#Like it’s not that it doesn’t work bc either of us wants a relationship it’s more that what we want out of the situationship is different
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I genuinely love not having a crush like I’m not over here feeling physically sick over some mid guy being dry to me I’m literally chilling
#Spring semester of last year was so bad bc I was unironically into 3 guys at once and they were all#Being dry and cryptic to me#And then before that in 2022 I had my horrid situationship#I had a mini obsession arc in dec 2023 over someone but now there hasn’t been anyone since#And my palette is so cleansed#When a girl is like I miss having a crush I’m like you’re literally a masochist#There was very briefly a girl I thought I had a crush on when I realized I’m bicurious but#I haven’t put effort into talking to her bc the idea of pursuing anyone makes me wanna claw my eyes out#I’m pretty sure I ghosted her by like just not responding to her last messsge actually#Not on purpose but more so bc I realized I was feeling the same anxiety I felt whenever I had a crush so I was like#Yeah I’m dropping this for now#I’m also always the most present for my friends when I don’t have a crush so idk#Like I don’t wanna be consumed by anyone I just wanna chill#The solution to not having normal attraction to people is just to not be attracted to anyone at all#I fr cracked it#I always just crave the butterflies out of it and never an actual relationship anyway#But they’re so not worth it#Which is why I always get bored of guys who’re forthright like oh ok you actually WANT something…. U don’t wanna just have fun#Not for me#I think the guys I’m into and I typically diverge in the sense that neither of us wants a relationship but they just wanna fuck me#And I more so just want the butterflies experience / to playact couple for like a couple months but nothing too serious#Which is why it never works#Like it’s not that it doesn’t work bc either of us wants a relationship it’s more that what we want out of the situationship is different#So lame#Ok this was a lot but I literally came to this epiphany while writing these tags
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hmmm … barbarian!Bakugo w/ an oopsie baby vs pro hero!Bakugo with an oopsie baby?
#both are funny so I don’t have too many ideas for either thing#(I was thinking abt it in the shower and was like no. save this for ur tags)#the initial idea was like barbarian Bakugo having no idea how to parent bc he’s a gross man used to freedom#but then he actually ends up loving it a lot#but then it morphed into my thoughts abt pro hero Bakugo with an oopsie baby… like I think ur kinda in a relationship but refuse to admit it#until this happens and u need to work together to become a unit cuz he really wants family but … doesn’t know how to attain that#AND THEN I THOUGHT ABT how everyone would be with an oopsie baby and I forget everything else I had for the barbarian idea#so lord knows what was going on in there#but it was on the mind#I want humming bird fluid :/#shii posts#gen#kids tw
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I want to make a post analysing mai & ty lee’s appearances in return to omashu but idk how to word things. hatred and rage
#uhh just pretend this is a post like that instead#convo between mai & michi hint at family dynamics (father patriarch career important. mai told to suck it up. value affluence & power)#ty lee comment iroh knows he’s a lot more than just ‘funny’ & hides his intellect (takes one to know one). iroh (sexist) wouldn’t realise#the same about her#way ty lee agrees to go w azula (spiritual nonsense) very telling for her character#flaws in azula’s relationship w mai way more subtle than those in her relationship w ty lee but definitely there. force her to give up#her brother#different interpretations ty lee comment abt zuko. figure out if she has crush or know she doesn’t (in which case deliberately mean to mai)#either option under azula’s nose#‘please tell me you’re here to kill me’ yes morbid sense of humour but also tell azula she doesn’t value her life (‘azula can shoot all the#lightning she wants at me…’) so she can’t use it against her/threaten her (the way that did work with ty lee#(bc unlike mai ty lee does value hers; survival even main motive during show))#<- those are the notes from my notes app. uhh figure it out ig#I did end up making a post abt that last one#*second to last I mean#elli rambles#ohh wait can’t forget this one:#the way mai runs. something’s wrong with her I think 💞💖#jupiter rewatches atla
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absolutely need a plug!zoro cheating on his gf with u nsfw …
no bc y’all are on a roll w these plug!zoro requests! position is based off this video btw 😩
ೃ⁀➷ what you want, roronoa zoro
thinking about the way that man would literally hate his girlfriend fr. like, he’s sure he’s only with her because his family loves her, but he just doesn’t. and i mean he proves that when he ends up outside your door in the middle of the rainy night, somewhere around 3 AM.
