Err… so funny story.” She blows out a breath of air, trying her best to look nonchalant. “I might have been-- actually Kyra hid…” Alessia fidgets, not liking the crease that was growing deeper and deeper between your brows. “IwantedtoprankKyraaftersheprankedmesoItooktheringthelasttimeIvisited.”

She slams her mouth shut the second the words are uttered, but no one says a word. 

An uncomfortable tension settles into the room and Alessia does her best not to wilt to the ground. 

You stare at her.

Kyra stares at her.

Alessia stares at a spot past your faces, nervously shuffling under the weight of your gazes.

There’s no mistaking icy stare or the clenched jaw that proved you caught every word of her fastball confession. 

“You… What?” There’s an edge to your voice, a tone Alessia rarely was at the end of growing up, but one that she recognizes all the same. The order there is clear, but Alessia’s not so sure she wants to repeat herself out of self preservation.

She shrinks, suddenly wishing she wasn’t so tall. “Um. Well. So Kyra hid my earrings the other day, and I, uh, I thought hiding this would be a funny way to prank her back?” Alessia cringes, not liking the way this all sounds now that she’s saying it out loud. “But judging by the looks on your faces, I’m going to say otherwise.”

Your nose flares but that’s the only response she’s given. 

Kyra looks grumpy, probably the result of taking your misplaced anger from earlier. 

You hold out your hand.

No words are exchanged but Alessia is quick to drop the box into your hand. 

Just as quick as she darts forward to do so, she jumps back, shoving her now empty hands into her pockets. 

“See, no hurt no foul, right?”

Crickets. 

That’s all Alessia hears as she nervously chuckles. 

Neither you nor Kyra have moved, faces giving nothing away. 

At least not until you call the Australian’s name calmly, eyes never leaving your sister’s.

Alessia watches as the two of you slowly peel away from each other. Her eyes keep darting between the two of you, feeling more and more like prey that’s being stalked as the seconds tick by. “Guys, c’mon–”

“Remember how I told you to play nice with my only sister?”

Kyra’s frowning. It’s probably supposed to come off frightening but she looks too much like a kicked dog for it to really do too much.

But the look on your face… yeah, that was intimidating enough for the two of you.

“Forget everything I’ve ever said. I don’t have a sister.”

Alessia gulps.

“Get her.”

She bolts.

[roronoacherries]

zoro with a bookworm s/o ♡

you can always count on zoro to listen to you ramble about a book you’ve just finished. the second you’ve closed a book and (half) collected yourself, you search the ship for him.

he never needs to hear what you’re coming to tell him; he already knows, from the pleasant urgency of your step; the smile, not on your lips, but in your eyes; the bite of your lip as you try to contain the emotions threatening to spill out of you before you’ve managed to say a word.

you don’t slow down until you’ve stopped in front of him, your hands on either side of his face as you breathe out the words, “i finished.”

“did ya?” he says softly, in feigned surprised, a brow raised as a smirk settles on his lips in admiration of his bookish lover. “tell me about it.”

he doesn’t understand it at all, your love for books and fiction. he starts to yawn a sentence into any book he opens. he’ll admit to you (and only you) that he struggles to make sense of the characters on a paper, but even if reading came easier to him the world of stories was never one he felt a want to get lost in. not unless he could hear them from you.

he’d ask you questions. he’d hate the characters you hated, and when you talked about the ones you loved, nothing could keep his eyes from you. he’d hold in a playful laugh when you cried about a character’s death, without ever making you feel silly for it.

zoro would let you talk for as long as you wanted, not once getting bored (or at least, never showing it). he’d let you sit with him, resting on his arm, when you didn’t want to read in solace; listen to you read out loud to him when there was a part you loved so much you needed him to hear it too; stretching his arm around you when you held your breath, holding in a sob as you silently struggled through a tragic chapter.

if there’s a book in particular you love more dearly than any other, he’d make a genuine effort to read it himself (and does—because if zoro sets out to do something, especially for someone he loves, you can trust he’ll get it done). it’d be without your knowing, at first, struggling through the first chapters until he couldn’t quite put it down anymore, and only telling you he’d been reading it by asking you about the foolish thing he couldn’t believe a character had been stupid enough to do.

“you’re reading this?” you’d ask, unable to help the flutter you felt in your heart.

“answer the question, y/n.”

and if your ambition is to write a novel of your own, he’d be with you every step of the way. there to listen to your ideas. there to be blunt and honest when you needed it. there to ask the questions you didn’t think of. there to keep you quiet company while you wrote, and there to force you into bed when a creative madness had you fighting to keep your head upright and your eyes open.

he’d carry you to bed, tucking you in while you mumbled about needing to get this scene right, and even if he doesn’t quite get your love of stories, he’d be ever so grateful that you are an invaluable part of his.

[cinnamanz]

# MAMMA MIA — chapter twenty-seven!

there’s always been one rule in the group: don’t bring up y/n. no one really knows why, but it’s clear sophia would rather leave her ex-best friend in the past. once inseparable, their friendship dissolved after a summer camp that no one talks about, and y/n vanished, moving god-knows-where without so much as a goodbye. some say it was a fight. others say it was something more. only sophia knows the truth—or maybe not even she does. now, as the third year at dream academy begins, sophia is blindsided by y/n's unexpected return. gone is the familiar, easygoing childhood bestfriend she remembers. in her place is someone sharper, colder, and—unfortunately for sophia—hotter than ever. (who gave her the permission to look so fine?)

wc: 390

AWKWARD

Y/N STOOD BY THE FRONT DOOR, arms crossed, watching as sophia and her brothers hauled their bags inside. her expression was unreadable, eyes flicking over sophia for a brief second before shifting away like she was nothing more than another suitcase being dragged across the hardwood floor.

sophia wanted to say something. had been thinking about saying something since she first saw y/n standing there, indifferent as ever. but with the way y/n held herself—closed off, uninterested, like she didn’t even care that they were going to be stuck under the same roof—sophia hesitated.

still, the silence was unbearable. so she tried.

before she could, y/n stepped forward, eyes scanning the pile of bags. without a word, she reached for the largest one—sophia’s overstuffed duffel, the one that made her arms ache just carrying it inside—and hoisted it onto her shoulder like it weighed nothing.

"you’re upstairs," y/n muttered, already turning toward the staircase. "follow me."

sophia blinked, surprised, then adjusted the strap of her remaining bag and followed.

the walk up was tense. y/n didn’t look back. sophia didn’t try to make conversation. not yet.

when they reached the top, y/n nudged open the door to the master bedroom, stepping aside to let sophia pass before setting the duffel down at the foot of the bed without a word.

"this is yours?" sophia asked, half expecting y/n to say yes.

y/n shook her head. "guest room. my room’s next door."

sophia nodded slowly, pressing her lips together. she should let y/n go. should let her disappear behind the next door over and pretend this whole situation wasn’t weird.

but before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "your bass playing earlier. it was good. really good." sophia mentally face palmed at how giddy she'd sounded

y/n paused, hand still on the doorframe. she glanced back, expression unreadable.

"and," sophia continued, clearing her throat, "your acting too. at the fundraiser. your roma was—uh—phenomenal."

a flicker of something passed through y/n’s eyes, too quick to catch. but her face remained impassive. "thanks," she said, flat, almost dismissive.

then she turned on her heel, disappearing into her room without another word. sophia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. awkward. this was going to be so awkward.

masterlist ✮⋆｡˚📽️ next

FUCK YELLOWJACKETS ALL THAT SHOW EVER DOES IS BRING ME PAIN I AM IN MOURNING FUCKKKKKKK anyway . GUYS I SAW BILLIE EILISH LIVE 2 DAYS AGO IM GNA COMBUST my sophia pc was there too nd she saw billie eilish live what a lucky pc. also this was quite a lot of stuff on one chap so js ignore that LAWL

@zindoriyo @goofymickeyr @saysirhc @kathleenmikaelson @soobnotfound @jjjaliyah @meganskiendielsbtc @magixpracticality @phamapple @sed7ction @1luvkarina @linnnsworld @hotluvlet @bauzer @saranglasses @kkoga @chaesitonmyface @arihiu @peanutbutterlover05 @kristalag @ssamlovr @sunshinez4 @meiyaes @solentient @jsxjmn @reey0w @vrtualstar @justtluvrr @fruityg0rl @cyberbonesworld @haerinkisser @lafortezalover @cassiespoiler @skz-xii @ninguitar @kimminjswife @yeetaberry127 @p1hbrook @hazel-tanthamore22 @caitlynglazer @minjvers @tormaa1 @nwjnsloona @itzkatflixs @namojoon @falling-intoo-deep @waitsobs @nyssalvr @blushmimi @cindergorge TAGLIST CLOSED

[honeyhae-svt]

(🧸ྀི)🖇 ༘ ⋆"My Brother's Bestfriend"

' ╰┈ 'who would've thought you'd end up in a tangled mess with your brother's bestfriend?'

' .☘︎ ݁˖' '원우 x f!reader

🎧ྀི 'ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Home (Seventeen) ♫⋆₊˚ ﾟ. 'ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ genre / tags: fluff, light angst, smut, established relationship, doting!boyfriend wonwoo, slightly possessive!wonwoo, light comedy, soft but intense makeout sessions, lap-sitting & straddling, emotional intimacy, domestic sweetness, wonwoo being obsessed with reader™, mild tension but nothing too serious, clingy!wonwoo (unintentionally), wonwoo official lipstick tester & lip plumper ੈ✩‧₊˚ warnings: NSFW WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT ! wonwoo being so whipped it's unfair, excessive cuteness & boyfriend material behavior, a little bit of yearning ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ nsfw warnings: oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, overstimulation, semi-public sex, reader doesn't get pregnant, heavy & passionate makeout sessions, straddling wonwoo’s lap, deep kissing, light grinding, soft!but still kind of desperate!wonwoo, possessive whispers, needy touches, some lip biting, breathy moans, heated tension but still very loving ੈ✩‧₊˚ wc: 11,809 ੈ♡ a/n: i'm never going to shut up about wonwoo fics. i love this one and yeah, it's my favorite now. i don't even know if i want to end it, so i made a part two cause i love this way too much. if you don't like it, DON'T READ>>>don't steal my happiness.

It was a Friday—a perfect day to go outside, breathe in the fresh air, and maybe even touch some grass. But Wonwoo? He was planted in his chair, fingers flying over his keyboard, eyes locked on his screen as he dove deeper into his game. Sunlight streamed through his window, but he barely noticed. His entire focus was on his mission.

Then, of course, his phone rang.

The sudden vibration made him flinch, just in time for his in-game character to take a fatal hit. A sigh slipped past his lips, long and resigned, as the screen dimmed to black. Game over.

Annoyed, he reached for his phone without checking the caller ID. "What."

"Hey, Wonwoo!" Mingyu's voice rang through, far too cheerful for his liking. "You remember that money you owe me?"

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. "I paid you back."

"Yeah, like, half. You still owe me ₩103,000."

Wonwoo scowled. "What do you want, Mingyu?"

"I'll cancel the debt if you pick up my sister from her hagwon."

Wonwoo blinked. He could practically see Mingyu's smug face through the phone. "...Are you serious?"

"Dead serious. Think of it as a fair trade. You get out of debt, and I don't have to leave my photoshoot early. Win-win, right?"

Wonwoo exhaled sharply, glancing at the gaming laptop he had been saving up for. A hundred thousand won wasn't something he could just brush off. And really, what was so hard about picking someone up? He'd just drive there, wait, and drop her off. No big deal.

"Fine. Send me the details."

"Knew I could count on you!" Mingyu cackled before promptly hanging up.

Wonwoo stared at his phone, regretting everything.

Later that evening, Wonwoo pulled up in front of the hagwon (cram school), resting his arm on the window frame as he scrolled mindlessly through his phone. The street was packed—students flooding out, parents calling names, engines revving. He ignored all of it, his attention on the notifications lighting up his screen.

A knock on the window pulled him out of his trance. He looked up.

There you were, bright-eyed and smiling. Mingyu's sister. You had the same features as him, Mingyu was handsome, there was no second guessing you'd be really pretty as well.

It really runs on the family huh, but your energy was a complete contrast. Where Mingyu was overbearing, you seemed naturally lighthearted.

Wonwoo unlocked the door, watching as you slipped inside. "Hey, thanks for picking me up! I could've taken the bus, but this is definitely an upgrade."

He put his phone down and shifted into drive. "Mingyu made me."

"Obviously." You laughed, buckling your seatbelt. "If it were up to you, you'd rather be home playing some game, right?"

Wonwoo glanced at you briefly before focusing back on the road. "...Something like that."

You stretched out in the passenger seat, completely unfazed by his short responses. "Figures. My brother said you never leave your house unless it's life or death."

"He exaggerates. I go out when I need to."

"Mmm-hmm. Like now?"

"Like now."

You laughed again, shaking your head. "Unbelievable."

You both drove in silence for a bit, though it wasn't uncomfortable. You hummed softly to whatever song played on the radio, while Wonwoo kept his eyes on the road, appreciating the fact that you weren't forcing conversation.

Then, after a few minutes, you turned to him. "So, what's the real reason Mingyu couldn't pick me up?"

"I told you. Photoshoot."

You raised a brow. "And you believe that?"

Wonwoo hesitated, then shrugged. "Not really, but it's not my problem."

You grinned. "Smart man."

He smirked slightly but didn't comment.

When you pulled up in front of your house, you unbuckled your seatbelt and turned to him with an easygoing smile. "Thanks again, Wonwoo. I owe you one."

"No, you don't. Mingyu does."

You laughed. "True. But still, I appreciate it."

Wonwoo just gave a small nod. "It's fine."

As you stepped out of the car, you waved. "See you around!"

He didn't respond, but after you disappeared into the house, he lingered for a second longer than necessary before finally driving off.

Maybe the day hadn't been a total waste after all.

A couple of days later, Mingyu called Wonwoo again, but this time it wasn't for any money or favor. Instead, he was inviting him over to his apartment for a casual hangout.

"Yo, you coming? I'm having a few friends over tonight, including Joshua, Seungkwan, Vernon, and Minghao. It's nothing special, just wanted to hang out."

Wonwoo was about to decline—he had a ton of work to do—but then Mingyu dropped the one detail that made him reconsider.

"Oh, and my sister will be here too. She's staying with me for the weekend, so I figured you could catch up with her."

Wonwoo didn't immediately respond. It wasn't the idea of seeing Mingyu's sister that stopped him—it was more the fact that he wasn't entirely sure how to act around you yet. The two of you hadn't really had a chance to talk much after that brief car ride. He had no idea what you'd be like outside of that moment, and Mingyu always had a way of making everything a little awkward when it came to his little sister.

"...Fine," Wonwoo finally relented, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll stop by."

When Wonwoo arrived at Mingyu's apartment, the atmosphere was relaxed. Joshua was already lounging on the couch, casually scrolling through his phone, and a few other friends were scattered around, chatting. Mingyu was in the kitchen, preparing snacks—probably to feed his giant appetite. The usual loud energy that always accompanied Mingyu's presence was alive in the air.

But there was no sign of you.

Wonwoo made his way to the living room, greeting Joshua with a nod, but the silence between them was noticeable. Joshua shot him a playful glance, but before they could talk much more, Mingyu called out from the kitchen.

"Yo, Wonwoo! Help me with these drinks!"

Wonwoo reluctantly walked into the kitchen, but as soon as he stepped through the doorway, he froze.

There, standing at the counter, was you—completely at ease, casually chopping vegetables as if you'd been there the whole time. You looked up at him, your eyes lighting up in surprise.

"Oh, you're here!" you exclaimed with a smile, your hands still busy at the cutting board. "I didn't think you'd be the first one to show up."

Wonwoo blinked, a bit caught off guard. He hadn't expected to see you in the kitchen, especially not so comfortable.

"You're... here?" he said, unsure of how to react. "I thought you were... uh, I don't know... staying in your room or something."

You let out a small laugh, your eyes sparkling with amusement. "I was, but then Mingyu didn't have enough snacks. He asked me to help out." You gestured to the plates you had already prepped, your movements smooth and confident, as though you'd done this a thousand times. "I figured you'd all be hungry."

Wonwoo was honestly impressed. The last time he saw you, you were cheerful and talkative, but he didn't expect this... domestic side of you. He felt a little out of place in the kitchen, but he didn't want to act awkward.

"I'm sure Mingyu can handle it," he replied, trying to mask his surprise with a nonchalant tone.

You smirked, clearly catching onto his tone. "Yeah, but I'm sure he'll make a mess of it. You know how he is." You shook your head, looking back at your brother as Mingyu popped his head around the corner, grinning.

"I heard that!" Mingyu called, sticking his tongue out before retreating back to the living room.

You chuckled at his antics before focusing back on the food you were preparing. "Anyway, I'm glad you made it. I figured we'd finally have some time to talk," you said, your voice light and welcoming, making it clear you weren't bothered by the sudden interruption.

Wonwoo nodded, still trying to shake off the initial surprise. "Yeah, I guess we never really got to chat much." He leaned against the kitchen counter, unsure of where to go from there.

"You're a bit of a man of few words, huh?" you asked with a teasing grin, raising an eyebrow as you slid the plate of veggies aside. "Mingyu always talks about how you're so quiet, but I didn't realize it was this bad."

Wonwoo gave you a half-smile, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I don't talk much unless I have to," he said, his usual dry tone creeping through.

You just laughed, the sound easy and warm, making him feel less self-conscious. "Well, I'll make sure to fill the silence then," you said cheerfully, as if you were on a mission to make him feel comfortable. "You're kind of a hard nut to crack, but I think I can manage."

The tension that had been there earlier started to melt away, and Wonwoo found himself talking a little more than he usually did. You asked him questions, talked about school, and even joked about how overprotective Mingyu could be at times. As the minutes passed, he realized how much easier it was to talk to you than he initially thought.

By the time he moved back into the living room with the snacks, there was no awkwardness between the two of you anymore. You had succeeded in doing what few could—making Wonwoo feel at ease.

A few days later, Wonwoo had stayed at Mingyu's apartment, slacking off on the sofa while playing some horror games on Mingyu's television.

"You're really bad at Identity V, Mingyu," Wonwoo teased, getting a little frustrated at how Mingyu had to be revived multiple times.

"Just switch the game already, this one's boring," Mingyu groaned, throwing the controller to the side.

Wonwoo just chuckled, not even pausing the game.

Then, the doorbell rang.

Mingyu groaned, dragging himself off the couch. "Ah, right. I forgot—my sister was dropping off some kimchi from Mom before she heads to cram school."

When you stepped inside, you flashed Mingyu a quick smile before handing him the containers. "Mom said to eat it while it's fresh."