everyone would always ask him—why not just break up with her? and zoro never had an answer. his girlfriend was too fragile of a person and he hated that crying shit honestly. the only person he ever cared about making cry was ironically you.
his relationship was anything but secure. zoro was chill with whatever his girlfriend did. he trusted her, at first. she wanted to go to a party, he’d let her. she got a ride from some guy friend who was maybe his level of attractive? he didn’t care. but the same rules didn’t apply to him. zoro could be getting ready to go to work and his girlfriend would be up on him with accusations.
“i feel like you’re gonna go and fuck that bitch,” his girlfriend spat with venom, referring to you as he slid on his jeans. the green head couldn’t help but roll his eyes as she rambled on about disliking you. he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself lightly when he realized how crazy she was behind closed doors.
“well now i’mma go do that just cuz’ you said it,” he muttered, just trying to get underneath her skin. his girlfriend thought he was bluffing, but not with the way blood rushed to zoro’s dick at the thought of just being in your arms to cuddle tonight.
zoro doesn’t think twice either when it comes to pulling up to your crib. he parked in front of your cute little car, something he did to express his dominance over you in the way your cars together looked like a ‘his and hers’ pair. he was weird like that, but that’s just how much he felt for you fr.
by the time he gets to your door, his heart is already thumping in his chest. not in fear of getting caught, but instead at the sight of you in your tiny nightdress, two sizes to small to barely contain your wide hips and busty breasts.
you give him a blank look as you leaned against the threshold of the door. “ian call you for no weed.”
zoro gives you his million dollar smirk. “you should know that’s not the only reason i come over anymore.”
“yeah yeah to cheat on your girl, sure zoro,” you roll your eyes.
the green head kisses his teeth, “not cheating if i don’t want her.” with a step to the side, you helplessly let him in, and he wastes no time in kissing your lips. “missed you so damn much.”
“missed you too,” you can’t help but mutter against his lips. zoro wraps his hands around your waist and pulls your smaller frame against this larger own. his hands shamelessly wanter down to the fat of your ass as he grips it, giving it a reddening smack and repeating his actions.
zoro pulls away with one last peck to your lips. “how was your day mama?” he grabs your hand and drags you to the couch.
“fine,” you muttered with a bored expression, grabbing the remote to turn on the tv.
zoro furrows his eyebrow and snatches the remote from your hand. “what’s up wit’ you? you okay? talk to me.”
you shrug your shoulders. “i’m straight,” but your tone wasn’t convincing him otherwise.
zoro gives you a suspicious hum before pulling you into his lap. “what you doing tomorrow night?”
“probably homework,” you admit. “why?”
zoro can’t help but grin at you, flashing his gold canine pieces. “got us tickets to see that standup you been wanting to go to.”
your eyes can’t help but brighten at his words. “you lying.”
“i’m so deadass,” zoro laughed.
you kiss your teeth and slap his chest. “you don’t even like comedy!”
the greenhead gives you a shy shrug with a small blush flaming his tan cheeks. “they have an open bar, free sake so,” with a playful roll of your eyes, you kiss your teeth but smile. “so you gon’ stop giving me this bratty ass silent treatment?”
“whatever. you’re a whore for sake.”
“nah,” zoro shakes his head. “you ain’t hit me all week. you know what i had to go through not talking to you.”
you give him a sarcastic frown before pecking his lips. “aw, poor baby.” you move to pull away but are shocked when zoro grips your face and forces you back into his orbit.
how you found yourself half naked on his lip with your legs spread for him—you don’t know. damn mosshead was just that good.
“i got you,” zoro’s voice is all you hear as he steadies you on top of him with your back facing the tv. his one arm is all he needs to steady your body against his lip while he uses the other to start rubbing at you clit. “just touch me baby.”
a breath escapes from your throat as you find the courage to wrap your hand about his hard cock. his tip is an angry peach color as it oozes out pre cum, already excited from your touch. “like this daddy?”
“fuck, just like that mama,” zoro’s own breath hitches in his throat as he fights not to buck up into your grasp. “love the way you touch me. just like that baby. make me feel so safe.”
you’re almost shocked by the words leaving your mouth as you continue jerking him. the two of you hold an intimate scope of eye contact as you touch each other’s body, nothing being heard but the soft moans and breaths from your arousal.
“make you feel safe?” your voice is soft and sultry as you run your thumb over his tip. zoro can’t help but groan at his sensitivity, too late to even catch himseld. “feel safe when im loving you like this papa? you like that?”
“oh fuck, yes,” zoro whined, fully submitting to you. his girlfriend had never seen this side of him. every time he had sex with her, if he ever did, it was quick and to the point. no one was able to milk out this soft and vulnerable side to him but you. oh how you had his fucking heart and dick in the comfort of your pocket.
your legs are spread in front of zoro, giving him a complete view of what you were working it. somehow wanting to see you spread more, he grabs you by your thighs and opens you up more, practically salivating at the sight of your pretty clit glistening from his touch.
“you make me feel safe too,” you breath out with a blushed smile, trying to keep your pace with jerking zoro off. it was hard to do so when he was rubbing you nice and slow, just the way he knew you liked it.
at this point? it was all more than sex. zoro meant every word he uttered out, especially how you made him feel safe during his most vulnerable moments. only you bought this side out in him.
“fuck i’m almost there, zee.” you throw your head back and grind further into his touch.
“me too baby,” zoro breathed out, watching as cum oozed from his tip by the second. “you fuck me so good, no one does it like you—shit.”
you lick your lips as you lean over and spit on zoro’s cock, adding more lubricant to your already slippery movements. “like it when i stroke your fat cock papa? like this?”
“zoro bites his lip and nods his head. a whine fights to break through from his mouth as he lets out a broken “mhm. fuck, mama. keep going and you’ll make me cum.”
you take this as a challenge and speed up your movements with hopes to overstimulate him. zoro’s mouth falls open, and the tables inevitably turn when he’s shaking beneath you, watching you milk every drop of cum out of him. you hold your tongue out as he shoots his load upwards, droplets of his semen landing on your taste buds.
a greedy smile graces your lips as you continue jerking him off, more and more cum flying out from his sore tip by the second. “fucking hell—just like that just like that, fuck!” zoro moans loudly as he feels himself get drained.
you didn’t mind the fact that he came before you this time. watching this hard man come undone before you was enough to have you creaming all over his fingers right after. you too begin to breathe heavily as zoro maintians his circular movements against your clit.
when you’re both fucked out from your intimate session, zoro slides you onto his lap, your clit begrudgingly grinding against the base of his still hard dick. with his face in your neck, he breathes out, “i’ll break up with her. your eyebrows raise at his words. “if that’s what you want.” you waste no time in giving him a stern response.
“it is what i want.”
#lora’s fics! ೄ���࿐#plug zoro#plug!zoro#plug zoro x black reader#plug zoro x chubby reader#plug zoro x reader#roronoa zoro x black reader#zoro x black reader#zoro x chubby reader#roronoa zoro x chubby reader#roronoa zoro smut#zoro smut#roronoa zoro x reader#roronoa zoro#zoro x reader#one piece x black reader#one piece x black!reader#one piece x chubby reader#one piece x reader#one piece smut
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lost cause.
pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, kinda angsty idk?; unedited bc we live just to suffer, erhm i don't think there's a lot of warnings here, open to interpretation if oc is depressed 🤔; basically “it's rotten work,” “not to me. not if it’s you,” + that one scene in nobody wants this (if you’ve watched the show you’ll know what i’m talking about) word count: 0.6k listen to 🎧: risk - gracie abrams
as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡
navigation / masterlist / ko-fi
“i think i’m starting to hate myself again.”