Mingyu took them with a nod, already peeking inside. "Smells good." Then, without looking up, he asked, "You want me to drop you off at cram school?"

You shook your head. "Nah, I'll just take the bus. It's not that far."

Wonwoo, who had been watching from the couch, found himself unexpectedly... disappointed? He wasn't sure why, but he had kind of looked forward to talking to you again. You were easy to be around—bubbly, charming, and not at all fazed by his quiet nature. Not many people could handle his silence so effortlessly.

Mingyu, meanwhile, was still leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. "You sure? It's getting late."

"I'll be fine," you insisted, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. "It's just cram school, not a different planet."

Wonwoo hesitated for a second before speaking up. "Hey."

You turned toward him, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

He cleared his throat, feeling a little out of place but saying it anyway. "I can walk you."

You blinked, clearly surprised. "Oh? Why, so you can chat me up again?" you teased with a wink.

Mingyu snorted, looking between the two of you. "Since when do you offer to walk people places, Wonwoo?"

Wonwoo shot him a look but didn't bother responding. Instead, he turned back to you, waiting for your answer.

You grinned, clearly amused by the whole situation. "Alright, alright. But no awkward silences, got it?"

Wonwoo nodded, grabbing his jacket as he followed you out the door. Mingyu watched the two of you leave, shaking his head with a grin. "Well, that's new."

Mingyu leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the scene with growing amusement. Wonwoo wasn't the type to jump at social interactions, especially not when it came to people outside their usual circle. And yet, here he was, offering to walk you to hagwon like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mingyu's brows furrowed, suspicion creeping in.

No way. Does Wonwoo... like my sister?

The thought nearly made him laugh out loud. He knew Wonwoo well—too well, in fact. His best friend wasn't the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve, let alone make some grand romantic gesture. But still, the way he lingered, the way his gaze flickered toward you, even the fact that he was putting in the effort to talk—something was definitely up.

Mingyu smirked, but he kept his mouth shut. For now.

"So," he drawled, pushing off the doorway, "you two gonna be alright?"

Wonwoo shot him a look, equal parts unimpressed and knowing. Meanwhile, you just rolled your eyes. "We'll survive, Gyu."

Mingyu chuckled. "Alright, alright. Have fun, lovebirds."

"Bye, Mingyu," you deadpanned, grabbing Wonwoo's wrist and tugging him down the hallway before your brother could say anything else. Wonwoo barely had time to process it before he was matching your pace, hands stuffed into his pockets.

The air between you was light, easy. You glanced up at him with a grin. "Didn't think I'd ever get you to walk me to hagwon. Kinda fun, huh?"

Wonwoo huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Not what I expected to be doing today, that's for sure."

You nudged him lightly. "What, hanging out with me is that bad?"

He glanced at you—really looked this time. You were different from Mingyu's usual crowd. Where his friends were loud and chaotic, you had this effortless energy that didn't demand anything from him. You just... talked, and somehow, he found himself talking back. It was weird, but not in a bad way.

"You're different," you mused, tilting your head. "I mean, I knew you were quiet, but you're not as... closed off as I thought you'd be."

Wonwoo smirked slightly, gaze forward. "I'm still quiet."

"Mm, not with me," you pointed out, eyes twinkling. "Why's that?"

Wonwoo hesitated, not because he didn't have an answer, but because he wasn't sure how to say it. Instead, he settled for the truth, plain and simple. "I don't feel like I have to try so hard with you."

Your steps slowed just slightly, your expression softening. "Huh. That's kinda nice."

He exhaled a small chuckle. "Guess you're a special case."

"Ooo, so I'm special?" you teased.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," he muttered, but the faint smile on his face gave him away.

The conversation drifted into easier topics, laughter and playful jabs exchanged as the hagwon came into view. Wonwoo still didn't know what exactly made him want to be around you, but he didn't mind figuring it out along the way.

Meanwhile, back at the apartment, Mingyu leaned against the window, watching the two of you disappear into the distance.

Yeah, something was definitely up.

And as your older brother, he was gonna keep an eye on it.

A few days after that walk, Wonwoo found himself running into you more often than he expected. At first, it was innocent enough—quick encounters while he was out running errands or grabbing coffee with Mingyu. But soon, those moments stretched longer, turning into something he actually started looking forward to.

It didn't help that teasing you had become his new favorite pastime.

You'd be minding your own business, walking down the hallway in Mingyu's apartment building, when suddenly, you'd sense a presence behind you. Turning around, you'd find Wonwoo leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk playing at his lips.

"Going somewhere, princess?"

The nickname never failed to make you flush, though you'd gotten better at rolling your eyes in response. Still, it was the way he said it—so effortlessly teasing—that made your stomach flip, like you were missing the punchline to some inside joke.

At first, you chalked it up to friendly chatter. But the more it happened, the harder it became to tell if he was just being playful or if there was something else beneath it.

Then came the café incident.

You were sitting with your friends, chatting about classes, when one of them suddenly perked up, nodding toward the entrance. "Hey, isn't that your boyfriend?"

You blinked in confusion, following their gaze—only for your breath to catch slightly when you saw Wonwoo stepping inside, exuding that quiet, effortless confidence he always carried.

"What? No way," you sputtered, your voice catching as you waved off the idea.

Your friends exchanged knowing looks. "Come on, we've seen you two together all the time lately," one of them pointed out. "And let's be real, you'd make a cute couple."

Your face went hot. "He's not my boyfriend!"

"Then why do you look so guilty?" Another friend smirked.

Before you could form a coherent response, Wonwoo approached the table, sliding into the seat next to you as if he belonged there. "What's all this talk about me?" he asked, his deep voice laced with amusement.

"Nothing!" You nearly choked on the word, sitting up straighter.

Your friends weren't buying it. "We were just saying how cute you two look together," one of them supplied, grinning mischievously.

Wonwoo, the absolute menace, didn't even flinch. Instead, he leaned back lazily, his lips curving into that smirk that made your heart stutter. "Cute, huh?" he mused. Then, with a glance in your direction, he added, "She's already shy around me. You think she'd survive being my girlfriend?"

You gawked at him. "Wonwoo!"

He chuckled, clearly enjoying the way you flustered so easily. "Relax," he murmured, leaning in slightly, just enough to send your brain into overdrive. "I'm just helping you out. You should be thanking me for making you so popular."

You shot him a glare, but your friends were eating it up, laughing as they nudged each other. "Honestly, you two are like an old married couple already."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, half-expecting the ground to swallow you whole. Meanwhile, Wonwoo looked way too pleased with himself, the playful glint in his eyes only growing stronger.

And from that day on, it only got worse.

Every time he ran into you, your friends' words echoed in your mind, making you hyperaware of every smirk, every lingering glance, every low chuckle. You weren't sure if it was all just a joke to him, but the real problem was—you were starting to hope it wasn't.

Because, teasing aside, there was something about the way he looked at you lately. Something softer, something unreadable. And that? That was the most confusing part of all.

Over the next few days, it became a pattern—these little run-ins, the teasing, the way Wonwoo always seemed to appear right when you thought you'd get a break from his smug remarks. If you were being honest, it was starting to feel less like coincidence and more like... something else.

Like right now.

You had just finished your class at the hagwon and were walking home when you heard footsteps behind you. At first, you didn't think much of it. But then—

"Hey, princess."

You nearly tripped over your own feet. Whipping around, you found Wonwoo standing there, hands in his pockets, looking entirely too smug.

"Seriously?" you huffed. "Do you have a tracker on me or something?"

He chuckled, falling into step beside you. "Nah. Just good timing."

"Suspicious timing," you muttered under your breath.

He grinned. "What, you don't like seeing me?"

You opened your mouth, ready to give a snarky reply, but the words stuck in your throat. Because, truthfully, you did like seeing him. You liked how he always managed to sneak into your day, turning normal moments into something else—something charged with a kind of tension you weren't sure how to handle yet.

But you weren't about to admit that.

"Did you just happen to be in the area, or are you stalking me now?" you teased instead, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

Wonwoo made a thoughtful sound, tilting his head. "Hmm. I guess I should start charging for my services if I'm going to be your personal bodyguard."

You rolled your eyes. "Bodyguard? Please. What are you protecting me from? My own two feet?"

He smirked. "You almost tripped earlier. Maybe you do need me."

Your mouth opened, then closed. He had a point, but you weren't going to let him have the satisfaction of winning this round. Instead, you crossed your arms and shot him a playful glare.

"You're insufferable, you know that?"

"And yet, here we are," he mused, his voice low, almost amused. "Walking home together. Again."

You faltered. There was something about the way he said it—like he was reminding you that these weren't just coincidences anymore. That maybe, just maybe, he was seeking you out just as much as you were looking forward to seeing him.

The thought made warmth creep up your neck.

The walk continued, the air between you shifting—still lighthearted, but tinged with something heavier, something unspoken. At some point, you felt the faintest brush of his hand against yours. It was barely anything, just a fleeting touch, but it sent a jolt up your spine.

You glanced at him, half-expecting him to be smirking at your reaction, but instead, Wonwoo was looking ahead, his expression unreadable.

The silence stretched between you for a beat too long.

"You're quieter than usual," you finally said, your voice softer now.

Wonwoo hummed, glancing at you. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

He hesitated, then shrugged. "You."

Your breath hitched. You blinked, caught completely off guard by the casual way he said it—like it wasn't something that would send your heart into a tailspin.

He must've noticed your reaction because his lips twitched into something close to a smirk. "Surprised?"

You scoffed, desperate to regain some control over the conversation. "You say that like I should just expect it."

"Maybe you should," he said, voice smooth, teasing, but with a weight behind it that made your stomach flip.

And just like that, the game between you shifted. It wasn't just harmless teasing anymore. It was charged, loaded with something more than just playful.

You were in trouble.

And worse? You weren't sure you minded.

Wonwoo should've seen it coming.

He was halfway through his iced americano when Mingyu—who had been rambling about his fantasy basketball team for the past fifteen minutes—suddenly leaned forward with a serious look. The shift in his tone was so abrupt that Wonwoo nearly choked on his drink.

"Don't date my sister."

Wonwoo blinked. "...Huh?"

Mingyu crossed his arms, leveling him with a look that was rare for him—stern, like he wasn't just joking around. "I'm serious. I know how you are, Wonwoo."

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. "How am I?"

"You don't do relationships," Mingyu shot back. "You flirt, you have fun, and then—poof—you're gone."

"That's not true," Wonwoo muttered, looking away.

"Dude. Jiwoo? Jiekyo? Mijin?" Mingyu listed off names, counting on his fingers. "You get bored too easily. My sister's not just some girl you can play around with."

That one stung.

Wonwoo clicked his tongue, tapping his fingers against his coffee cup. "You make me sound like some heartless asshole."

Mingyu exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I'm not saying you're a bad guy. I know you, Wonwoo. You just... don't take these things seriously. And I don't want her getting hurt because she thinks you do."

Wonwoo didn't answer. He could argue—say that things were different this time, that maybe he didn't know why, but the usual rules didn't seem to apply whenever you were involved. But he also knew Mingyu had a point.

Did he even know what he was doing?

Mingyu must've taken his silence as agreement because he nodded, looking satisfied. "Good. I just wanted to clear that up."

And that should've been the end of it.

Except... you had other plans.

The problem was, you were very aware of Wonwoo's usual avoidance tactics. And yet, despite Mingyu's warning (which you totally overheard, thank you very much), you weren't about to back off. If anything, it made things more fun.

So, naturally, you decided to corner Wonwoo after one of his gym sessions.

You found him outside, sitting on a bench, scrolling through his phone like he wasn't sweating buckets from lifting weights for an hour.

"Hey," you greeted, plopping down beside him.

He glanced at you, then back at his phone. "Hey."

Silence.

You smirked. "You're avoiding me."

His thumb hovered over the screen. "No, I'm not."

"You so are." You leaned in, trying to peek at his phone. "What, are you texting my brother to report my suspicious activities?"

He sighed, locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket. "Your brother would kill me if he knew we were talking right now."

You tilted your head. "Funny, I don't see Mingyu around."

He shot you a flat look. "That's not the point."

"You're acting like he owns me or something," you teased, nudging his arm with your shoulder. "What, are you scared of him?"

Wonwoo exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "It's not about that—"

"Then what's it about?"

He paused.

You took the chance to scoot closer. "Let me guess," you hummed, tapping your chin dramatically. "You think you'll break my heart? That you'll flirt, we'll have fun, and then poof—you're gone?"

Wonwoo visibly stiffened.

Bingo.

You grinned. "What if I told you I like a little risk?"

He groaned. "Don't say stuff like that."

"Why? Is it making things harder for you?"

He looked at you then, really looked at you—like he was trying to figure out if you were messing with him or if you actually meant it. And that's when you knew you had him.

"Relax, Wonwoo," you said, leaning back with a smug smile. "I just wanna grab coffee. Not a wedding ring."

He exhaled, shaking his head, but you caught the small smirk tugging at his lips. "You're impossible."

"And you are running out of excuses."

He stared at you for another beat before groaning, rubbing his face like you were the biggest headache of his life. Then—finally—he let out a short laugh, shaking his head.

"Fine," he muttered. "One coffee."

Your grin widened. "I knew you liked me."

"Shut up."

And just like that, the game was back on.

You should've known.

One coffee turned into another. Then into late-night calls. Then into hanging out at Wonwoo's apartment, always under the pretense of studying or just chilling.

Which was a huge lie. Because, really, what kind of studying involved Wonwoo's knee pressed against yours, his fingers grazing yours every few minutes, and him murmuring things in that low voice that made your brain short-circuit?

The worst part? He knew what he was doing.

And the proof?

Right now.

You were hanging out at his place after a long day, claiming his couch like it was yours while he sat beside you. Some dumb multiplayer game was on the screen, and you were so sure you were winning.

Until Wonwoo conveniently lost at the very last second.

"You're so bad at this," you teased, laughing as you nudged his arm.

Wonwoo, who had been sitting back lazily just seconds ago, suddenly leaned forward. "You made me lose on purpose."

You gasped dramatically. "How dare you accuse me—"

Before you could finish, he moved.

Fast.

One second you were playfully bickering, and the next? You were flat on your back, pressed against the couch, with Wonwoo hovering above you—his hands trapping you on either side of your head.

Your brain short-circuited.

"W-Wait—"

Wonwoo's knee nudged between your thighs, pressing down just enough to make you hyperaware of every single point of contact between you. The air shifted, playful teasing melting into something heavier.

Something that made your skin burn.

The way he looked at you—half-lidded eyes roaming over your face, his smirk growing as he took in your reaction—made your stomach twist into knots.

The corner of his lips curled. "What's wrong?"

Your throat was so dry. "You're—you're too close."

He hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Am I?"

And then—because this man had no mercy—he dipped even lower, his nose brushing against yours as he whispered against your lips,

"You started this."

A second later, his lips crashed onto yours.

Soft but demanding, like he had been holding himself back for too long. His hands slipped down, gripping your waist, fingers digging into your sides as he pulled you impossibly close. The kiss was slow at first—just a gentle press of lips—but then Wonwoo tilted his head, deepening it, his mouth moving against yours with a languid, intoxicating rhythm.

You melted.

Your hands, which had been gripping onto his hoodie for dear life, moved on their own—one slipping into his hair, tugging slightly. The groan he let out against your lips sent a shockwave down your spine.

Wonwoo's hands moved lower, resting on your thighs before effortlessly pulling you up onto his lap.

The sudden shift made you gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself. But before you could even think, his lips found yours again, this time more urgent, more needy.

And you?

You couldn't even pretend to fight it.

Because Wonwoo kissed like he meant it. Like he was making up for all the stolen glances, the teasing touches, the lingering tension that had built up between you for weeks.

And you let him.

Because, honestly?

You wanted it just as much.

From that night on, it was impossible to pretend you weren't completely wrapped around each other's fingers.

Sure, Mingyu didn't know yet, but Wonwoo made it really hard to act normal.

Like when he'd pick you up from hagwon (cram school) at night, leaning against his car like some effortlessly hot drama lead, hands in his pockets, waiting for you. And when you walked up, flustered and mumbling about how someone might see?

He'd just smirk and lean down, murmuring, "Let them."

Or when he'd help you study at the library but deliberately lean in too close—his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "You're not focusing."

As if he was helping??

And the worst part? He loved seeing you flustered.

Like the time he casually pulled you into an empty library aisle, tilted your chin up, and kissed you right then and there.

"You keep getting distracted," he murmured against your lips, eyes gleaming with amusement.

And you?? You just stood there, clutching your book like your life depended on it.

But hey. What Mingyu doesn't know won't kill him, right?

...Right?

---

Honestly, you and Wonwoo had been too good at sneaking around.

The stolen kisses in empty library aisles. The late-night study sessions that turned into him pulling you onto his lap just to mess with you. The way he'd casually lean against his car outside your cram school, hands shoved into his hoodie, waiting like some effortlessly cool drama lead.

Y'all really thought you were slick.

Until one night.

You were saying your goodbyes outside your house, the streetlights casting a golden glow over the both of you. Wonwoo had driven you home like always, but this time, instead of the usual quick peck and see you later, he leaned in, his hands resting on your waist, his breath warm against your lips.

"You're so cute when you're nervous," he murmured before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, tilting his head just right so you felt it all the way down to your toes.

And that was the moment your soul left your body.

Because the second Wonwoo pulled away—both of you breathless, smiling like lovesick idiots—you heard it.

A slow. Dramatic. Clap.

You froze. Wonwoo froze.

And then—

"Well, well, well. Look what we have here."

Your blood ran cold.

You turned around so slowly you swore time slowed down.

And there, standing in front of the house, arms crossed, wearing the most betrayed expression you'd ever seen, was Kim Mingyu.

"Oh, shit," Wonwoo muttered under his breath.

"OH SHIT IS RIGHT, JEON WONWOO," Mingyu roared, stalking forward like an older brother about to ruin your entire existence.

You instinctively stepped in front of Wonwoo like that was gonna protect him from the absolute storm that was about to hit. "Mingyu, listen, before you freak out—"

"BEFORE I FREAK OUT???" Mingyu's voice cracked, eyes darting between you and Wonwoo. "YOU'RE KISSING MY BEST FRIEND ON OUR FRONT PORCH LIKE IT'S A K-DRAMA AND YOU WANT ME TO STAY CALM???"

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Looked at Wonwoo for help.

Wonwoo: 😬

You: 😭

Mingyu let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning to Wonwoo with the deadliest glare known to man.

"You. Follow me. NOW."

Wonwoo shot you a look—part this is it, I'm gonna die and part I regret nothing. And then he followed Mingyu inside like a man walking to his execution.

You just stood there, hands on your head, wondering if you should start preparing a eulogy.