your voice is casual when you say it, indifferent, nonchalant, as if you’re merely bringing up the weather or reading from a shopping list. you’re used to it by now — the fact that it comes and goes, that if there are highs then there must be lows too. that sometimes, there are no good days, just better ones.
you know minho hasn’t fallen asleep because you still feel him playing with your hair while you lay on his chest, his index finger twisting a lock around before letting it fall over your back. he doesn’t falter, not even once. no change in his calming breathing, no sign that he’s all too surprised by your sudden announcement. you suppose he’s used to it as much as you are.
he’s quiet for a while, like the night outside the comfort of your bedroom. the weather forecast warned you of thunderstorms, but everything remained still and safe. there wasn’t even a spark of lightning to be found.
when minho finally speaks, only a simple “okay,” comes out, followed by a question. “then i’ll love you more to make up for it. how much time do you need? couple weeks?”
you shake your head. “longer,” you say.
“couple months?”
a beat of silence. another shake. “longer.”
“couple years?” he asks. no hesitation. “couple decades?”
minho can’t see you from this position, but you can hear the sound of his heart. he’s steady and secure and you’re nothing more than a fickle flame that’s always on the verge of going out.
“you can’t handle it,” you tell him. “better to quit while you’re ahead.”
it would be so easy, wouldn’t it? for him to pack up before he realizes somewhere down the line that he’s wasted his time and effort on a lost cause?
“i know what you’re doing, by the way. stop that.”
you pretend to ask, “what am i doing?”
before you know it, he’s already managed to flip the both of you over. he’s hovering over you with his forearms on either side of your head, effectively caging you in, chest to chest, and his hips pressed flush against yours.
“i told you i’m not going anywhere,” minho says, brushing some hair away from your face. “stop trying to get me to leave.”
you blink. he’s so close and oh so warm, so beautiful as he stares down at you, so patient and kind when you’re telling him that you need him to love the parts that even you can’t bring yourself to love.
your hands settle on his shoulders. “don’t blame me when you regret it.”
“i won’t regret it. not if it’s you.”
then he’s kissing you, soft and slow, and that’s when you finally hear the first roar of thunder that should’ve arrived hours ago. he kisses you like he was made for you — or you for him, you’re not really sure, but it can’t possibly matter that much.
“so?” minho prompts after he’s pulled away, “how long?”
his eyes are sparkling and you’re still a little dazed. lightheaded but you know that you’ll always love him the most, know that you’re pushing it, know that you’re asking for what many would never be willing to give. “what if i say i’ll need you for the rest of my life?”
his lips curl into a tender smile, one that he presses to your mouth once again. you taste devotion in the kiss, in the way one of his hands crosses the short distance to hold your face so delicately it makes your heart hurt.
“i’ll love you more for the rest of our lives then.”
all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 30.10.2024]
#stray kids fic#stray kids imagines#stray kids fluff#stray kids angst#stray kids x reader#skz fic#skz imagines#skz x reader#skz x you#lee know fluff#lee know angst#lee know scenarios#lee know x reader#lee know imagines#lee know x you#lee minho x reader#lee minho x you#stray kids#lee know#lee minho
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training partners (pt. 5)
summary: hugh begins filming for deadpool & wolverine and as planned, you get to join him as the on-set photographer for the film... and aspects of your relationship comes up in conversation. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader warnings: implied age gap (hugh is 55, reader is in late 20s-early 30s), reader has some description (hair, outfit), reader has some negative self-talk / aspects of imposter syndrome, no use of y/n. word count: 3.4k a/n: let me tell y'all, this was just so much fun to write! we're progressing this relationship and we're not even close to being done here, so had to leave it on a bit of a cliffhanger bc the next one is gonna be good 😉 hope you enjoy!!! this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman. (btw - updates will be posted either saturday night or sunday morning!) prev part. - next part.
Hugh cuddles you from behind, lips near your ear and arm draped over your midsection. He feels your fingertips run along his forearm, resting back against him as you stare out the window of the hotel room. You and Hugh had arrived on location, not wasting any time before checking into the hotel. Tomorrow would be the first day on set of Deadpool & Wolverine and there’s a part of you that’s extremely nervous.