Because one thing was certain.

Kim Mingyu was about to ruin your entire love life.

You had never paced so much in your entire life.

Standing outside your front door, you tried to listen in—tried being the keyword. But Mingyu's voice was booming from inside the house, and you could already tell from his tone that he was about to make Wonwoo regret all his life choices.

You pressed your ear against the door.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Oop. You winced. That was not a good start.

"Mingyu, calm down—" Wonwoo started, but Mingyu was having NONE of it.

"CALM DOWN? OH, SORRY, SHOULD I THROW YOU A PARTY INSTEAD? CONGRATS, YOU'RE DATING MY BABY SISTER??? BRO, I TRUSTED YOU!"

There was a pause. A deep sigh. Then:

"I told you to break up with her."

WHAT.

You slammed the door open so hard it bounced off the wall.

"EXCUSE ME??"

Both of them turned to you like deer caught in headlights.

"YOU WHAT???" you yelled, pointing at Mingyu like he'd just confessed to murder.

Mingyu blinked at you like he just realized what he said. "Uh—wait. No, that's not what I—"

Wonwoo was dying. You could see it. He was looking between the two of you, lips pressed together, trying so hard not to laugh.

You turned to Wonwoo, still pointing at Mingyu. "DID YOU KNOW THIS?"

Wonwoo immediately held his hands up. "Nope. No idea. But honestly, this is the best plot twist I've ever witnessed."

"Mingyu," you hissed, grinning like an absolute menace. "Wonwoo's a great guy. Make him break up with me and I'll never talk to you again."

Mingyu let out the loudest groan, dragging his hands down his face. "I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT. I meant—I don't know! I just didn't want you dating Wonwoo of all people!"

"Wow. Okay. Ouch," Wonwoo muttered, actually offended.

Mingyu whirled on him. "I'M SORRY, BUT DO YOU KNOW YOUR OWN HISTORY? YOU'RE A HEARTBREAKER, BRO. I'M NOT LETTING YOU BREAK MY SISTER'S HEART."

Wonwoo's face immediately darkened. "Mingyu," he said, voice low.

And just like that, the room shifted.

Because that tone? That was not Wonwoo the sarcastic asshole. That was Wonwoo the serious guy who doesn't mess around when it comes to things that matter.

Mingyu must've felt it too, because his whole demeanor changed.

"I'm not playing around with her," Wonwoo said, steady and clear. "I'm not screwing this up." His gaze flickered to you—soft, almost apologetic, like he hated that this conversation was happening in front of you.

"I like her," he continued, voice quieter now. "A lot. More than I probably should." He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "And I get it. You're looking out for her. But Mingyu, you have to know—I wouldn't start something with her if I wasn't serious about it."

...

DEAD. SILENCE.

You held your breath, watching Mingyu's expression shift.

He looked at you. Then back at Wonwoo.

Then back at you.

And then—he sighed the biggest sigh of his life.

"Ugh. Fine." He dragged a hand through his hair, groaning. "Fine. If you two wanna make out and be disgusting, whatever. But," he said, suddenly deadly serious, "if you hurt her, Wonwoo, I swear on my life—"

"I know," Wonwoo cut in, smirking. "You'll kill me."

"No," Mingyu said. "I'll make you wish I did."

WELL.

You weren't sure whether to be relieved or terrified.

But at least you and Wonwoo weren't hiding anymore.

And the best part?

Mingyu would never find out just how much sneaking around you two had already done.

Mingyu had no idea what he had just unleashed.

Because the second he begrudgingly gave his approval, Wonwoo had decided on a new mission in life:

Make. You. Flustered.

And he was very good at it.

---

EXHIBIT A: THE COUCH INCIDENT

Mingyu was in the kitchen, completely unaware of what was happening in the living room.

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch, a controller in hand, fully focused on the game—or at least, you were trying to be.

Wonwoo, on the other hand?

Oh, he was definitely not focused on the game.

He was watching you. Studying you like a predator stalking its prey.

And the moment you made a mistake in the game, he pounced.

"HAH—GOTCHA," he laughed, tackling you onto the couch.

You yelped, the controller flying out of your hands as Wonwoo pinned you down, his arms caging you in.

"W-Wonwoo—!" you stammered, wide-eyed.

"Cheaters don't deserve to win," he teased, leaning closer. His weight was warm, his cologne intoxicating, and his smirk was nothing short of sinful.

And just when you were about to absolutely combust, he dipped his head—

And kissed you.

Deep. Slow. Lingering.

Your hands fisted his hoodie, a helpless whimper slipping from your lips as he tilted his head, kissing you deeper.

His lips moved against yours like he had all the time in the world. Like this was something he'd wanted to do for so, so long.

And then—

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FU—"

MINGYU.

Mingyu. Was. Here.

You froze.

Wonwoo froze.

Mingyu's scream could have shattered glass.

"WONWOO, GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF MY SISTER RIGHT NOW."

But Wonwoo?

Wonwoo smirked.

And he didn't move.

Instead, he pressed another slow, deliberate kiss to your lips—just to spite Mingyu.

"OH MY GOD, YOU—YOU—"

You didn't even know who moved first—Wonwoo scrambling off you or Mingyu lunging at him like a wild animal.

All you knew was you were absolutely dying of embarrassment.

EXHIBIT B: THE STUDY SESSION FROM HELL

You should've known studying with Wonwoo was a terrible idea.

Not because he wasn't helpful—he was. Very helpful.

But his idea of helping you study was apparently making you flustered as hell.

You sat across from each other in the library, a pile of textbooks between you. Wonwoo was supposed to be quizzing you, but instead—

Instead, his foot nudged yours under the table.

You ignored it.

Then his foot slid up your calf.

Your breath hitched.

And when you finally looked up at him, the bastard was smirking.

"W-what?" you stammered, gripping your pen so tight you thought it would snap.

Wonwoo propped his chin on his hand, voice low and teasing.

"Nothing," he murmured. "Just wondering how long you can focus before I distract you."

Oh. Oh.

You gulped.

And then—you felt a shadow loom over you.

MINGYU.

Again. AGAIN.

His arms were crossed. His expression? A mix of pure disgust and betrayal.

"...Am I interrupting something?" he asked flatly.

You and Wonwoo both jumped apart like you'd been electrocuted.

"N-no!" you squeaked.

Mingyu's eyes narrowed.

"...Are you two seriously making out in the LIBRARY???"

Wonwoo, without missing a beat: "Wouldn't be the first time."

Mingyu died on the spot.

Mingyu was 100% sure he was living in his own personal hell.

Because every time he turned around, Wonwoo was doing something to make his little sister blush like crazy.

A hand on her waist. A whisper in her ear. A kiss on the cheek.

AND IT WAS DRIVING MINGYU INSANE.

He started setting rules.

"NO KISSING IN FRONT OF ME."

But then, Wonwoo would smirk and kiss you on the forehead instead.

"NO TOUCHING."

So Wonwoo would lace your fingers together behind his back, out of Mingyu's sight.

"NO SECRET GLANCES—OH MY GOD, I SAW THAT, YOU THINK I CAN'T SEE YOU TWO STARING AT EACH OTHER??? STOP IT. STOP IT RIGHT NOW."

Wonwoo, grinning like a menace: "I don't know what you're talking about."

Mingyu was this close to throwing himself off a cliff.

The moment Wonwoo got you alone in his apartment, there was no hesitation. The second the door clicked shut, his hands were already on you—warm, firm, desperate in a way that sent shivers up your spine. His fingers trailed along your waist, pulling you flush against him before he backed you up against the kitchen counter, his dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with something dangerous—something hungry.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he murmured, voice low and rough, the heat of his breath fanning over your lips.

Before you could answer, his lips crashed onto yours, devouring, claiming, stealing every last ounce of air from your lungs. His hands roamed, fingers sliding down the curve of your back, gripping, exploring, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. Your knees nearly buckled from the intensity, the sheer heat of it all, but Wonwoo held you firm, like he'd never let you go.

His lips trailed down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, sucking lightly until you whimpered—until he had you melting for him, hands gripping onto his shirt like you needed something to hold onto or else you'd fall apart.

"Wonwoo," you gasped when he suddenly hoisted you up onto the counter with ease, spreading your thighs so he could step between them, his hands sliding under your dress, fingers tracing the sensitive skin along the inside of your thighs.

You barely had time to react before he tilted your chin up with his fingers, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, "Tell me to stop."

But you didn't. You couldn't. Instead, you pulled him in, kissing him with all the desperation you felt in your body.

He groaned into your mouth, deep and guttural, and suddenly, the warmth of his hands was gone—but only so he could hook his fingers around your dress and unzip it, painfully slow.

The fabric slid off your shoulders, pooling around your waist as Wonwoo's eyes darkened. His fingers traced down your bare skin, mapping out every inch of you, as if memorizing the way you shivered under his touch.

Then, in one swift motion, he lifted you off the counter with ease, his lips never leaving yours as he carried you through the apartment—straight to his neatly arranged bedroom.

You barely had time to take in your surroundings before Wonwoo pinned you onto the bed, hovering over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his eyes burning into yours.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he muttered against your lips before kissing you senseless— deep, slow, and thorough, like he was savoring every second.

His lips trailed lower, down your neck, your collarbone, his hands exploring, teasing, making you squirm under his touch.

He was taking his time, driving you insane, and when his fingers finally dipped lower, teasing at the edge of your underwear, you let out a shaky breath.

"Wonwoo," you pleaded.

He smirked, dragging his lips back up to your ear. "Patience, princess."

But patience was the last thing on your mind when he finally, finally touched you.

The second his fingers slipped past the band of your underwear, featherlight but deliberate, you shivered beneath him. Wonwoo took his time, tracing along your soaked heat with the slightest pressure—just enough to make you tremble, but not enough to satisfy the aching need building in your core.

He was cruel like that.

His lips brushed against your ear, his voice low, deep, and intoxicating.

"Look at you..." he murmured, dragging a single finger down your slick folds before circling your entrance—just barely pushing in. "So wet already. Is this all for me?"

Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening in his shirt.

"Wonwoo, please—"

A sharp gasp left your lips when he suddenly pushed in one finger, slow and deliberate, letting you feel every inch before curling it just right, pressing against that sensitive spot inside you.

"Please what, baby?" His smirk was dangerous, his movements even more so as he added a second finger, stretching you, filling you, setting an excruciatingly slow rhythm that made you feel helplessly desperate.

Your hips bucked instinctively, seeking more, but Wonwoo only chuckled, his free hand pressing you down against the mattress.

"Needy little thing," he muttered before dipping down to kiss you again, swallowing every whimper, every broken moan as his fingers moved faster—deeper.

You were barely holding onto reality at this point. The heat, the pleasure, the way his voice sent shivers through your spine—it was too much and not enough all at once.

Then suddenly, he was gone.

You whined at the loss, blinking up at him in frustration, but Wonwoo only chuckled as he pulled his shirt over his head—revealing his lean, toned body, his sharp jaw, his intense gaze locked onto yours like you were the only thing he could see.

"Relax, baby," he whispered, crawling back over you, caging you in beneath him. "I'm not done with you yet."

His lips trailed lower, down your neck, your chest, your stomach— his tongue and lips teasing, tasting, claiming every inch of your skin until you were gasping beneath him.

By the time he reached your soaked heat, you were already a mess—whimpering, squirming, aching for more.

And when he lowered his head between your thighs, his dark eyes flickering up to meet yours just before his tongue flicked against your most sensitive spot—

You swore you saw stars.

The first stroke of his tongue sent a full-body shudder through you, your fingers immediately tangling in his hair as he dragged the flat of his tongue along your soaked heat.

Wonwoo hummed at the taste, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you still as he set a slow, torturous rhythm—kissing, licking, sucking—his tongue swirling around your sensitive bud before flicking against it in teasing little strokes that left you gasping for air.

Your thighs trembled, threatening to close around his head, but he only chuckled against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through your already overwhelmed body.

"Already shaking, baby?" he murmured, lips brushing against your core, voice dripping with amusement and hunger. "Thought you wanted more?"

You barely had time to answer before his tongue plunged inside you, and that was it—your head fell back against the pillow, your back arching off the bed, your grip in his hair tightening as he ate you like he was starving.

Deep, slow strokes. Messy, wet kisses. His nose brushing against your clit just right.

It was filthy. It was heaven.

Wonwoo knew exactly what he was doing, and he was doing it so well it had you a whimpering, moaning mess beneath him, your legs trembling as he took his sweet time ruining you.

The heat in your stomach coiled tighter and tighter, your thighs twitching with every sinful movement of his mouth, until—

"Wonwoo—I'm—"

He didn't stop. If anything, he devoured you harder, one hand reaching up to lace his fingers with yours while the other pinned you down as you cried out, your orgasm crashing over you so hard your vision went white.

Your whole body tensed, shook, melted all at once as he licked you through it, riding out your high until you were twitching from oversensitivity.

Only then did he finally pull away, lips and chin glistening, looking up at you with dark, satisfied eyes.

"You taste so fucking good," he muttered, crawling back up, his body hot and solid against yours as he captured your lips in a messy, heated kiss—letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

And just when you thought you couldn't handle any more, you felt it.

The hard press of his cock against your thigh. Heavy. Hot. Desperate.

Wonwoo groaned against your lips, his hips grinding against you in slow, torturous drags.

"I need you, baby," he whispered against your lips, his voice wrecked with hunger, want, need.

He reached down, gripping himself, lining up against your still-throbbing heat—

"Tell me you want this."

His voice was gravelly, deep, wrecked, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your lips.

You exhaled, still dizzy, still trembling, but you knew exactly what you wanted.

"Wonwoo..." You cupped his face, brushing your lips against his, meeting his dark, burning gaze.

"I want you. All of you."

That was all he needed.

With a low, guttural groan, he pushed in—

The stretch of him had you gasping—a slow, deliberate push that filled you inch by inch, his cock dragging along your walls so deep, so hot that your nails dug into his shoulders.

Wonwoo groaned against your throat, his breath ragged as he stilled inside you for a moment—his fingers gripping your thighs tightly, almost trembling.

"Fuck—you're so tight, baby," he muttered, voice wrecked, strained, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck as he bottomed out.

The feeling was overwhelming. The stretch. The heat. The way his hips were pressed flush against yours, his cock pulsing inside you.

"You okay?" he whispered, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips.

You barely had time to answer before he rolled his hips, dragging himself out before pushing back in with a slow, deep thrust that had you moaning into his mouth.

And then he did it again. And again.

Slow. Deep. Hard.

His hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you against him with every thrust, burying himself so deep you felt him everywhere.

"You feel so fucking good," he groaned, forehead pressed against yours as his pace quickened, the slow drag of his cock turning into harder, deeper strokes.

Your body arched beneath him, chasing the friction, your legs wrapping around his waist as you gasped, whimpered, moaned, nails raking down his back as he thrust into you harder.

The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, of breathless gasps, of desperate moans.

The pleasure built fast and hot, your body tightening around him, your thighs trembling as his movements turned desperate, hungry.

"Wonwoo—" you moaned his name, voice wrecked, needy, broken.

His pace stuttered at that—his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself deeper, faster, harder, hips snapping against yours in deep, punishing thrusts.

"Say it again," he growled against your lips, his hand slipping between your bodies, fingers pressing against your sensitive clit, rubbing tight, slow circles.

"Wonwoo—oh my god—"

The heat coiled tighter, your body tensing, trembling, shattering—

And then you were falling apart.

Your orgasm crashed over you in waves, your body tightening around him as you cried out, gasping his name, trembling beneath him.

Wonwoo groaned, cursing under his breath, his thrusts turning erratic, deeper, rougher as he chased his own high—until with one final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his body shuddering as he came, moaning your name against your lips.

For a moment, the room was silent, heavy with heat, with breathless gasps, with the aftershocks of pleasure still running through both of you.

Then, slowly, he pulled out, pressing a lazy, lingering kiss to your lips, his hands still holding your body so close, so tight.

You were dazed, boneless, completely ruined.

And so was he.

Wonwoo chuckled, breathless, tucking your hair behind your ear as he smirked down at you.

"Think Mingyu's gonna kill me if he finds out?"

You groaned, shoving him playfully, but he only laughed, kissing you again, slower this time, softer.

"You're mine now, you know that, right?"

And with the way he was looking at you, you knew there was no going back.

The aftermath was warm, quiet, and dangerously comfortable. Wonwoo was still half on top of you, his body radiating heat, his breath slow and steady against your shoulder. His arm was firm around your waist, keeping you close, like he wasn't ready to let go.

"You good?" he murmured, his voice deep, low, still wrecked from what just happened.

You hummed, nuzzling closer, feeling the soft press of his lips against your forehead.

This was nice.

Too nice.

And then your phone vibrated.

Wonwoo groaned, burying his face in your neck. "Don't answer it."

But you had to. Because when you reached for it, Mingyu's name was staring back at you.

Shit.

You shot up so fast that Wonwoo barely had time to react before you were scrambling for your clothes, your heart pounding.

Wonwoo, still half-naked and looking so effortlessly wrecked, just lay there, watching you in pure amusement.

"Relax," he said, grinning like a menace. "He doesn't know you're here."

You shot him a glare, still clutching your phone like it was a ticking bomb.

"He will if I don't answer," you hissed, and before Wonwoo could make another smart remark, you swiped to pick up the call.

"Mingyu?"

"Where the hell are you?"

You froze. Shit.

Wonwoo was watching you closely now, eyes dark with amusement, but he didn't move—just propped himself up on one elbow, looking like sin itself.

You cleared your throat, desperately trying to sound normal. "I—I'm at the library."

Wonwoo bit his lip, shaking his head.

Liar.

"The library?" Mingyu sounded skeptical. "You never stay this late."

Think. Think.

"Uh, yeah, well—Wonwoo said he'd help me study," you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

The silence on the other end was deafening.

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow.

"Mingyu?" you tried again.

"You're with Wonwoo?"

Your stomach dropped.

Wonwoo, the absolute devil that he was, just grinned, running a hand through his messy hair like he wasn't literally in bed with you.

"You—" Mingyu let out a sharp exhale. "I swear to god, if that bastard tries anything—"

"Relax!" you cut in quickly, forcing out a laugh. "It's just studying."

Wonwoo snorted.

Mingyu sighed. "I don't trust him."

"Gee, thanks, Gyu," Wonwoo said loudly, just to be annoying.

You glared at him, mouthing 'shut up' before turning back to the call. "I'll be home soon, okay?"

Mingyu grumbled something under his breath but eventually let you go.

The moment you hung up, you turned to Wonwoo, scowling.

"You were not helpful."

Wonwoo only smirked, sitting up, the sheets sliding down his torso, revealing even more of his very distracting body.

"Studying, huh?" he teased.

You threw a pillow at him.

"Shut up."

Sneaking around was thrilling.

Maybe it was the risk of getting caught, or maybe it was the way Wonwoo would sneak touches when no one was looking—his fingers grazing your waist, his lips brushing your ear just to whisper the most unnecessary things.

But Mingyu was getting suspicious.

And Wonwoo? He was making it worse on purpose.

Like now.

You were sitting across from Mingyu at a café, trying to act normal, when Wonwoo slid into the seat beside you—so close that your knees bumped under the table.

"Gyu," he greeted casually, stealing a fry from Mingyu's plate.

Mingyu narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Wonwoo just shrugged, unfazed. "Saw you two and thought I'd join."

Liar.

You knew for a fact that he had been waiting outside the whole time, texting you the filthiest things under the table, just to watch you squirm.

Now, he was acting innocent.

And he was way too close.

So close that you could feel the heat of his thigh against yours, the brush of his fingers as he reached for another fry.

Mingyu was still watching him suspiciously.

And then Wonwoo did it.

His hand, sneaky as hell, slid under the table.

Onto your thigh.

You froze.

Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers pressed against your bare skin, teasing, stroking, inching higher.

You shot him a warning look, trying not to choke on your drink.

He only smirked, looking way too entertained.

Mingyu, completely unaware, was rambling about something—basketball? A movie? You weren't even listening. Because Wonwoo was dragging his fingers along the hem of your skirt, toying with it, barely slipping underneath.

You squeezed your legs shut, but it only trapped his hand there.

His gaze flickered to yours, dark, teasing.

'Relax,' his eyes seemed to say. 'Unless you want him to notice.'

You bit your lip so hard it almost hurt.

Mingyu frowned. "Why do you look weird?"

Shit.

You cleared your throat, forcing a smile. "I—I don't?"

Mingyu narrowed his eyes.

Wonwoo, the absolute menace, just chuckled and leaned back, finally pulling his hand away.

"You should eat more, princess," he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.

Your entire face burned.

And Mingyu? Oblivious.

For now.

Your voice was barely a whisper, heart pounding as you felt Wonwoo's breath against your ear.

"That's what makes it fun," he murmured, voice low, teasing.

This was dangerous. Reckless, even. But you couldn't stop yourself.

It started as a simple study session. Wonwoo had picked you up after hagwon, claiming he'd "help" you with your assignments.

Total bullshit.

Because now?

You were pressed up against the library bookshelf, the dim glow of the emergency exit light barely illuminating the mischief in his eyes.

Your breath hitched as his lips brushed over your jaw, slow, calculated. "You're so easy to mess with, princess."

You swallowed, trying to act indifferent, but your body betrayed you.

Because his hands were already on your waist, sneaking under your oversized hoodie, fingertips grazing your skin, making you shiver.

"Wonwoo," you warned, voice wobbly. "Someone might see—"

He kissed you.

Cut you off completely, swallowing any argument you might've had. It was deep, consuming, with just enough desperation to make your knees buckle.

And he knew.

He gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, pressing you harder against the shelves. You gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist instinctively.

His lips traveled down to your neck, kissing, sucking—leaving marks in places only he would see.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, earning a low groan from him.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he murmured against your skin, his voice sending heat straight to your core.

And then, his hand slipped under your skirt.

You gasped, back arching as he dragged his fingers along your soaked panties, teasing.

"Already wet for me?" he whispered, grinning when you squirmed in his grip.

"Wonwoo," you hissed.

"Shh," he hushed, lips finding yours again, muffling your soft whimpers. "Unless you want someone to catch us."

Fuck.

This was so, so wrong.

But god, it felt too good to stop.

His fingers moved against you, slow, deliberate, applying just enough pressure to make you tremble.

And then—

"Hello? Is someone there?"

A voice.

Somewhere in the library.

You froze.

Wonwoo, however?

He didn't stop.

His fingers kept moving, rubbing slow, lazy circles against your clothed heat.

"Wonwoo," you pleaded, voice barely a breath.

He just smirked.

The footsteps got closer.

Your heart pounded as Wonwoo kissed you again, swallowing your gasps as he slipped his fingers past the fabric, stroking your bare heat.

And then—

The footsteps faded.

Whoever it was, they were gone.

And you were falling apart in Wonwoo's arms.

He didn't stop until your body was trembling, until your head fell against his shoulder, until you were gripping onto his sweater like it was the only thing grounding you.

And then, finally, he pulled back.

He grinned, watching you struggle to catch your breath. His fingers—still wet from you—slid up your thigh, leaving a teasing trail.

"You were so loud, princess," he whispered against your ear. "I almost thought you wanted to get caught."

FUCK.

---

There were no fancy words, no grand declarations.

But when Wonwoo loved, he showed it in every little thing he did.

It was the way he kept your water bottle filled when you were too busy studying. The way he brought you warm meals when you forgot to eat. The way he let you borrow his headphones, knowing you liked his playlists better than yours.

Even now, as he sat in his gaming chair, his fingers absentmindedly traced circles on your bare thigh, pulling you closer onto his lap.

"You're too busy for me," you pouted, resting your chin on his shoulder as he adjusted his headset.

Wonwoo smirked, clicking a button on his keyboard. "I just spent two hours helping you study, princess. What do you mean?"

You huffed, nuzzling into his neck. "I mean, you're always playing games or working. I miss you."

His fingers paused on the keyboard.

A moment later, he let out a sigh and removed his headset, turning to face you.

"You're clingy," he teased, but the way his hands slid up your arms, the way his thumb brushed your cheek, said otherwise.

"You like it," you shot back.

He chuckled, pulling you in for a soft kiss. It was lazy, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world for you.

Maybe he did.

Because after that, he turned off his PC.

You blinked. "You're done?"

"Yeah." He stood, effortlessly carrying you to the bed. "I'd rather spend time with you."

Your heart melted.

"But your game—"

"It's just a game," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're more important."

Fuck.

That did things to you.

You clung to him tighter, burying your face in his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Wonwoo wasn't the type to say 'I love you' a hundred times a day.

But he showed it. In the way he adjusted your blanket at night. In the way he massaged your shoulders after a long study session. In the way he never let you walk on the side of the road.

And in moments like this, where he'd drop everything just to hold you.

"You don't need anything but me, right?" he whispered against your hair, voice warm, teasing.

You smiled, pulling him closer.

"Right."

You were curled up on the couch, drowning in an oversized hoodie that—surprise, surprise—smelled like Wonwoo. The weight of your laptop sat in your lap, screen glowing with the absolute horror that was your unfinished assignment.

Two thousand words. Due tomorrow. You had written ten.

A dramatic sigh left your lips as you flopped onto the cushions, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to life.

Wonwoo, who had been watching you from his desk, barely glanced up from his monitor. "You're sulking."

"You're ignoring me," you shot back, hugging a pillow.

"I'm working," he replied, but there was a teasing lilt in his voice. "And you should be too."

You groaned into the fabric. "I can't. I have no motivation."

Finally, he turned his chair around, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he studied you. His dark eyes flickered with something unreadable—fond amusement, exasperation, love, all tangled into one.

"You're acting like a baby," he murmured, but the way he got up and walked toward you said otherwise.

And then—before you could process it—he was lifting your legs and settling himself between them, pulling you into his lap with ease.

"W-Wonwoo?" you stammered, hands instinctively gripping his shoulders.

"You don't have to ask, princess," he said, voice soft, low, knowing. "I already know what you need."

Your breath hitched.

And then his lips were on your forehead—one slow, lingering kiss.

Then another on your cheek.

Then your temple.

Then your nose.

The kind of kisses that weren't just physical, but something deeper. Like he was pouring everything he felt into them without saying a single word.

Your heart felt like it would burst.

"W-Wonwoo," you whispered again, but this time, it came out softer, more delicate.

"Mm?" He hummed, resting his chin on top of your head.

You swallowed. "You're distracting me."

He let out a soft chuckle. "Good."

You wanted to be mad, but how could you be?

Especially when he wrapped his arms around you tighter, rocking you slightly, like he was trying to comfort you without even realizing it.

Like you were his whole world.

---

Wonwoo didn't like extravagant gestures.

But spoiling you? That was different.

He'd do anything to make your life easier.

Which is why, when you walked into your apartment after a long day, you stopped in your tracks at the sight of takeout containers neatly placed on the table.

Your favorite food. From your favorite restaurant.

And beside them—a brand new necklace, delicate and subtle, but undeniably expensive.

You blinked.

"Wonwoo?"

From the couch, he looked up from his book. "Yeah?"

You pointed at the table. "What is this?"

"Food," he deadpanned. "And a gift."

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms. "Why?"

He shrugged. "You had a long day."

Your heart faltered.

You took a slow step forward, staring at him. "Wonwoo, I told you not to keep buying me things."

"And I told you to stop acting like you don't love it," he murmured, flipping a page.

You huffed, but your face was already burning. "That's not the point!"

"You're so spoiled, you know that?" he said, tilting his head. "If I don't do this, you sulk."

"I do not."

"You do," he smirked, and before you could argue, he was standing up, taking slow steps toward you.

Your breath caught.

"You like being taken care of," he murmured, stopping just inches away. "And I like taking care of you."

Fuck.

Your pulse skyrocketed.

"Wonwoo," you whispered, and his hands slid up your arms, featherlight, teasing.

"Mm?"

"You're not being fair."

He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw, sending shivers down your spine.

"Neither are you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

And just like that, you melted.

Wonwoo wasn't a morning person.

But when he woke up to the empty space beside him, his eyes narrowed instantly.

You were supposed to be asleep in his arms, tangled in his sheets, where he could keep you safe and warm.

Instead—

He blinked blearily, pushing the covers off. The faint glow from your laptop illuminated your silhouette, hunched over at the desk.

"Baby?" His voice was gravelly, hoarse from sleep.

You turned, blinking at him. "Did I wake you?"

Wonwoo ran a hand through his hair, eyes flickering between you and the glowing screen.

He didn't say anything. Just stood up, walked over, and gently closed your laptop.

You gasped. "Wonwoo, I need to finish—"

"Later," he murmured, voice low, commanding. Not angry, not strict. Just firm.

You opened your mouth to protest, but then—he was lifting you effortlessly, carrying you back to bed.

"W-Wait—"

"Shh," he whispered, tucking you back under the sheets before crawling in beside you.

Then his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his bare chest, his lips grazing your shoulder.

"Come back to bed," he murmured.

You shivered. "But—"

"You can finish in the morning," he whispered, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your neck. "Just stay with me right now."

And really, how could you say no to that?

"You're exhausted. Just sleep, princess."

The dull ache in your shoulders was killing you.

It had been a long-ass day, and all you wanted to do was collapse.

But your laptop blinked back at you, merciless and taunting, deadlines creeping closer.

Wonwoo watched you silently from across the room, arms crossed, brows furrowed. You could feel his stare, heavy and knowing.

"You need to sleep," he finally murmured.

You didn't even look at him. "I'll sleep after this."

A beat of silence.

Then—before you could react—arms wrapped around you from behind, lifting you with ease.

"W-Wonwoo?! Put me down—!"

"No." Deadpan. Unbothered.

And just like that, you were in bed.

He pressed you into the pillows, throwing the blanket over you like tucking in a child.

"W-Wait—"

"You're exhausted," he muttered, climbing in beside you. "Just sleep, princess."

You tried to fight it. You really did.

But then—his arms tightened around you, his lips ghosted over your forehead, and his warmth melted into your body.

And suddenly... your eyelids were too heavy to keep open.

Damn him.

"Give me your bag, princess."

College was draining you.

You had just finished a three-hour lecture, your brain barely functioning, your bag heavy as hell.

And then—there he was.

Waiting outside, tall and gorgeous in a black hoodie and sweats, hands in his pockets, eyes softening the second he saw you.

Wonwoo, your personal chauffeur.

You sighed in relief, grateful for his presence alone.

Until—he took one look at your slouched shoulders and frowned.

"Give me your bag."

You blinked. "Huh?"

He nodded at your shoulder. "Your bag. Give it."

You clutched it instinctively. "It's not that heavy—"

Wonwoo didn't even let you finish.

He gently pried it from your grip, slinging it over his own shoulder like it weighed nothing.

"Wonwoo—"

"You looked tired, princess," he murmured, taking your hand. "Let me take care of you."

Your heart skipped a beat.

...Yeah. You weren't arguing with that.

"Sit still, princess. Let me take care of you."

You sighed in bliss, eyes fluttering shut as Wonwoo's fingers worked through your damp hair, massaging your scalp.

God, he was good at this.

His touch was gentle, slow, firm—soothing every little knot of tension you didn't even know you had.

"You're going to fall asleep," he murmured, amused.

"Mm," you hummed, barely awake, tilting your head into his hands.

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're so easy to please."

You smiled, eyes still closed. "Only when it's you."

Wonwoo paused.

And then—you felt his lips on your neck, slow and deliberate, his voice dropping into that low, teasing drawl.

"I like the way that sounds, princess."

Shit.

Suddenly, you weren't sleepy anymore.

"Stop looking at me like that, princess, or I'll take you right here."

Wonwoo knew what he was doing.

The man had zero shame when it came to making you blush, and he thrived off of it.

Which is why—when you were in the middle of a crowded restaurant, surrounded by people—he had the audacity to run his hands up your thighs under the table.

Your breath hitched.

"W-Wonwoo—"

He smirked, taking a casual sip of his drink. "Something wrong, princess?"

You shot him a glare, but your face was burning.

"I hate you," you muttered under your breath.

"Liar," he whispered back, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your skin.

You gulped, shifting in your seat. "We're in public."

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

"Stop looking at me like that, princess," he murmured, voice deep, teasing. "Or I'll take you right here."

Your breath caught.

And the worst part? You knew he meant it.

"I missed you, princess."

The night was quiet, the air cool, the city lights glowing softly through the window.

Wonwoo had been away for a few days—a work trip, nothing major—but God, you had missed him.

And apparently—he had missed you too.

Because the second he got back, he grabbed you by the waist, pulled you into his lap, and buried his face in your neck.

"You good?" you laughed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

He didn't answer.

Just... held you.

Long. Deep. Like he was soaking in your warmth, grounding himself in your presence.

And then, after a few moments—he whispered against your skin, voice low, hoarse.

"I missed you, princess."

Your heart melted.

You pressed a kiss to his temple. "I missed you too."

His arms tightened around you.

"I know."

"Stay close to me, princess."

Crowds were overwhelming.

Wonwoo didn't care about them much—he was good at blending into the background, unbothered.

But you? You were a whole different story. One talk with a stranger, you'd be friends with them almost too immediately.

Which is why—his arm was always around your waist, keeping you pressed firmly against him.

"Wonwoo, I can walk by myself, you know," you teased, looking up at him.

He just hummed, pulling you closer. "I know."

You rolled your eyes, but secretly?

You loved it.

Because as long as he was there, holding you like this, you never had to worry.

Not about getting lost.

Not about anything.

The night was warm, suffocating with tension, electric with something neither of you could fight.

It started innocent enough.

A late-night drive. The city lights flashing past. His hand on your thigh, firm, possessive, always touching.

You had been teasing him all night. Unintentionally, of course.

Or maybe not.

Because when you leaned in, whispered something soft, something sweet—

He snapped.

Before you could react, he pulled into a secluded parking lot, turned off the engine, and turned to you with dark, burning eyes.

"Out," he ordered, voice low, rough.

Your breath hitched. "Wonwoo—"

"Now, princess."

You gulped. Obeyed.

The second you stepped outside, he was on you.

He pinned you against the car, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your waist, his lips crashing into yours—hot, desperate, consuming.

"You drive me insane," he growled against your mouth, pressing his body against yours, forcing you to feel just how much you affected him.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him closer, chasing his warmth, his touch, his everything.

"I need you," you breathed, and that was all it took.

The world disappeared.

Nothing existed except him—the way his hands roamed your body, the way his lips marked your skin, the way he whispered, 'Mine. All mine.'

And when he finally—finally—gave you what you both needed, it wasn't just lust.

It was love.

Raw. Overwhelming. Unshakable.

And as he held you close, forehead pressed to yours, breath uneven but laced with affection—

You knew.

You would never belong to anyone else.

And neither would he.

Your back hit the cool metal of the car. Wonwoo's body pressed against yours, solid, burning, intoxicating.

"You've been teasing me all night," he murmured, trailing kisses down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin.

Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping when his hands slipped under your dress, fingers skimming up your thighs.

"I wasn't teasing," you whispered, but your voice betrayed you.

Wonwoo chuckled darkly. "Liar."

His fingers dipped between your legs, pressing against the heat that had been building all night.

You squirmed, gripping his hoodie, your body arching into his touch.

"Wonwoo—"

He swallowed your plea with a kiss, deep and desperate, his tongue sliding against yours, stealing every thought from your head.

"Tell me how much you want me."

Your breath hitched as he pushed your panties aside, his fingers stroking slow, deliberate circles that made your knees buckle.

"I—" You gasped, gripping his shoulders. "I want you. Please."

That was all he needed.

With one swift movement, he spun you around, pressing your front against the car, his hands exploring, teasing, making you beg.

"You love being touched like this, don't you?" he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Needy little thing."

You could barely breathe, let alone answer.

And when he finally—filled you, stretching you with a slow, deep thrust—

You shattered.

Your nails scraped against the car's surface, your moans mixing with the night air, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Wonwoo didn't stop.

Didn't slow down.

Didn't let you come down from the high before pulling you back against his chest, one hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"Open your mouth," he murmured.

You obeyed without thinking—and he kissed you, deep and messy, swallowing your moans as he drove you to the edge again.

"Mine."

His voice was a growl, his arms tightening around you, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate.

And when you finally fell apart with him, gasping, trembling, completely undone—

He didn't let you go.

He held you close, pressed kisses against your skin, whispered against your lips—

"I love you."

And for the first time, you realized—this wasn't just desire.

This was obsession.

This was forever.

The night was warm, suffocating with tension, electric with something neither of you could fight.

It started innocent enough.

A late-night drive. The city lights flashing past. His hand on your thigh, firm, possessive, always touching.

You had been teasing him all night. Unintentionally, of course.

Or maybe not.

Because when you leaned in, whispered something soft, something sweet—

He snapped.

Before you could react, he pulled into a secluded parking lot, turned off the engine, and turned to you with dark, burning eyes.

"Out," he ordered, voice low, rough.

Your breath hitched. "Wonwoo—"

"Now, princess."

You gulped. Obeyed.

The second you stepped outside, he was on you.

He pinned you against the car, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your waist, his lips crashing into yours—hot, desperate, consuming.