It still doesn’t feel real that you’re here, not only with Hugh, but that you’d get to be the on-set photographer for this movie. You feel a sudden sense of imposter syndrome overcome you. Despite Shawn and Ryan repeatedly telling you that your work was amazing, it still didn’t feel like you belonged here, amongst this caliber of talent.
You know that you should be asleep, should be getting some rest, but you can’t shut off your mind. You’re about to slide out of Hugh’s grasp but his arm tightens around you and pulls you back flush against him.
“Where ya going?” Hugh whispers against your ear.
“Can’t sleep.”
“I know,” he replies. “I can practically hear you thinking.” Slowly, Hugh watches you turn to lie on your back so that you can look up at him. His arm remains draped over you as he props himself on his free hand. “Talk to me.”
“Just don’t wanna disappoint you or Ryan or Shawn.”
“You won’t, baby.”
“But how do you know?”
“Because your work is amazing,” Hugh says softly, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “I know how passionate you are with your work, how excited you get when you’re behind the camera… You love what you do and you produce amazing photographs because of it.” His hand from your midsection moves up to your brush a few strands of hair away from your face, thumb running gently over your cheekbone. “You’re going to be great, honey.”
You look up at him, gazing into his eyes. Since meeting Ryan and Shawn, your world has just expanded. You no longer believe that you wouldn’t fit into Hugh’s life because you just fit so easily, like you were meant to be there all along. The more time you spend with Hugh and his friends, how comfortable and at ease you are around him, you begin to realize that you’re falling so deeply in love with him.
And it fucking scares you because you know that at any moment, this fairytale, this dream can come to an end. You try to tell him through your eyes, through your expressions just how strongly you feel for him. You don’t want to say the words first because you aren’t sure if he even feels the same way. It’s truly only been a few months since getting together with him and there are just so many other things to consider before telling him that you’re falling for him.
You have to tell your parents.
He has to tell his kids.
And his fans… God, you’re afraid that once the entire world knows of your relationship with him that things will change.
So, you try to hold onto him a little longer to yourself (even though you know it’s bound to come out) and you’re grateful that Hugh understands. He never pushes you past what you’re comfortable with.
“It must be exhausting,” you finally say. “To always be reassuring me.”
Hugh shakes his head as he sits up to rest against the headboard. He brings you to sit on his lap and reaches over to turn on the lamp from the nightstand. He stares up at you and notices the distress in your features and he wants nothing more than to just tell you how much he loves you. He hates the fact that your ex-boyfriend and past relationship causes so much doubt and uncertainty in you. He wonders who you were before your ex-boyfriend, if the light in you dimmed because of him. He wishes he can just heal all of the wounds and scars that your ex-boyfriend left, wishes he can take away all the pain that still lingers.
“It isn’t,” Hugh replies. “If I have to repeatedly tell you how amazing you are and how lucky I am to have you, I’ll do it. No matter what it takes and no matter how many times I have to say it.” He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours as he feels your arms snake around his neck. He stares into your eyes, can see them glistening with unshed tears.
There’s a silence that engulfs the both of you and even with the silence, you both can somehow sense what the other is saying.
I love you.
It hangs in the air, neither you or Hugh saying it out loud but you feel it. You both do. Hugh reaches up and splays his hand against the side of your neck, his thumb brushing against your jawline. He sees you lean against his touch, eyes falling shut as a tear slides down your cheek and hitting his thumb. Gently, he reaches up to wipe away the fallen tear and leans in to kiss your cheek.
He wants to tell you how much he loves you, how you had been such an unexpected surprise in his life, how he loves all of you, even parts of yourself that you don’t think are worthy of love. With your eyes still closed, Hugh mouths it silently: “I love you.”
Your arms tighten around him and then you move to bury your face against the side of his neck. Having him hold you like this brings you so much comfort, so much safety and when you feel his arms wrap around your waist, you let out a contented sigh.
“You’re perfect,” you whisper. “And I’m really lucky to have you, Hugh.”