"You drive me insane," he growled against your mouth, pressing his body against yours, forcing you to feel just how much you affected him.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him closer, chasing his warmth, his touch, his everything.

"I need you," you breathed, and that was all it took.

The world disappeared.

Nothing existed except him—the way his hands roamed your body, the way his lips marked your skin, the way he whispered, 'Mine. All mine.'

And when he finally—finally—gave you what you both needed, it wasn't just lust.

It was love.

Raw. Overwhelming. Unshakable.

And as he held you close, forehead pressed to yours, breath uneven but laced with affection—

You knew.

You would never belong to anyone else.

And neither would he.

Your back hit the cool metal of the car. Wonwoo's body pressed against yours, solid, burning, intoxicating.

"You've been teasing me all night," he murmured, trailing kisses down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin.

Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping when his hands slipped under your dress, fingers skimming up your thighs.

"I wasn't teasing," you whispered, but your voice betrayed you.

Wonwoo chuckled darkly. "Liar."

His fingers dipped between your legs, pressing against the heat that had been building all night.

You squirmed, gripping his hoodie, your body arching into his touch.

"Wonwoo—"

He swallowed your plea with a kiss, deep and desperate, his tongue sliding against yours, stealing every thought from your head.

"Tell me how much you want me."

Your breath hitched as he pushed your panties aside, his fingers stroking slow, deliberate circles that made your knees buckle.

"I—" You gasped, gripping his shoulders. "I want you. Please."

That was all he needed.

With one swift movement, he spun you around, pressing your front against the car, his hands exploring, teasing, making you beg.

"You love being touched like this, don't you?" he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Needy little thing."

You could barely breathe, let alone answer.

And when he finally—filled you, stretching you with a slow, deep thrust—

You shattered.

Your nails scraped against the car's surface, your moans mixing with the night air, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Wonwoo didn't stop.

Didn't slow down.

Didn't let you come down from the high before pulling you back against his chest, one hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"Open your mouth," he murmured.

You obeyed without thinking—and he kissed you, deep and messy, swallowing your moans as he drove you to the edge again.

"Mine."

His voice was a growl, his arms tightening around you, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate.

And when you finally fell apart with him, gasping, trembling, completely undone—

He didn't let you go.

He held you close, pressed kisses against your skin, whispered against your lips—

"I love you."

And for the first time, you realized—this wasn't just desire.

This was obsession.

This was forever.

a/n: aeya here ! BELATED HAPPY VALENTINE'S EVERYONE ! i hoped y'all like this because if you did, i already have the part two ready. it's march, and i hope this fanfiction will make up for the long stop i've been. i'm back to being a stranger ig, but hey, count this as a celebration for my 500+ followers. i love yall sm please never stop expressing yourselves from supporting me. also, I PROMISE i will eventually get to y'alls reqs because i love yall too much mwuahhh

[milessunflowers]

This came to me in a dream but imagine.

Max Verstappen x MotoGP!male!reader. They're very similar, both started very young, they both have four championships and they're both Dutch. But Max is well, Max and reader is an absolute sweetheart and cinnamon roll.

Thank you!

just read all abt motogp and didn't realize how fucking cool it was until now so ty for that! gonna start watching it this season!

max verstappen x motogp!male!reader

synopsis: two racers, both alike in dignity, in fair motorsports, where we lay our scene- you and max are very similar in a lot of ways yet so different that you guys just make it work

author's note: motogp, i was not familiar with your game. but srsly i have to start watching bc just reading and researching on it had me so pumped up at 11:45 last night bc i forgot to rest up 😅 worth it bc AHAHAHAJDLLWWN <- that's how im feeling abt motogp. hope you like it!

you guys are so similar before you even knew each other

you both started around the same time, being the youngests to ever race in your respective sports

fans were quick to point out the parallels between the two of you

you won a good set of races (even if it's hard to do) and max was dominating the f1 world

plus you guys were both dutch

so everyone's all like "what the hell do they feed those motosports kids in the netherlands?"

you guys meet in like some random gp, maybe yours maybe his but either way a random gp

im thinking cota lowkey before daniel was booted (rip king)

so like daniel sets you guys up practically

turns out you got along amazingly, followed each other on instagram and like added each other on whatsapp and stuff

like you guys really hit off

you talk and get to know each/build a stable friendship for like a year and half before you ask him out

he says yes of course, claiming he was just about to do it and you stole his spotlight

you don't care because you are just happy to have date with someone you've come to care a lot about

you go on this date, probably to the beach because you still aren't sure what he wants to eat and when

you guys start being official shortly after

skip forward and you have won your second championship and max as one so far so you guys are out celebrating and stuff

fans spot you, ask for some pictures and notice how drastically different your personalities are

like you seem all cheery and happy all the time while max only seems to enjoy himself when he's with you or other people he likes

but they also realize how perfect you guys are and how much you counter balance each other

like one gets too overwhelmed the other is taking them home and obviously vice versa

and you guys are so so supportive

like if your bike decides not to work and you have to quit mid-race, max is there to support whether actually at the circuit or over facetime

if max has a particularly bad race, you are supporting him in anyway you can to make sure he knows how talented and amazing he is

you guys don't fight a lot, but when you do you guys are both lowkey overdramatic and realize like ten minutes later how stupid the argument was and then make up/make out over it

anyways

anytime you guys can, you support each other

like if there just happens to be the races on the same day, you make sure to tell max before and after your race how amazing and proud of him you are and max makes sure everyone knows what an amazing boyfriend you are

also championship celebrations are insane

like drunk asf, waking up sire the next day

you guys are just happy you got to celebrate them together

even if max is a little overprotective

not as much as you though, because some guy looked at max the wrong way at a bar one time and you just about punched out his lights

look, you're sweet and all but you love max and don't want people to judge that

plus you are a max defender til the day you die

you tried getting max to ride your bike that you have a home, but he almost broke his arm and you almost got berated by horner

but horner's opinion doesn't matter to you because he's horner—pretty self explanatory i think

you guys will sometimes go karting together but max always wins (you jokingly accuse him of cheating to win but he just has a cheeky smile)

its always fun because you guys really just like to battle on track

though you are less aggressive both in your motogp driving and on the kart

max, well, you guys know how max's driving is

also i feel like you would drive him around, if that makes any sense

like he screams passenger princess to me and i don't really understand it but you know what, fuck it we ball

TAGS! (if you want to be added, lmk!)

@op-81-lvr-reblogs, @koalapastries, @justaf1girl, @ghostking4m, @spoonfulofmilo, @seonghwaexile, @alex-wotton, @raizelchrysanderoctavius

[teencopandthesourwolf]

in the pool scene before the kanima shows up in 'abomination' stiles tells derek and erica about what happened at the garage then says “can i go now? there's someone i really need to talk to...” and derek just glares at him like DOES IT LOOK LIKE I'M OKAY WITH YOU LEAVING OR TALKING TO ANYBODY OTHER THAN ME IN THIS GODFORSAKEN TOWN OR YOU KNOW THE STATE OR COUNTRY OR PLANET ESPECIALLY NOT THE GIRL YOU THINK YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH NUH UH NO WAY JOSÉ YOU ARE STAYING RIGHT FUCKING HERE WHERE I CAN KEEP MY BEADY YET SEXY ALPHA EYE ON YOU AND TEASE AND TAUNT YOU RELENTLESSLY AND ENDLESDY BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO ADMIT IT BUT I'M ADDICTED TO THE WAY IT MAKES YOU ALL HUFFY AND SQUIRLY LIKE FUCK I MAKE MYSELF SICK WITH WANT THINKING ABOUT POUNCING ON YOU AND MAKING YOU MINE WITH MY MOUTH AND CLAIMING YOU WITH THE MATING BITE BECAUSE JESUS YOU SMELL BEYOND DELICIOUS AND LOOK SO UNFAIRLY GOOD WITH YOUR PALE CHEEKS PINKING UP AND YOUR LIFE-RUINING MOUTH GETTING ALL POUTY AND REDDER THAN USUAL THEN I START THINKING ABOUT HOW WE'RE BOTH SASSY AND SARCASTIC ENOUGH TO KIND OF CANCEL EACH OTHER OUT AND IF WE HUNG OUT WHO KNOWS WE MIGHT ACTUALLY HAVE SOME FUN IT'S JUST THAT I NEED A MINUTE TO GET MY SHIT TOGETHER BECAUSE I'VE GOT TO PROTECT THIS STUPID LEGACY TOWN OF MINE AND I'VE THESE DAMNED WAYWARD BETAS TO WRANGLE AND DEADLY CREATURES WITH PARALYTIC VENOM TO KILL AND NOW I'M THINKING ABOUT THIS SHIT I HAVEN'T HAD A CHANCE TO GET A NEW THERAPIST SO I CAN DEAL WITH THE TRAUMA OF MY INSANE UNCLE COMING OUT OF A COMA AND MURDERING MY SISTER AND THEN THERE'S THE WHOLE HAVEN'T HAD A DECENT NIGHT'S SLEEP IN SIX MONTHS AND THE STRESS OF ME HAVING HOLES IN LITERALLY ALL OF MY SOCKS BECAUSE WHO HAS THE TIME TO SHOP AND I STILL HAVEN'T WATCHED THE FINAL SEASON OF THE WIRE SEEING AS I DON'T HAVE A HOME ANYMORE LET ALONE A TV SET AND I'M HONESTLY A LITTLE SCARED THAT IF I STOP FOR EVEN A SECOND I'LL CRUMBLE WHEN I REALISE I'M CLINICALLY DEPRESSED SO I HAVE TO SUCK IT UP AND KEEP ACTING LIKE A MANIAC FOR A LITTLE WHILE LONGER TILL THIS CLUSTERFUCK CALMS DOWN A BIT AND THEN MAYBE JUST MAYBE I CAN TAKE A BREATH BEFORE CROWDING INTO YOU AND BACKING YOU UP AGAINST A WALL ONLY SANS THE THREAT OF ME RIPPING YOUR THROAT OUT WITH MY TEETH THIS TIME BECAUSE I KNOW I CAN PUT THEM TO BETTER USE HAVING THEM RIP OFF ALL YOUR CLOTHES INSTEAD WHICH WOULD DEFINITELY BE PRECURSED WITH A SLOPPY MAKE OUT SESSION BECAUSE I'M DYING TO LICK YOUR FACE FROM YOUR CHIN TO YOUR HAIRLINE AND GNAW ON YOUR SINFULLY PRETTY NECK AND I KNOW YOU'D BE INTO IT TOO BECAUSE YOU REEK OF DESIRE LIKE 24/7 WHENEVER I'M AROUND AND AS MUCH AS YOU PUSH ALL OF MY BUTTONS YOU'VE ALSO GOTTEN UNDER MY SKIN AND DAMMIT I LIKE BEING AROUND YOU AND YOU MIGHT EVEN LIKE BEING AROUND ME GIVEN HALF A CHANCE I SWEAR I'M USUALLY A FAIRLY CHILL GUY WHO ENJOYS SUNSETS AND LONG WALKS ON THE BEACH JUST AS MUCH AS DRIVING AT 120MPH JACKED UP ON WOLFSBANE LACED VODKA FOR REAL AND HEY PERHAPS THIS IS A LITTLE FAST BUT FUCK IT I GENUINELY THINK WE'D MAKE REALLY CUTE PUPS TOGETHER—or maybe it's just me who spotted that?

[blxxmingrose]

the pout never left sunny’s face as she waited for june’s reply, and hans felt like copying the look just to show june that he was seriously going to pull all the stops just to make him stay for another game night. but he knew sunny could pull off the look with her innocence, something he couldn’t muster up as he felt june’s hand on his back, a warm touch that sent him reeling. 

it reminded him of how close they were last night, of how they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms, and that kiss. that kiss that was both surprising and expected—like it was only a matter of time before their lips found each other. he opened his mouth to speak, but with sunny around, he couldn’t exactly convince him that there’d be more of that if he stayed, could he? 

instead, he gave him a knowing look, a secretive smile that held back what he wanted to say but gave so much away. “i think i’ve been persuasive enough,” he spoke with a quiet confidence as he poured oil onto a pan.

he looked busy with cooking, but half of his attention was on june, on how he shrugged his shoulders, how he glanced back at the living room as if he still had to make up his mind. “and i think you’ve already made up your mind,” hans added, grinning. “i mean, how could you not, when this food smells so good and sunny hasn’t even completely become the queen of uno yet?” 

there was something so magical about how things seemed to have fallen into their rightful place to lead them here, one fateful afternoon leading to another and the conversations just flowing naturally. when hans looked at his daughter, who was making a mess of the vegetable peels, he couldn’t help but wonder if some angel had guided her to bring their paths together, to bring june here in their home to make it feel warmer, brighter. to make hans feel like there was no weight on his shoulders, and that he could have fun too.

he didn’t need to just work and send sunny to school and let the days pass. he had a life too, and now, he had someone he wanted to spend it with. with a shrug of his own, he spoke in a teasing tone, “if all else fails, i could still resort to sending you loads of pictures of sunny and me playing without you and being all so brokenhearted about it until you can't take it anymore.” 

june let out a contented sigh as he leaned against the counter, watching hans work. the warmth of the kitchen, the rhythmic sound of chopping, and sunny’s playful grumbles about vegetables she refused to acknowledge made it easy to feel like this was just any other night. like this was something they had done a hundred times before, something they would do a hundred times more. and june— june let himself believe it.

he smirked at hans’ question, rolling his shoulders as if considering it. “convince me?” he echoed, pretending to mull it over. he glanced down at sunny, who was already perfecting a dramatic pout, her big eyes practically glistening with determination. he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “i don’t know. you’re both pretty persuasive, but i’m not that easy to sway.” a lie.

because the truth was, june already knew he’d be sitting in the living room again, dealing another hand of cards, pretending to take losses just to watch sunny’s victorious grin spread across her face. he knew that no matter how much he claimed he wasn’t the type for game nights, he’d still end up right here, laughing at hans’ half-hearted attempts to keep up, listening to the teasing banter that made the whole evening feel alive. but it was fun to make hans work for it.

he pushed off the counter, stepping closer until he could rest a hand lightly against hans’ back, fingers pressing just enough to let him feel it through his shirt. “what else have you got?” he challenged, voice dipping just slightly, just enough to make it obvious he was enjoying this. “because i’ve got to say, the food is a strong argument, but i’m going to need a little more.”

he stepped back before he let the thought settle too deep, before it became something he couldn’t shake off. his hands found his way into his pockets, shoulders rolling in a lazy shrug. ”i’m kidding. you two are entertaining enough. i guess i wouldn’t mind another round sometime.” he conceded, glancing back toward the living room as if he were truly debating it.

though he already knew he’d be back. he already knew there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

[psychemochanight]

I know you hate labels on them, but if you HAD to label the Robins, how would you do it?

The first one, the second one, the third one...

Ok, out of jokes-

Dick: The first one.

With all that this implies: Dick being the one who founded the bases to follow, the one who made the mistakes that he later taught to correct, the one who saw the empty spaces that others later filled. The first one who had to be everything and learn on his own.

Jason: the DC experiment.

DC DIDN'T know how to deal with Dick's exit as Robin, it's like they never really planned on letting him out, but it happened. Jason became a character of trial and error.

At first he was an exact copy of Grayson, since the first one was successful... But obviously the fans didn't want a Dick Grayson with another name. So what did they do? They gave it a twist and did the opposite... It doesn't work well either.

And instead of continuing to try (even though Jason already had a fan base by that point), they chose to "get rid of" the character and then revive him as a "blank canvas."

A character who had a lot of potential, but they didn't know how to handle him and now the most relevant thing about him is his death because DC doesn't know how to give him continuity.

Tim: the robin of the fans for the fans.

Tim is often referred to as a fandom self-insert, and honestly, it's understandable why.

It's the Robin that gave off vibes similar to the original that was the most loved at the time, but at the same time, had real characteristics that fans could identify with.

Tim is the one with the most "normal" story, he is the one who could be any civilian, the one who seems like he wasn't meant to be, but he was.

In my opinion, the one who best balanced his personality as Robin and as a civilian.

(And that the fandom decides to totally ignore haha </3)

Although DC needs to learn to let go of Tim and let him grow. At this point I think half of the fandom doesn't even know how old he is or what hero he is.

Steph: the Robin who deserves better.

I don't just mean story-wise, obviously none of the characters deserved the shit they suffered and deserve a better life... I mean in general.

The real forgotten Robin is Steph, not Tim, and I'm not going to discuss it with anyone.

They (DC) keep writing the same story over and over again, rewriting the other Robins' history (especially Dick), but never giving us more about Steph.

Give my girl her story. Just like Jason, she has so much potential, give her her moment to shine!

(although, here I have to open parentheses for this: Steph has a much more consistent story than Jason, her role is more defined, but it feels outdated at this point. And, in any case, I feel like Steph shouldn't even really be a "bat", but rather someone independent... Or similar to Nightwing at least, who doesn't wear a bat on his suit).

Damian: the one who deserves not to be Robin.

Let me clarify: "the one who deserves not to be Robin", not "the one who does not deserve to be Robin".

Damian needed to be Robin, it was the key point in his development and I think Dick did the right thing by giving him the role of Robin...

But I feel that he deserves to stop being Robin too.

I think he's going to stop being Robin? No, not with DC writing him. DC has a history of resetting their characters to a certain point, they always bring them back. I don't think they're going to release Damian soon.

But while every character deserves to have a life outside of being heroes, I feel like Damian deserves it the most out of all of them.

The others are adults who have already chosen this, but Damian is a child, a teenager by now... And letting him be something more than the one who was created to be in the underworld, I feel that is the best for him.

I think he should stop being a vigilante? I'm not that sure, but that his life should definitely NOT revolve around that.

"The mission" should not be HIS mission.

So... Yeah, that.

I'm not sure if this makes sense to you tho-

[mischievousmoony]

I’m blushing so hard at frat boy James!! What about the first time she comes over and meets the guys outside a party

hope i've done your idea justice! ty for requesting

𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎

⟢ frat boy!james potter x fem!reader ⊹ 1.9k ⟢ warnings/tags: references to drinking, technically american!james potter and american!marauders

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"It'll just take a minute," James promises. "We'll be in and out."

With his hand in yours, he leads you through the door, passing under the large Greek letters as you cross the threshold.

You have been seeing James for a month and a half. You never thought you'd be interested in a frat guy—you've never even step foot in one of their houses until now—but James has proven to be the opposite of what you thought a frat guy would be like.

James is a total sweetheart. Possibly the most thoughtful and genuine guy you've ever dated. He makes you feel special, always remembering the little things like your favorite flower or your drink orders at all your favorite places. He's attentive without ever being overbearing. But honestly, you don't think you could see him that way if you tried, always loving every bit of attention he gives you.

Today, he's taking you on a study date. He remembered that you were complaining about an upcoming exam in a class he's already taken, so he's grabbing his old notes and sitting you down in a quiet corner of the library so that he can help you study.

James would already have you set up in the library on the coziest chair with your favorite hot drink from the cafe if he didn't forget his old notebook in his room—which he felt rather sheepish about leaving behind.

So, here you are. James asked if you wanted to wait in the car, but you were curious to see the inside of one of these things. You half expected to see solo cups littering the floor, a pong table in place of a coffee table, and maybe even a few hungover frat guys strewn about the living room still sobering up from last nights antics.

You were a little surprised to find out that it was rather clean. You know from James that there was indeed a party here last night, but apparently they clean up nicely.

Although, you’re right about there being a pong table. But it is folded up and leaning against a wall for future use.

James guides you towards the stairs, but before he can even mount the first step someone appears in the foyer from a hall that you can see leads to the kitchen.

"Jamesie! Back so soon?" the boy cheers when his eyes land on his friend first. His eyes dart to you a second later, and something like recognition flashes in his expression. "Is this who I think it is?"

The boy has long, black hair that cascades just to his shoulders in soft waves, the kind that look effortless but too perfect to not be styled in some way. He stares at you with piercing blue eyes, making you feel oddly self-conscious, which might also have to do with the big smirk on his lips.

James squeezes your hand, sensing your nerves, but he'd bet money that they pale in comparison to his own. He's been nervous about bringing you around here. It doesn't have anything to do with you, or them (well, maybe he's a little worried they'll scare you off). You're really important to him, and so are they, and he's been putting a lot of pressure on introducing you to them. So, this unplanned visit has his palms sweating, which he's hoping you haven't noticed.

"Sirius," James greets his friend. "Yeah, this is Y/N."

Your eyes widen a fraction when Sirius immediately steps forward, taking your free hand to press a kiss to the back of your knuckles. "Hi, sweetheart, I've heard a lot about you. Truly, a lot. James has talked my ear off about you so I really feel like I'm meeting an old friend. I'm Sirius."

You feel heat rise to your cheeks but you're not alone, as James' own face turns rosy as he mutters a scolding "dude!" at his friend.

"Don't tell me you were just gonna sneak in without so much as a proper introduction." Sirius places a hand over his heart, a dramatic look of utter disbelief painting his face.

"We're just stopping by to get my notes. We have a very important study sesh to get to, didn't want to delay us too much," James explains, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"I promise it'll only be a short detour then. Pete and Remus are the only ones here anyway," Sirius says. His eyes dart to you again, something mischievous swimming within them. "We've all been dying to meet the girl that has our James so smitten. I mean, he's been going on and on and on. It's nice to finally have a pretty face to the name."

At Sirius’ words, you can’t help but crack a smirk as you peer up at James.

“Don’t look at me like that,” James murmurs, now rubbing his thumb across your knuckles the way he does when he gets anxious. James is sure the tips of his ears are bright red. Sirius will go to no end to embarrass him, but despite the fact that his heart might jump out of his chest at any second, James really only cares how you feel about the situation. James tilts his head toward you, lowering his voice to ask, "Are you up for meeting some of the guys?"

"Yeah," you say with a warm smile. "I'd love to meet your friends." And you really would. James talks a lot about them, too. Always reciting some story about all the shenanigans they've gotten into over the years.

You've been able to tell he's been overthinking bringing you to meet them. You get it—you're secure in James' feelings for you, so you know it's nothing personal. Plus, you were really nervous when James met your friends. To be honest, even though they were jokes, you're friends have made digs at frat guys before because of the stigma. You really wanted James and your friends to like each other, and thankfully, they really do and you had nothing to be worried about.

You hope that meeting his friends will have the same outcome and ease some of James' worries.

Sirius provides a generous introduction as you enter the kitchen. "Boys, it seems we have a very special guest in our midst this morning."

There are two guys sitting on kitchen stools who swivel around to greet you.

There's a lanky boy with mousy brown hair whose eyes dart back and forth between you and James before he directs a kind smile in your direction.

The other boy spins around mid-spoonful of a bowl of cereal. He abandons the utensil in his mouth to wave at you, his other hand occupied by the bowl resting in his palm.

Your eyes trail around the kitchen as James introduces you to them. It's rather large, as it would have to be to accommodate the large number of guys you assume live here.

You've also discovered the mess you thought you'd be stepping into. It seems that all of the discarded solo cups and beer cans have already been shoveled into a few trash bags, which are just about ready to burst at the seams as they wait by the back door to be taken out.

"I'm Peter," the boy with the cereal pipes up after returning his spoon to his bowl.

"Remus," the tall one introduces himself. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too," you say. "You know, I've never been in a frat house before. I take it you all live here?"

Remus is the only one who shakes his head. "Not a brother," he clarifies. "Just unlucky enough to have them as my best friends."

"Oh, you know you'd be lost without us," Sirius says, rolling his eyes playfully. "And it's not a frat house, it's a frat home," Sirius says very earnestly. Too add to his dramatics, he pulls Peter into a hug (which nearly makes him fall off his stool) and raps his fist against his back as he pretends to get emotional.

Peter's laughing as he shoves, Sirius off. "Alright, man," he says, swatting Sirius' hand away as he ruffles his hair.

"Sirius had beer for breakfast," Remus informs you to excuse Sirius' behavior.

"Hey, I only had two and I know you're not suggesting I'm a lightweight," Sirius points at Remus accusingly. "Anyway, I was just telling Y/N how often Jamesie muses about her."

Remus clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "Don't tease him too badly, Sirius.”

"It's not like it's not true," Peter shrugs, earning himself a glare from James.

You look up at James. His cheeks have deepened a few shades now as he glowers at Peter. You give his hand a squeeze to attract his attention, the expression on his face immediately softening when he looks at you.

“I think it’s sweet,” you say, encouraging a smile onto James’ lips. He drops your hand, only to wrap his arm around your shoulder and pull you into his side. You nuzzle your nose against his shoulder, looking at him with expectant eyes. He knows what you’re asking for, and would rather hand his friends more ammo to tease him with than deny you, so he gladly plants a tender kiss to the top of your head.

“You two are sickening.” Sirius leans over the counter, propping his chin up with his hand as he sighs dramatically. “It’s adorable,” he adds.

“Wrapped around her finger, are ya?” Peter joins in on the teasing.

James keeps his eyes on you as he responds. “You bet I am.”

You tear your eyes away from James’ sweet gaze to address his smirking friends. “You know, I've heard a lot about you guys too," you say.

Sirius lights up with intrigue. "Oh, do tell."

"Well, Peter must be the guy to go to if you want to have a laugh. Every time James asks ‘Wanna hear a story Peter told me’ I know I’m gonna have to sit through several fits of laughter before he gets to the end of it," you say, nudging James with your elbow who nods along to confirm your story.

Peter puffs up his chest, proud to be known as the funny one.

"Remus," you continue, "I should've known you weren't a brother. James always tells me about how they drag you into things that you have to get them out of. If he hasn't told you before, he's very thankful for you. And Sirius. I think I've heard the most interesting stories about you."

"This should be good," Sirius says, a cocky grin on his face. "I've given James a whole catalog of legendary stories to tell about me."

"My favorite is the one that started with you trying to impress a girl by jumping into the pool from the roof and ended with you in the bushes after you tripped on the gutter,” you say, an air of sweetness in your tone and a smile on your lips.

The confident smirk drops from Sirius’ face and James snorts a laugh beside you. Peter cracks up, and even Remus snickers at the look on Sirius’ face.

"I think you’ve just won over Sirius," Remus says, watching as his grin returns.

“You got me, I can appreciate that,” Sirius says. “Why have you been hiding her from us for so long, James? I like her.”

"Yeah, I like her too,” James replies, squeezing you a little closer into his side. He doesn't bother trying to hide the broad grin overtaking his features. As he looks down at your giggling face, he can't remember what he was so nervous about.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[byler-invested]

Oh my God. Oh my fucking god.

The “crazy together” thing just made me realize SOMETHING.

__________

Remember “The Last of Us”?

Ellie and Riley (both girls) are best friends but secretly love each other.

Byler.

1. Neon Mall

Riley takes Ellie on a fun / romantic night to the old abandoned mall full of neon lights.

STARCOURT ANYONE?

2. Lingerie Shop

They both look at a lingerie shop, get awkward & flustered; and it’s this way that’s implied they feel sexual attraction to each other.

THIS EXACT THING HAPPENED IN S3 WHEN MIKE, WILL AND LUCAS WERE LOOKING FOR GIFTS FOR EL IN STARCOURT…

3. Carousel & Ponies

They get on a carousel, ride the horses.

Similar to the “fun” riding pony in Starcourt, which plays the same song that was in the background of the Russian code “blue meets yellow in the west”.

4. Daisy Bell

And BY THE WAY, side note— this extremely creepy song is “Daisy Bell”, the first song to ever be sung by a computer (IBM 7094), in 1961. I know, very unsettling and weird.

And yet, that’s not all. Here are the lyrics:

Daisy, Daisy give me your answer do.

I’m half crazy all for the love of you.

It won’t be a stylish marriage, I can’t afford a carriage.

But you’ll look sweet, Upon the seat, Of a bicycle made for two.

Michael, Micheal, here is your answer true.

I’m not crazy all for the love of you.

There won’t be any marriage, If you can’t afford a carriage.

‘Cause I’ll be switched, If I get hitched, On a bicycle built for two!”

According to the dictionary:

hitch = pull; harness; knot; problem; get married; move (something) into a different position with a jerk

👆👆Keep this in mind for now.

5. Sewers & Falling-Outs

Riley explains what made her leave the organization she and Ellie were a part of:

‘I turn 17 next month, that's when you get your assignment. You know what Kwong gave me? Sewage detail. Standing guard while people shovel s***, that's what they think of me.'

This might not mean much, but I found it interesting because the sewers seem to be a relevant aspect in ST5.

But a part of me can’t help but wonder that maybe this is also a sign of Will having a falling-out/ disagreement with someone on his “side”— a while ago, there was a reliable leak about something like that happening between Will and Dustin. Interesting. Maybe having to do with Hellfire?

6. Photos

Riley & Ellie get into a Photo Booth and pose for pictures.

Not super relevant, but this reminded me that Mike only smiles in photos when Will is also there; does this mean we‘ll have a photo moment with them? Maybe Jonathan takes their pic?

7. Arcade

Riley shows Ellie a bright gaming arcade, Ellie says it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen, and they play Mortal Kombat against each other.

“Palace Arcade”, a place both Mike and Will love… is it just me or does ‘palace’ give romantic vibes?

8. Alcohol & Drugs

They sit together, get drunk, talk a lot, laugh in pure happiness.

Highler = they smoke weed and also get drunk.

9. Betrayal

Riley reveals she’s going to leave for a resistance organization, Ellie sees a pile of handmade explosives, & an argument ensues, because Ellie feels betrayed and assumes that Riley did all that just to try and recruit her.

My guess: while drunk, Will confides in Mike that he’s gay and secretly dating/ having encounters with Chance (who, on top of that, is involved with the jocks who witch-hunted Eddie— hence all the Judas references in s4).

Mike obviously feels betrayed, jealous, gets furious and leaves.

Bonus angst: Will thinks part of Mike’s anger stems from Will being gay, since by this point Will doesn’t know Mike actually loves him back.

10. Regret & Rekindling

Ellie eventually feels bad & comes back.

I think all of us can see Mike Wheeler doing the exact same thing.

11. Heart-to-Heart

They have a conversation, a heart-to-heart, and explain themselves:

'You don't know what it was like to have a family to belong to,' Riley said. 'I belonged to them and I want that again. Maybe the Fireflies aren't what I think they are but they chose me. I matter to them.'

'But you matter to me first,' Ellie said.

Ellie told her she was her best friend and would miss her.

To me, this definitely reads like Will explaining why he felt tempted to get involved with Chance; and Mike emphasizing, reminding him, that he is the one who cared first and is his true best friend.

12. Playing, Kissing & Loving

On a lighter mood, after playfully putting funny masks on and dancing while listening to music, they finally kiss each other.

With byler I think their kiss is going to lead to some kind of sexual contact.

13. Infection & Attack

This is when the infected zombie attacks Riley & Ellie and both get bitten.

The AIDS thing… Mike and Will get infected.

Also Lonnie, metaphorically attacking them… or… him literally & materially coming back to make their lives into more of a living hell?

14. Crazy Together

They both go into despair and this is what Riley proclaims:

'They way I see it we have two options, one we take the easy way out,' Riley said holding a gun. 'Quick and painless. No, I don't like option one. Option two, we just keep going.'

'What are you talking about, it's over,' Ellie said.

'It will be but not yet,' Riley said. ‘We can be all poetic and sh*t and just lose our minds together.’

Sound familiar?

‘Hey Will… if we’re both going crazy, then… we’ll go crazy together, right?’

‘Yeah… Crazy together.’

*Outside the Realm by Big Giant Circles plays*

15. Immunity

As time passes, Ellie realizes she’s immune to the fungal infection. As far as we know, Riley is not.

This makes me think that maybe, there is something about Mike that makes him out-survive Will. Maybe also an immunity, maybe just because he was infected later in life, maybe something else.

Ellie is immune because, as we find out later, she was infected very shortly before birth. Her mother was bitten during the last seconds of pregnancy.

What could this mean for Mike? And Karen???

16. Unknown Fate

Both in the videogame and in the TV show, it’s never revealed what actually happened to Riley.

It’s possible that she was either eventually shot by Ellie, simply turned into a zombie and Ellie left her like that, or some secret third thing no one knows yet.

This aligns with Will’s ambiguous state of life. Did he really die? What truly happened to him? Does he come back? He, too, became the ‘zombie boy.’

17. The Cure

Scientists in Salt Lake City (!!!) conclude that Ellie’s brain holds the key to reverse-engineer a cure / vaccine, but that she will die in the process. She escapes with the help of a guardian / father figure.

As we all know, Salt Lake City also makes an appearance in Stranger Things, which is definitely interesting.

Mike has consistently been described as the key 🔑. What is this key? Is it because he’s intelligent and creative enough to strategize, manipulate reality and write an alternate story? However this would work in the Stranger Things universe?

18. Lore

When it comes to the sci-fi lore of this show, I believe there’s some kind of technology (similar to Nina) that allows for reality manipulation and changing of past events.

Maybe Mike used his imagination combined with the machine’s powers to fabricate an alternate, watered-down narrative, for Will.

You know, a watered-down narrative, exactly what Murray Bauman said in s2.

However, this unfortunately comes with side effects, because the timeline becomes increasingly bizarre as its control is somehow connected to Mike’s mind. And besides creating what he wants, it manifests in increasingly unexpected ways and also aspects of his subconscious (Vecna, etc.).

19. The Tempest & The Forbidden Planet

As I’ve said before, this is very similar to the unique concept of The Forbidden Planet (1956) movie, which is based on The Tempest (1611), a play by Shakespeare. This is highly relevant because The Tempest is referenced in ST set design (a Hawkins High theatre club poster).

Someone in the ST analysis community (sorry I can’t remember who) has a longer post about this play. I’d like to write one about The Forbidden Planet (a sci-fi adaptation of the fantasy original), but this post is already becoming way too long.

Conclusion

I guess my point is, I think that the Duffers are doing a sci-fi meets psychology meets culture meets imagination thing. There is a technological or scientific element in the show’s lore that combines all of this in order to alter reality.

At least, this is my current theory.

I think in the original, realistic, non-supernatural timeline, Will really died and all those horrible things (abuse, AIDS, etc.) did happen.

And as dark as it might be, I think this grim reality is actually going to be revealed in s5— by somehow peeling back the subtext layer (the curtain).

We can infer this by paying attention to the unexplained & nonsensical discrepancies between the two articles about Will’s disappearance in s1 and s2. The fact that the real article about the OG timeline is shown in the series, onscreen, means, to me, that this timeline will in fact be revealed in-universe. I’ll be posting my detailed thoughts on that as well.

How will they open the curtain? I think the simulation machine or alternate reality created is going to be forcibly and unexpectedly shut off at some point, causing the naked raw truth about Will and Hawkins to be revealed.

Side note: If you think about it, they’ve made so many references to systems being suddenly shut off (electricity turning off in the entire Hawkins town in 3x01, them shutting the Puzzle Tales mobile game off for literally no reason while sending weird hint-y goodbye messages, among other instances…).

However, they might be able to fix it, and ultimately, I think there will be a happy ending for Mike and Will, even if it’s in the better world created by Mike.

Thank you so much for reading and let me know what you think.

__________

Tagging: @greenfiend @threemanoperation @strange-anni @erikiara80 @reo-bylerwagon @bylerlipglances

The Nested Universes Theory

and the high chance of a very literal bitter/sweet ending…

Yes, Will and Mike will end up together, but their ending may be both happy and tragic simultaneously.

(This theory may explain why the cast and Netflix executives were crying heavily when informed of the show’s ending…)

I'm warning you guys, take care of yourself while reading this. This isn't an easy read.

CW: CSA, sex, drugs, HIV/AIDS, period typical homophobia, death

Framed Narratives/Stories

Framed narratives are basically a story within a story. Common examples of this are the movie “The Princess Bride” and “Titanic”. Both stories have the story of the narrator and the story within.

Another example is Stranger Things itself. When we see the boys playing Dungeons and Dragons, they are creating a story within a story.

Sometimes, framed narratives are nested, meaning multiple layers of storytelling. An example of this would be the movie “Inception”. In that movie there are dreams within dreams within dreams… It’s a complex but fascinating way to tell stories.

Now, I do think Stranger Things is also a nested narrative story. Meaning, there may be a layer of a story that hasn’t been revealed to us yet (or more than one).

Basically I’m saying: the show itself may be a story created by some of the characters.

I’m guessing two characters in particular. Which two characters? The two most associated with creating stories. The writer and artist. Two of the characters that have existed since the show’s inception.

Mike and Will.

Multiple Universes

I do think there are multiple timelines/universes within Stranger Things… but it’s not exactly what you think. It’s not parallel universes/timelines. They do not exist parallel to each other, they exist within each other.

This is the reason for the “memory within a memory”, “play within a play” references.

It’s a story within a story within a story.

While Mike and Will are creating their DnD campaigns, there is another version of Mike and Will creating the story we see within the show.

Let’s break it down:

Inner layer: Mike and Will’s characters existing within a DnD campaign

Middle layer: Mike and Will within the show creating the DnD campaign

Outer layer: Mike and Will creating the story of the show

Mike and Will’s story within the frame (the outer layer) likely does share a lot in common with the story within the show, with one major difference:

There’s no Upside Down, and no supernatural elements. No superpowers, and no superheroes. There are still monster(s) and heroes, but these monsters and heroes are real.