He isn’t sure why your words stir something inside of him. It causes butterflies to swarm his stomach, his heart beating faster. His hand gently rubs your back and he feels you relax in his grasp. “Not perfect,” he replies. “And if anyone’s lucky, baby, it’s me. I think you came into my life when I needed it the most,” Hugh admits.
That causes you to pull back again to look down at him. “I think life brought us together at the right time,” you add.
“And my life’s been better because of it.”
You blush and lean in to peck his lips lightly. You glance at the clock on the nightstand, seeing that it’s well past midnight and knowing that you both need to sleep soon. Hugh starts filming tomorrow and it’ll be your first day on set. On any movie set, but you want to tell him that you’re falling for him.
“Hugh, can I tell you something?”
“Anything, baby.”
“I, uh–” you bite your lower lip nervously. You can feel your heart beating out of your chest because you need to tell him, to be completely honest with him. “I’m fal–”
Hugh’s phone rings, interrupting you and he doesn’t even bother to turn his attention to it. He nods in your direction, the phone still ringing in the background.
“You should answer that, Hugh. It can be Ryan or Shawn, or… your kids.”
Hugh looks into your eyes and can see that the moment passed. He had a strong feeling of what you were about to say and it caused an excitement to rush through him. It gives him reassurance and certainty that you’re feeling the same way as he is.
“Right, yeah. Sorry, baby.” Hugh pecks your lips and then reaches for his phone, seeing the caller ID. When you see Shawn’s name on the screen, you slowly climb off his lap and move to lie back down on the bed. Hugh stands from the bed and answers the phone, motioning that he’d be in the other room.
You nod in his direction before turning to lie on your side, once more facing the large window as you stare out of it. “I’m falling in love with you, Hugh,” you mumble to yourself, to the empty bedroom once you hear the door shut behind him.
—
The following morning, you and Hugh arrive on set and begin making your way to his trailer. You’re dressed casually in a pair of jeans with a white t-shirt and an oversized dark blue knit sweater with your taupe colored birkenstocks. You have two cameras draped over you, one digital and one film.
There’s been an unresolved tension that lingered between you and Hugh since last night. You hadn’t tried to continue the conversation when he came back to bed after a brief phone call with Shawn and Ryan and he didn’t try to push it either. But, as you both got ready that morning, there were lingering glances, words unsaid but hung in the air, waiting for someone to just say something about last night.
Yet, neither of you did.
Once inside the trailer, you turn to look at Hugh and reach out for his hand. He turns around to look at you, confusion written on his features as he steps up to you.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Are we–” you bite your lower lip. “Should we not act like we’re in a relationship while we’re on set?” You ask honestly, releasing his hand to rest on his chest.
“What do you wanna do?” Hugh asks. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, baby, we’ll go with that.”
You think back to last night, how close you were to telling him that you were falling in love with him. You wanted to keep your relationship with him a secret, private, and only for you and close friends to know, but you know that’s not likely to happen. This is just another aspect of Hugh’s life, being in the public eye.
“It’s going to eventually come out, right?” You reply, looking up at him. “Things will change once everyone knows.”
“I know.” Hugh says quietly. “But it won’t change the way I feel about you.”
“Okay,” you nod. “Okay.”
Hugh tilts his head and then leans down to peck your lips. “How about we think on it, hm? See how this week goes and if you’re still sure, then we can talk about it.”
You feel relief flood in your veins. After last night’s events, you didn’t even have time to think about what your dynamic with Hugh would be while on set. The only other people on set that know about your relationship is Ryan and Shawn and there’s a part of you that wants to tell Hugh how you feel about him before announcing to the whole world of this new relationship.
“How do you know me so well?” you quietly laugh, bringing your hands to rest on his lower back.
“You don’t realize how expressive you are, do you?” He smiles. “Plus, you’ve got a terrible poker face.”
You roll your eyes and then wrap your arms around his midsection, hugging him tightly to you. Despite being with him on set, you’re both going to have to work hard to keep this relationship a secret from everyone else and that means no intimate touching, no kissing – you both can’t display any affection towards each other.
“What can I say? I wear my heart on my sleeve.”