Living on as “Heroes”

Ever notice the association between characters being referred to as “a hero” after facing their demise?

We have seen this time and time again. It’s not a coincidence, it’s a pattern.

Love for horror and escapism

@threemanoperation has a great post on Will’s love for horror.

It makes perfect sense for a boy like Will to enjoy horror. It can be a great way to process trauma and grief.

We also know even from the earliest descriptions for Mike and Will’s characters that they both love to “escape” into fantasy. They do this together, through DnD.

Gods/Puppet Masters/Creators

Within the show, there are many subtle nods to Will and Mike somehow controlling/manipulating things. These hints have lead to many interesting theories about Mike and/or Will having powers. In a sense, they both are absolutely right! But if this theory is correct, their influence over the show is mainly due to them creating it. They’re the authors, so in a way, they’re both “Gods”.

Solving the “Letter to Willy”/Lettergate puzzle

"Letter to Willy" is a song that plays over three different scenes within ST4. Each scene involves regrets, and survivor's guilt.

Max mourns Billy and reads out her letter "before it's too late" aka before she dies too.

Mike and Will have a heart-to-heart and Mike expresses guilt over El leaving, thinking there was more he could have done. This occurs while they are burying a dead man's body.

Dustin tells Eddie's uncle that Eddie died a hero, despite what the town thought.

This all leads back to Mike and Will within the story's outer layer. This also connects with the writer's incomplete letter they posted years ago on Twitter. I'll get back to this.

A father infecting his child

Oh boy. I hate this part but it requires context so…

Hopper admits to indirectly causing the death of his daughter, Sarah. He had been exposed to Agent Orange which led to his daughter developing cancer at a young age. He has remorse and has been grieving Sarah this whole time.

Now, Hopper is a decent guy and father, and is written as an almost “fix it” version of Mike and Will’s own fathers. He isn’t perfect, but he’s a man who strives to grow and improve himself.

Papa, is not a decent guy, and we also see him injecting El and Henry with needles.

So, what I’m saying is that this may be a hint to what happened to Will (in the 99/100 timeline). Lonnie is hinted to be a drug user, and it wouldn’t be far fetched to say he may have used IV drugs. Exposure to IV drugs is a way to transmit diseases, as blood may be exchanged through contaminated needles. Also, Lonnie has been hinted at, through subtext, to be a horrible monster. (<- click that link for a post about him.)

The “1/100” Timeline

The show itself is the 1 out of 100 timeline. It is the only one where Will was not kidnapped by his parent/guardian (Lonnie).

This means, it is the one where none of the tragic stuff ever happened, specifically to Will and Mike’s story at least. They may encounter challenges, but nothing they cannot overcome together, as a team.

1983: The Demogorgon got Will. He survives the horrors done to him in the Upside Down… but barely. He is taken to the hospital and heals from it all, including flu-like symptoms (cough, nausea/vomiting).

1984: Will suffers from flashbacks. He is also plagued with the nickname “Zombie Boy” and suffering from the Mind Flayer’s possession of him. But with the love of his family, and Mike, is able to return back to his reality.

1985: He then begins to struggle with the pressures of growing up, and having to move away. Plus the Mind Flayer returns and reeks more havoc.

1986: He then moves to a pleasant place. Where things are sunny and warm. Things on the surface seem happy and “normal” but there’s a looming threat hidden beneath the surface. Henry/1/Vecna. This opportunistic threat preys on the weak and begins to take over Hawkins.

1987-1989: Will is back in Hawkins and his ties to the Upside Down increase. He can’t shake it off as easily as before. He also can’t shake off his love for Mike, who grows even closer to him. One thing leads to another and they become lovers (they have sex). They eventually are able to stop the contamination of Hawkins, and save everyone. Will also realizes that he has developed superpowers from his time in the Upside Down, through his blood. Mike also develops superpowers, given to him by Will.

Okay… you might understand where I’m going with this but I still must warn you before reading the next part. It’s devastatingly tragic.

The “99/100” Timeline

(I’m probably wrong on some of these details but this is what I theorize thus far):

1983: Lonnie “got” Will (CSA). Will survives the horrors done to him by his father… but barely. He is taken to the hospital and heals from it all and from flu-like symptoms (cough, nausea/vomiting).

1984: Will suffers from flashbacks. He is also plagued with the nickname “Zombie Boy” and suffering from the flashbacks of his father’s possession of him. But with the love of his family, and Mike, is able to return back to reality.

1985: He then begins to struggle with the pressures of growing up. Plus the memories of Lonnie return and reek more havoc.

1986: Things on the surface seem happy and “normal” but there’s a looming threat hidden beneath the surface. HIV -> AIDS. Opportunistic infections slowly begin to prey on Will.

1987-?: Will can’t shake off colds and infections as easily as before. He also can’t shake off his love for Mike, who grows even closer to him. One thing leads to another and they become lovers (they have sex). Will soon discovers he has HIV/AIDS, which he had transmitted to Mike. Devastated by the news, they do everything they can to fight it together. They cope through creating a DnD campaign together to process everything they’ve gone through. They play DnD in Mike’s basement until Will’s condition becomes critical. Will is forced to stay in the hospital, while Mike is unable to visit (strict rules about visitation due to the disease and because they aren’t/cannot be considered legal partners). So, Mike does the only thing he can do: he writes letters to Will and continues the story. Mike eventually loses Will, for real this time. He’s devastated, and plagued with grief, depression, and survivor’s guilt. He didn’t complete their story in time. But his family and friends support him and encourage him to finish the story. To change the ending before his time runs out too. He completes their story himself, and reads his final letter to Will’s grave.

“anyway I think you’ll like [the ending]. sorry I couldn’t get it done [on time] but you mean so [much to me] and it’s been [so hard being without you] hope this is [enough to] last until [we meet again]. Love, [Mike].”

Attached to this letter is the full campaign. The full story of the show itself, which started on November 6th, 1983. He successfully turned back the clock, and changed their ending. They became superheroes within their story, saving Hawkins with their love. Mike dies soon after and we are met with…

Mike and Will reuniting within their own story. Blue meeting yellow at a gate, one final time, that leads “into the west”.

They continue their story and it’s a never ending story… Living on as heroes, forever and ever.

Some thoughts:

To simplify things, I didn’t include other characters much here but they likely all play an important role in the story. Many characters likely only exist within the mid layer (the 1/100 timeline).

I do think their story likely will be published, and this will be done by another character (my guess is Lucas). Their story will impact others profoundly, perhaps completely altering perspectives. This will lead towards positive change, and increase pressure for the development of a “cure”.

Lonnie obviously dies too, but we won’t see it. He’s significant but irrelevant. We don’t need to see him. Perhaps he rots in jail.

If characters like Nancy, Jonathan, Joyce, and Hopper all exist within the outer layer (the 99/100 timeline) in a similar way, they too may be inflicted with HIV/AIDS. Remember, it wasn’t just gay men, everyone was affected by this awful epidemic.

The time period is super relevant in this story. There’s no way that HIV/AIDS will not play an important role. Think about it… it revolves around two gay boys growing up during that time. This epidemic was widespread and terrifying. Had they been born a decade later, there would have been treatments/“cures” accessible to them.

The biggest reason why I strongly believe this theory is because… this is basically the ending of Stranger Things season 1, on a much grander scale. Think about it. Mike changed the ending of the DnD campaign so Will could be a hero, not a victim. This was further established in the comics.

While Mike and Will within the outer layer (99/100) have a tragic ending, Mike and Will within the show (1/100) do not. They beat the odds. Although it is undeniably a tragic end, remember that somewhere out there Mike and Will are still playing DnD and Nintendo for the rest of their lives.

Free Will and Writing your Own Ending

Free will has always been a reoccurring theme within Stranger Things; meaning we can choose our own destiny, fight chance, and beat the odds.

Do we truly have free will though? Obviously, we don’t know. The point is, we should still live life as if we do have it. To take control where we can, and not let external forces dictate who we are and what our destiny is. I think that’s the message there.

[enchantresss97]

Dark Gravity- Part Three

Characters: Au!Eric Draven (Bill Skarsgård) x reader

Description: This is a Au!Eric Draven, no Shelly involved(although is another girl involved), no Roeg and no powers, other than that is still the Eric we know. He is powerful, dangerous, and infamous for his violent reputation, he’s someone people know to stay away from. A man whose name strikes fear in the hearts of many. His presence is commanding, intimidating. He’s not the type to open up, but when he locks eyes with you, there’s an undeniable tension that pulses in the air between you two. It’s hard to ignore the way he looks at you, the subtle flirting, and the dangerous charm that seems to surround him. You never imagined to meet him, but here you are, caught in a web of questions. Where will this lead? Can there be something more between you two? Will you end up friends, or is there something darker, more complicated in store? You can’t deny the tension, the attraction, it’s palpable. Could something truly happen between you and him? Only time will tell, but you can’t help but wonder: where will this take you?

Warning: (the warnings are for the whole story, not just this chapter) language, angst, drugs, alcohol, blood, guns, sex (at this point you know me), cheating.

Word count: 4427

Dark Gravity-Part three

The second you see his name, your stomach tightens. Your fingers hover over the screen.

You could ignore it.

You should.

But instead, you swipe, unlocking the message.

Eric: Thinking about me?

A slow breath escapes your lips.

That’s it? No mention of what happened hours ago. No explanation. Just him, throwing out a line, waiting to see if you’ll bite.

Your mind flashes back.

The explosion.

The way the air had split open with fire and noise.

The gun in his hands, steady, controlled, aimed at the car like it was nothing.

You can still see him standing there, jaw tight, muscles coiled, his expression unreadable. And now, this...

A text like it’s just any other night. Like he didn’t nearly kill someone...or maybe he did? But you don't want to thing about this too much.

You stare at the screen, fingers tapping against the phone. Play along? Shut him down? Ignore him? But before you can overthink it, your thumbs move on their own.

You: Are you okay?

You don’t even think before sending it. It just slips out. Because despite everything, despite what you saw, despite knowing what he is, something in you needs to ask, wants to know that he's save.

The reply comes fast.

Eric: Oh? You worried about me, princess?

You exhale, already regretting it.

You: Forget it.

Eric: Too late. I like it.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, but before you can respond, another message pops up.

Eric: How worried, exactly?

You: Not enough to boost your ego.

Eric: Liar.

Your breath catches.

Eric: Bet you’re lying in bed right now, thinking about me. Wondering what I’m doing. Maybe even missing me a little.

You roll your eyes, even as your pulse betrays you.

You: You’re delusional.

Eric: And yet, you’re still texting me.

Your stomach tightens.

He’s impossible. He always knows exactly what to say, exactly how to turn things in his favor.

You: Must be bored if you’re this desperate for attention.

Eric: Who says I’m bored? A pause.

Then—

Eric: Maybe I’m just hard.

A quick pulse of heat spreads through you. He’s not even trying to be subtle now.

You: Not my problem.

Eric: Could be.

Your fingers tighten around the phone.

You: Keep dreaming.

Eric: I do. You. On my lap. Tight little dress. No panties. Dripping for me.

Your breath catches. A rush of something dark, dangerous, and impossible to ignore floods through you.

You should end this. Right now. Before it goes any further. Before you let him get to you.

Your phone vibrates again. But this time, it’s not a message. It’s a photo.

You hesitate for half a second before tapping on it.

Eric, lying back on a couch.

One arm resting careless on the couch, the other disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants. His zipper undone. Button open. His hand inside.

You can’t help but notice how hard he is.

The way his jeans cling to his hips, the bulge pressing against the fabric.

He’s confident, shameless and he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Another message follows.

Eric: Can you help me with this?

Your fingers tighten around the phone. Heat crawls up your neck.

He’s shameless.

You: You seem to be managing just fine.

The typing bubble appears instantly.

Eric: I’d rather you use your hands. Your pulse stutters.

Another message pops up before you can process the first.

Eric: Or your mouth.

Your breath catches.

You stare at the screen, refusing to react, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

You: You should get some sleep.

Eric: Not tired.

You: Goodnight, Eric.

A few seconds later, another message pops up.

Eric: Just picture it—me here on the couch with you between my legs, my hands tangled in your hair, forcing you to look up at me as you kneel. Your lips lips, soft and eager, begging for my cock. I want to see you take me in... slow, deep, working me with your mouth, showing me how much you want it, how badly you need it. I want to feel you choke on my cock, your throat tightening as you take all of me, inch by inch. I’ll be watching you, desperate for you to show me just how far you’ll go for me...how much you want it.

The message sits there, taunting, heavy with the weight of what he’s saying. The words linger, burning into your screen, and for a moment, you can’t do anything but stare at them.

Then another message pops up

Eric: Sweet dreams, princess. Think of me.

Your screen goes dark. You drop the phone onto your bed, staring at the ceiling.

Like hell you will.

Your phone stays dark.

No more messages. No typing bubble. Nothing.

Eric doesn’t say anything else. And you don’t reply. But the words are still there. Lingering.

You stare at the ceiling, your heartbeat steady but not quite calm.

The silence in your room feels louder now, charged with something you don’t want to name.

You should just forget it. Push it away. But your mind won’t let you.

The image flashes behind your eyes, the way he looked in that picture, sprawled out, completely at ease, his hand inside his pants, hard.

The way he knew exactly what he was doing, exactly what effect it would have on you. And his words…

You swallow, shifting slightly, as if that will somehow shake the feeling off your skin.

It’s not just what he said. It’s how easy it was for him. How effortlessly he got into your head, made you picture you on your knees...his cock...made you feel it. Like he knew you would. Like he expected it.

Your fingers tighten around the blanket. You won’t give him that satisfaction. You won’t.

But then why does your body feel like it’s betraying you? Why does your skin feel hot, your stomach tight, the ghost of his voice still echoing—I want to see you take me in… slow, deep…

You exhale sharply, closing your eyes.

It doesn’t matter. It was just words. Just a game. And you’re not playing.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself when sleep finally pulls you under.

______________________

The next few weeks slip by in a strange, tangled rhythm.

It starts with texts.

At first, it’s sporadic—messages from Eric at odd hours, slipping into your day, your night. Some filthy, some teasing, some completely normal, like the things he said that night never happened.

But he did.

And you remember them.

Then, the messages become frequent. He never holds back. He’s still cocky, still shameless, still pushing the line between teasing and temptation. Still saying things that make you hesitate, that make your fingers tighten around your phone before you decide whether to play along or ignore him.

But somewhere between the filth and the arrogance, there’s something else.

Longer conversations.

Moments that don’t feel like a game. Stories he tells you, pieces of himself that don’t belong to the version of him the world knows.

Like how he got his first tattoo at twelve. A shitty job done in someone’s living room, with cheap ink and a needle that hummed too loud. He never fixed it, even when he could.

Or how he used to steal his neighbor’s car before he even knew how to drive, speeding through the empty streets at night just to feel something, to prove to himself that he was untouchable.

Or how he hasn’t seen his mother in years. And doesn’t plan to.

And you tell him things, too. Not because you mean to, not because you trust him, but because somehow, between his usual cocky remarks and the way he turns every other message into something filthy, he makes you forget what he is.

For a little while.

But you never forget completely.

Because the news reminds you. You see it in headlines, in flashing images—two people trapped in a burning car. The explosion, the smoke, the bodies. The way they died, burning alive.

And you know. You just know.

Eric’s hand was in this.

And yet, hours later, your phone vibrates, and it’s him, acting like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just ended two lives and God knows how many more. Like he’s still the same Eric who texts you about the coffee he just spilled, or the fight his friend got into at some club last night, or the new tattoo he’s thinking of getting.

It’s like living in two different realities.

And that’s why you keep saying no. Not directly, never directly. But you find excuses.

Every time he asks to meet up. Whether it’s a casual “Come get coffee with me” or something more dangerous, “Come over, I want to see you”, you always have a reason.

You’re busy.

You have plans already.

You’re too tired.

Maybe next time.

And you know he sees through it. You can feel that he knows you’re dodging him. But he never calls you out on it. He just keeps trying. Keeps acting like it’s only a matter of time.

And maybe it is.

Because no matter how much you tell yourself that staying away is the right thing, it’s getting harder to ignore the fact that you don’t want to.

That despite everything, you still reach for your phone the second you see his name.

That you still reread his messages too many times before replying.

That you still feel that pull. That dangerous, reckless pull toward him. And that scares you more than anything else.

__________________

It’s late afternoon when Lily shows up at your place, knocking twice before pushing the door open like she always does.

She’s wearing a thick jacket over her hoodie, her hands tucked into the pockets, sign that the autumn is here. Her face lighting up the moment she sees you.

“Hey,” she says, kicking off her shoes. “What are you up to this weekend?”

You glance at her, shrugging. “Nothing, really.”

“Perfect.” She grins, walking straight to your couch and flopping down like she owns the place.

“So, listen. A bunch of people are going up to a cabin this weekend. Just hanging out, drinking, chilling for a couple of days. You should come with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “A cabin”

“Yeah, a friend’s place. It’s nice, big, cozy, middle of the forest, all that. It’ll be fun. We haven’t done something like this in forever.” She stretches her legs out, looking at you expectantly, and you can already tell she’s not going to let this go.

You lean against the table, crossing your arms. It’s true, you haven’t hung out properly in a while. “Yeah. Why not?”

Lily’s face lights up. “Yes! Okay, good. We leave tomorrow afternoon. I’ll pick you up.” Just like that, it’s decided.

The next afternoon, you’re ready when Lily arrives. You chose something that sits perfectly between elegant and effortless—a fitted two-piece set, a sleek top that hugs your waist, paired with a long skirt that flows with every step. Knee-high boots complete the look, adding a subtle edge.

You even did your makeup, nothing over the top, just enough to enhance everything the right way.

Lily whistles the second she sees you. “Damn.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your bag. She smirks, pushing the door open wider for you. “You look hot.”

You shake your head, following her out. As you slide into the passenger seat of her car, you catch yourself checking your reflection in the side mirror.

It’s not that you dressed up for anyone in particular. But still. A thought flickers through your mind before you push it away.

Lily turns up the music, grinning. “Let’s go.” And just like that, you’re on your way.

The air is cool and crisp as the car winds its way through the narrow roads that cut through the forest.

The trees are a mix of fiery reds, golden yellows, and deep oranges, their leaves falling gently, carpeting the ground in a rich tapestry of color.

The scent of damp earth and pine fills the car as Lily drives, her laughter light as she chats with you about everything and nothing at all.

The ride feels like a break from the tension you’ve been carrying, the one that always seems to sneak up when you think about Eric, or when you find yourself staring at your phone, reading his messages over and over.

When the car rounds the final bend, the cabin comes into view.

It’s tucked away deep in the forest, surrounded by tall, weathered trees that stand like silent sentinels. A lake nearby.

Lily parks the car, and you both make your way inside, your boots crunching on the fallen leaves as you walk up to the door.

The cabin’s large and sprawling, built from dark wood that gives it a sense of permanence.

The living room opens up as soon as you step inside, a vast space with an open kitchen, where the faint smell of sizzling food lingers in the air.

A few couches are scattered around, one facing a big flat-screen TV. Everything feels cozy, intimate, even though there are plenty of people around.

A group of friends, both guys and girls, chatting, laughing, and drinking. Music pulses through the space, upbeat but not too loud, just enough to fill the air with that buzz of excitement.

Downstairs, there are three rooms, and two bathrooms, but it’s upstairs that catches your eye. The wooden staircase, worn with time, leads up to a few more rooms, each with their own bathrooms, perfect for the large group that’s gathered here.

You can tell it’s been a well-loved retreat for friends to get together over the years, but there’s a feeling of anonymity here too. It feels like no one will notice if you disappear for a bit, slip away and lose yourself in the space between conversations. And you wonder which of Lily's friend owns it.

There’s a sort of quiet confidence that comes with being here, with the smell of wood and burning fire filling the space, and the warm glow of the lights inside the cabin.

You exchange greetings with a few familiar faces, your attention as you take in the scene.

There’s food, plates of chips, pizza, and a few bowls of mixed snacks that people are picking at between drinks.

The table is piled with alcohol, some whiskey, rum, and beer bottles dotting the space like a familiar comfort. There’s a quiet hum of a few joints being passed around too, but it doesn’t seem too out of place in the friendly chaos.

And then, just as your gaze sweeps across the group, you spot him.

Eric.

He’s leaning against one of the walls near the back, looking completely at ease.

His presence is undeniable, even among the lively group.

He’s talking to a few people but his eyes flicker in your direction for a split second, and you swear you catch him smirking.

His tattoos are visible now, a few of them peeking out from under the sleeves of his shirt as he casually lounges, drink in hand.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you arrived here, but seeing him like this, amidst the chatter and laughter, as if he belongs here, like he’s one of the group makes your heart beat just a little faster.

For a moment, you hesitate.

The desire to approach him, to talk to him, is undeniable. But there’s also the part of you that wants to keep your distance, that knows what happens when the two of you are alone. It’s this pull, this tug-of-war between wanting him and knowing that you shouldn’t.

It’s easy to forget all the things that make Eric dangerous, all the things you’ve heard, when he’s just…here. With people around him.

And maybe that’s why, despite the knot of nervousness in your stomach, you can’t help but feel a small glimmer of excitement.

____________________________

You find your seat on the couch next to Lily, the air filled with chatter and laughter.

People are lounging, drinking, and nibbling on snacks, the atmosphere warm and easygoing. The conversation around you is easy, familiar.

You sip your drink, snack on whatever’s within reach, blending into the group as the night stretches on.

Laughter spills across the room, voices overlapping, the low thrum of music weaving through the air. But even as you talk, as you joke, as you listen to Lily ramble about something ridiculous, you feel it.

That pull.

Like a thread being tugged, reeling you in no matter how much you try to resist.

Every so often, your gaze drifts, across the table, across the room.

And every time, he’s already looking. It’s subtle. The way his eyes linger. The way his fingers tap lazily against his glass. The way he tilts his head slightly when you catch him staring, like he’s waiting for you to look away first.

You don’t.

At least, not right away. The alcohol makes it easier to hold his gaze.

At some point, the group shifts. A few people drift outside, curious about the lake. Someone makes a joke about taking a midnight swim, and soon enough, the energy follows, the crowd filtering through the open door.

The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine as you step outside with the others.

Laughter drifts through the cold, the energy still high, fueled by alcohol and reckless excitement. Someone’s already kicking off their shoes, daring the others to jump in.

You stay near the edge, arms folded against the chill, watching as the dark water ripples under the moonlight.

The cold bites at your skin, but you welcome it. It keeps your mind clear, keeps your thoughts from spiraling into places they shouldn’t.

And then, he’s there. You don’t need to look to know.

The warmth of his presence is unmistakable, even before he steps beside you, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushes yours.

Eric doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching the water with that same ease he always carries.

But you catch it, the small flicker of a smile at the corner of his lips, like he’s enjoying this. Enjoying the silence, the cold, the way your eyes keep flicking to him before you can stop yourself.

He tilts his head toward you. “You gonna jump in?”

You scoff, rubbing your arms. “In this? I’ll freeze.”

He hums, a soft chuckle under his breath. “Didn’t take you for a coward.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s called common sense.”

That small smirk deepens, and then, without warning, he reaches for you.

It’s not a sharp grab. Not something reckless or teasing. It’s soft. Easy. His fingers curling around your wrist, just enough to pull you forward a step.

And you let him.

The warmth of his touch spreads up your arm, sinking into your skin too fast, too deep. It’s so casual, like he’s done it a hundred times before. Like it’s nothing.

But when your eyes meet, when you feel the heat lingering between you, you know, it’s not nothing.

A shiver runs through you, and it has nothing to do with the cold. You glance at him, and for the first time tonight, his smile isn’t sharp, isn’t teasing. It’s soft. Genuine. And that’s when it hits you. Eric, the Eric you’ve been wary of, the one with the reputation, the sharp tongue, the dark smirks. He looks different right now.

There’s no danger in his expression. No arrogance, no taunting. Just this.

This quiet warmth, this easy amusement, this unspoken understanding that makes something tighten in your chest.

And that’s what scares you. Not the cold. Not the water.

Him.

Because if he can be like this, if he can look at you like this, then maybe—just maybe—falling for him wouldn’t feel so impossible.

And that?

That’s dangerous.

Eric doesn’t let go immediately. His thumb brushes over the inside of your wrist, slow, absentminded, before he finally releases you.

Your breath catches, and for a split second, you swear he notices. “You’d survive,” he murmurs, still watching you.

You swallow. “What?”

“The water,” he says, tilting his head toward it. “You’d survive.”

You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. “Not worth the risk.”

Eric leans in, just slightly, just enough that you catch the faintest scent of smoke and something undeniably him. “Scared?”

Your pulse kicks up, and it’s unfair, so unfair, how easy it is for him to make your stomach flip.

“I just don’t like being cold,” you mutter, looking away.

“I’d warm you up,” he murmurs again, softer this time, like it’s a promise. Your stomach twists. Your fingers curl at your sides. And just when you’re about to say something

You’re falling.

A sharp gasp rips from your throat as ice-cold water crashes around you.

Your body hits the lake, the freezing shock stealing the air from your lungs, your hands flailing for balance as the darkness of the water swallows you whole.

It takes you a second to surface, hair dripping, breath ragged, absolute disbelief shooting through you as you wipe the water from your face.

That bastard.

He’s standing at the edge of the dock, watching you with a devilish smirk, hands still in his pockets, completely unbothered.

“Oh, you’re so dead,” you manage between chattering teeth, your voice a mix of fury and laughter.

Eric tilts his head, feigning innocence. “I told you, you’d survive.”

“Eric—”

And then he jumps.

The splash is loud, water surging as he dives in, and suddenly, he’s right there, right in front of you, emerging from the lake with a shake of his head, droplets catching in the dim light.

You barely have time to react before his hands find your waist and pull you toward him.

A small gasp leaves your lips as your chest brushes against his, his wet skin burning hot despite the freezing water.

His fingers tighten, holding you steady, his grip firm but not forceful, just enough to make you feel him.

“You were saying?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing, dangerously close.

You can feel his breath against your lips. Can see the droplets sliding down his jaw, his throat, disappearing into the soaked fabric of his shirt.

Your hands instinctively find his shoulders, your pulse out of control. “You’re an asshole,” you whisper, but there’s no venom behind it, just breathlessness.

His smirk softens into something else. Something slower. Something warmer.

And then he pulls you in closer.

Your legs are wrapped around his waist, your arms clutching his shoulders, your soaked clothes clinging to both of you as he steadies you against him.

His hands, strong, warm even in the freezing water are gripping your thighs, keeping you securely against him.

Your pulse pounds. His breath brushes against your cheek, his wet skin hot against yours despite the chill, every inch of you aware of the way your bodies fit together.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice lower now, slower, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

You should pull back.

You should say something sharp, something to deflect the way your stomach flips at the way he’s looking at you.

But you don’t.

You just stare at him, your lips parting, your heart hammering against your ribs.

There’s no distance left between you. His hands slide up your thighs, slow, teasing, his thumbs brushing against the wet fabric clinging to your skin.

His gaze flickers to your lips, lingers there, dark, intent.

For a second, nothing else exists.

Just him.

Just you.

Just the way the world feels like it’s tilting when he leans in, so close, so close you can feel the heat of his mouth against yours, the tip of his nose brushing yours

“Yo! You guys making out in there or what?” The voice shatters the moment like glass.

You freeze.

Eric’s grip on you tightens, like he’s resisting the urge to turn around and murder whoever just spoke.

Laughter erupts from the dock. Someone whistles. Someone else yells something about how they’re definitely flirting. Heat floods your cheeks.

Eric doesn’t let go of you immediately. He just lets out a sharp exhale, his forehead dropping against yours for the briefest second, like he’s trying to compose himself, like he’s trying to fight the same war you are.

And then—his smirk returns. “Guess that’s our cue,” he mutters.

With an infuriating amount of ease, he lifts you, adjusting his grip before wading back toward the dock.

His hands don’t move from your thighs, his grip still firm, still possessive.

He only sets you down once the water is at his waist, making sure you’re steady before he finally releases you.

You miss the weight of his hands immediately.

The moment you step onto the dock, someone throws a towel at you, laughing as you wrap it around yourself, still shaken from what almost happened.

Eric, of course, looks completely unbothered, running a hand through his wet hair before reaching for his own towel.

But just as you’re about to wrap yourself tighter in yours, he does something that makes your breath catch.

He pulls off his shirt.

The ink is covering his chest, his arms, his stomach. Every time you see him like this, it does something to you.

It’s not just the way they look on him, not just the dark, intricate designs that make him seem even more untouchable, it’s the way they feel like a part of him. Like a story written across his skin that you desperately want to understand.

And then he walks past you.

You catch it this time, on his shoulder, the inked letters of a name.

A woman’s name.

You don’t see it clearly, but you see enough. Enough to realize it’s not just another meaningless piece of ink. Enough to know it belongs to someone.

Someone important.

Who?

The question settles in your mind before you can stop it.

Who is she? What does she mean to him? Why does he have her name carved into his skin forever?

The thought lingers, even as you try to shake it off. Even as you tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

But as Eric slings his towel over his shoulder, his tattoos on full display, as he throws you one last knowing glance before heading back inside.

You realize it’s already in your head. And it’s not leaving anytime soon.

________________

Here is Part one / Part Two

@paraficwriterThis part three it's up.

This part is not edited yet, I will come back later to check for mistakes. There are still two parts left, although I'm really trying to put everything into one, but the parts end up being too long. I hope you like it. I will probably publish the other part today or tomorrow as well (I already wrote quite a lot because I thought I would integrate it here, but then I saw the word count and didn't want to make this part too long). Enjoy this, something very steamy is up next.

[semiloml]

thinking about…“phone sex“

featuring atsumu miya

★ content: smut, nsfw, afab reader, timeskip haikyuu, phone sex, masturbation on call (both female and male), p in v, sex without protection, just nasty boombayah🙂‍↕️

★author‘s note: Reblogs, likes and comments are really appreciated 🩷🩷 thank you all for your support!! Also I promise it gets better at the end

ೃ࿔*:･

It was around 1 am when your phone buzzed against the nightstand, its insistent vibration cutting through the silence of your darkened bedroom.

Half-asleep, you squinted at the screen.

Incoming call from Atsumu Miya…

“What the hell does he want at this hour?”

you yawned out, ignoring it. But curiosity—or something deeper—won out, and you swiped to answer.

“Hello?” you said, voice thick with sleep.

“You picked up.” His voice was low, rough around the edges, and entirely too intimate for a call at 1 am.

“Clearly. What do you want?”

There was a pause, the sound of rustling sheets on the other end. When Atsumu spoke again, his voice had a slow, deliberate cadence.

“Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d call you. Keep me company.”

you rolled your eyes, but your pulse betrayed you—quickening just a little.

“That’s not my job. Go bother someone else“

“You always talk back like this, or just when you’re in bed?” he murmured and you could hear the smirk on his face

“You think I’m in bed?” you exclaimed trying to sound annoyed.

“Aren’t you?” he challenged.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of the sheets pooling around your waist, the thin tank top clinging to your skin. You tried to sound unaffected. “And if I was?”

He exhaled, a slow, knowing sound. “Then I’d say you should turn over and put me on speaker.”

Your breath caught. The casual arrogance in his voice made your stomach flip, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction.

“You’re awfully bold for someone begging me to keep him company.”

“I’m not begging. Just picturing things.”

Your fingers tightened around the phone.

Damn Miya.

“Like what?” you asked, voice softer now, curiosity laced with something darker.

A deep chuckle rumbled through the speaker. “Like what you’re wearing. How you’d sound if I…” He trailed off, waiting.

you shifted, your body betraying you before your mind caught up.

“If you what?” you whispered.

He hummed, pleased. “Now we’re talking.”

Atsumu’s voice sounded like liquid heat sliding over your skin.

“That depends,” you countered, fingers tightening around your phone. “Are we?”

He chuckled, low and slow. “Oh, princess, I think we are.”

A rustling sound filtered through the speaker. Sheets shifting, a sharp breathy exhale. Your skin prickled.

„What are you doing?” you asked, voice softer now.

“Thinking about you.”

Your heart pounded.

This was too intimate.

Too much.

But you didn’t plan on hanging up.

“And?”

A pause. Then, a deep inhale. “And wondering if you’re touching yourself yet.”

Your breath hitched.

“What—”

“Don’t play coy,” he interrupted, voice laced with amusement. “Not after the way your voice changed. I can hear it, you know. The way you’re breathing.”

You swallowed. hard. He wasn’t wrong. Your skin felt hypersensitive, every inch of you buzzing with awareness.

“I—”

“Tell me,” he said, voice dropping an octave. “Are you?”

your fingers flexed against the sheets. Your thighs pressed together instinctively. Atsumu was a few miles away, nothing but a voice in your ear—but God, did it feel like he was right there.

“Maybe,” you admitted.

His groan was low, guttural. “Fuck.”

Your breathing hitched yet again.

“Put me on speaker.”

You hesitated.

“Princess,“ he coaxed, a little rough. “I want to hear you.”

Heat shot straight through you, pulse hammering as you did as he asked.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured.

You barely had a second to process what he said before he added, “Now, tell me exactly what you’re doing.”

“I…” you swallowed, heat pooling between her thighs.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” he murmured, voice coaxing but firm. “Are your legs spread?”

you closed your eyes, trying to get used to the feeling inside you.

“sweetheart?“

you bit your lip. “Yes.”

A sharp inhale from the other end of the line.

“Good girl.”

The praise sent a shiver straight down your spine. Your other hand drifted lower, teasing the edge of your panties, breath quickening.

“Are you wet?”

God, he was relentless.

your thighs clenched. “Yeah.”

“Let me hear it.”

you exhaled shakily, shifting your fingers lower, parting yourself with a soft, unsteady sigh. The sound was unmistakable.

His groan was deep, almost pained. “Fuck, I knew it.”

Your pulse hammered in your ears. “What about you?”

A dark chuckle. “You want to know how hard I am for you right now?”

you whimpered.

“Tell me what you’d do if I was there,” Atsumu demanded, voice rough.

Your breath hitched. “I’d let you touch me.”

“Where?”

You slid a finger lower, teasing yourself, gasping softly at the sensation.

“There.”

„I want more than that, sweetheart,” he growled. “Tell me.”

You let your head tip back, drowning in the sound of his breathing, in the slow, needy way he exhaled whenever you made a sound.

“I’d let you spread my legs,” you whispered, now more confident, slipping a finger inside. Your body clenched at the thought of him—his hands, his mouth, his weight pressing you down.

“Yeah?” he rasped.

“And I’d let you—”

A moan slipped past your lips as you worked yourself open, the pleasure spiking hard.

Another groan from him.

“You’re killing me, baby,” he muttered. “I wanna be inside you so bad.”

Your breath came in quick, shallow pants.

“Then come over,” you whispered, opening your eyes to look at the phone.

A long silence stretched between the two of you. Your body was still humming, fingers wet from touching yourself to nothing but his voice. You could hear his breathing through the phone—rough, ragged.

Then—

“Stay up.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

“Stay up,” he repeated, voice dark, commanding. “I’m coming over.”

You sat up so fast you nearly dropped the damn phone.

“You’re serious?”

“You’re the one who told me to.” A low chuckle. “Now be a good girl and keep those pretty legs spread for me until I get there.”

The call ended.

Your stomach flipped. Holy shit.

You barely had time to collect yourself before there was a knock at the door—sharp, urgent.

You opened it, and there he was.

Hair tousled, chest rising and falling like he’d rushed over, eyes dark with something primal.

The second you stepped back, he was inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

“You’ve got no idea what you’ve done to me,” he muttered, gripping your jaw and tilting your face up.

„Then do something about it.”

And he did.

His mouth crashed onto yours, a desperate, bruising kiss, hands roaming, pulling, grabbing.

Atsumu lifted you up effortlessly, pressing you against the nearest wall, grinding against you—and God, he was so hard.

“I need to be inside you,” he groaned against your lips, fingers already shoving your panties down, his own pants barely undone before he was lining up his—thick, hot, throbbing cock against your entrance.

You gasped, nails digging into his big shoulders. “Then don’t tease.”

His jaw clenched.

“Hold on to me.”

you barely had time to obey before he thrust inside in one deep, punishing stroke.

Your body arched, a cry breaking from your lips.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, forehead dropping to yours.

“So fucking tight.”

He didn’t wait. Didn’t give you time to adjust.

He fucked you against the wall, each thrust of his hips deep and ruthless, dragging moans from you that you didn’t even recognize as your own.

„This what you wanted?” he growled, biting at your jaw and your throat, his grip bruising on your thighs.

“Yes—fuck, yes,” you moaned, nails raking down his back.

He lifted you higher, angling deeper—hitting that spot that made you see stars.

“Good girl,” he rasped. “Come on, baby. Let me feel you.”

And when he reached down between the two of you, pressing his thumb against your clit—you shattered.

And he didn’t stop.

AUTHOR‘S NOTE: I need him so bad😔