Hugh smiles. “I know. It’s one of the things I love about you.”
Love. It slips out of Hugh’s lips and your eyes immediately widen up in his direction to see the same shocked expression on his face. He opens his mouth to say something, but there’s a knock at the door of his trailer that stops him.
You both don’t move to answer it though, still staring into each other’s eyes and the unresolved tension from this morning comes back. The unfinished conversation from last night now lingers in the air.
“Hugh, it’s make-up! You ready for us?” the team calls out from the other side of the door.
“Duty calls,” you whisper quietly, shakily.
Hugh just nods, but he leans down to press his lips against yours. If he’s going to be filming all day, he knows he won’t be able to see you until tonight so he takes this brief moment to deepen the kiss. He can’t believe he let it slip. In his trailer of all places.
You move your lips against his, hand moving up to tangle in his hair. You follow his movements and only pull away when you hear another knock. You take a step back, creating distance between the both of you. You want to say something, to address what he just said, but the knocking on the door becomes more persistent. With a sigh, you turn around and open the door for them, flashing them a friendly smile.
“Hi,” you introduce yourself, telling them that you’re here early to take some behind-the-scenes shots of Hugh getting ready to film his scenes and they’re all more than happy to be involved.
You easily move into the background, having been used to being behind the camera. He sits at the chair in front of the mirrors and when he’s not in conversation with the make-up artists, he’s glancing over at you to make sure that you’re okay. You just give him a nod and a small smile.
This is your comfort zone, behind the camera and capturing candid moments. About half an hour later, you tell Hugh and the make-up team that you’re leaving to go and explore more of the set to capture more pictures, mentioning that you’re going to find Ryan’s trailer afterwards. Telling them that you were leaving was more for Hugh, but you don’t spare him a glance when you leave his trailer, even though you wanted nothing more than to just go up to him and give him a kiss goodbye.
—
By the time you see Hugh again, it’s lunch time for the cast and crew. You’re looking down at your camera, scrolling through the photographs you’ve taken so far and it brings a large smile on your face. When you feel a hand rest on your lower back, you turn and look up to see Hugh.
“I can’t believe I get to see Wolverine in action,” you tease. “My favorite superhero.”
Hugh grins down at you, wanting to reach out to pull you into his arms but he refrains. “That’s right, Wolverine’s always been your favorite, huh?”
“Oh yeah, even more so now,” you smile.
“Yeah? Why’s that, baby?”
“Because of you.”
Hugh smiles, biting his lower lip. “Because of me, hm? You like me, baby?”
You nod, thinking back to what he said earlier that morning. “More than you know, Hugh,” you say seriously.
Hugh looks around and notices that you’re both alone. He leans down and pecks your lips lightly, pulling away slowly. “We got a lot of things to talk about when we get back to our hotel room, huh?”
You nod, bringing your hands up to run along his chest. “Yeah, we do.”
“Well, I can’t wait.” Hugh takes your hands and kisses your knuckles before he releases his hold on you. “For right now, though, gimme your camera.”
You narrow your eyes, looking up at him. “Why?”
“What? Don’t trust me with it?”
“Maybe…”
Hugh feigns a shocked gasp and then lets out a quiet chuckle. “Just – Please, I promise I’ll be very careful.”
“Fine,” you tell him. “You’re lucky I like you.”
“Oh, I know.” Hugh winks. “Now, camera please.”
You remove the strap from around your neck and hand him your digital camera, tilting your head up at him as you watch him play with the control.
“Alright, now smile for me, baby.” He looks through the viewfinder and points the camera down at you, pressing down on the shutter button as the camera takes continuous photographs.
“What? No!” you say, trying to reach out for him. “Hugh!”
Hugh takes a step back and grins from behind the camera, using his free hand to grab your arm so that you can’t cover your face. He sees the smile on your face, eyes sparkling and he takes the picture. He feels his heart swell at the sight of you as he looks down at your camera to see the picture he had taken of you. You look so carefree, so calm and at ease, so perfectly beautiful.
“Don’t delete that,” Hugh tells you and hands you back the camera.
You look down at the picture he’s taken and you smile to yourself. Leave it up to Hugh to capture a picture of you that you actually like. You place the camera back around your neck, gazing up at him. “Did you have your lunch yet?”
Hugh nods. “Yeah, baby. What about you?”
“No, not yet. I’ve just been walking around set. I can’t believe you get to do this for a living.”
Hugh takes your hand and leads you back to his trailer. “Yeah, I’m really lucky. I’m glad you’re here though, baby.”
“Me too,” you smile, lacing your fingers with his.
Once at his trailer, he opens the door for you and you step inside, removing the cameras from around your neck to set on the table. Immediately, you walk over to the couch near the end of his trailer and lie back on it with a contented sigh. Hugh smiles to himself and walks towards you, sitting down near your feet and placing it on his lap. He removes your shoes and begins massaging the bottom of your feet, watching you flinch away from his touch and bring your legs up.
“Nope,” you tell him.
“What? My baby ticklish, is that it?” Hugh grins, turning to face you as he grabs your ankles and pulls you to him.
“Hugh, don’t even think about it.”
A mischievous look flashes in his features as he moves to settle himself between your legs. “Ah, so you are ticklish. Good to know. Is it just your feet that you’re ticklish or…” his fingers move along your sides teasingly, eyes staring directly into yours.
“Hugh!” you exclaim, reaching down to grab his wrists to pull his hands away from your body.
Hugh smirks and grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head as he leans down, lips inches away from yours. “Aw, baby,” he says lowly, his free hand applying pressure along your side as he begins to tickle you as you erupt in a fit of laughter. He keeps his gaze on you as you continue to giggle, squirming from his touch as you struggle to get your wrists free from his grip.
“Hugh!” you repeat in between your laughter. “Please!”
Hugh chuckles to himself, pausing briefly to look down at you. He keeps his hold on your wrists and then brings his free hand to your cheek. “I love hearing your laugh, baby.”
“You’re terrible,” you tease, trying to catch your breath.
“I’m sorry,” he says with a smile, releasing his hold on your wrists as your hands move to rest on his shoulders. “Kind of.”
You roll your eyes and lean up to peck his lips. “Hugh?”
“Yeah, baby?” He asks, gazing into your eyes.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For everything.”
Hugh smiles and uses his free hand to stroke your hair back away from your face. God, he wants to tell you he loves you, but he refrains from doing so.
Not right now.
Not yet.
But tonight, he will.
—
You had gone back to the hotel earlier than Hugh, already changed into one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He texts you that he’s on his way back and you smile to yourself, sitting up on the bed with the television playing in the background. On your computer, you transfer the photos from your camera to your hard drive, waiting for it to finish.
You turn your head at the sound of the door opening and sees Hugh step inside, dropping his bag near the door before he makes his way towards you. You stand up from the bed and smile up at him, tilting your head at the look on his face. He looks anxious, but determined. He strides towards you and immediately wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” you smile, your hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. “Everything okay?”
“I love you,” Hugh blurts out, feeling the weight lift off his shoulders. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
---
taglist (if links don't work, i'm sorry!): @corvusmorte - @dragonqueen89 - @whimsiwitchy - @kellyxo1
@wolviehugh - @moonxknightx - @sullyselena - @angelofthorr - @spectorrrhgf
@needz1nk - @fandomxo00 - @godlypresley - @kythefangirl25 - @callsignyourmom
@sue8724 - @squishyfruitloop - @sylviavf - @emotrash1 - @dissentientss
@sir-thisisadndserver - @absolutepie - @millajay - @itsallyscorner - @haytchee
@wolverigrl - @its-in-the-woods - @d3ad2you
#hugh jackman#hugh jackman fanfiction#hugh jackman fanfic#hugh jackman x fem!reader#hugh jackman x female reader#hugh jackman x f!reader#hugh jackman x reader#real person fanfiction#real person fanfic#real person fiction#story: training partners
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JJK—
synopsis: just some random hc’s i have for the men of jjk!
tags: fluff only, the men of jjk, nanami kento, choso kamo, geto suguru, gojo satoru, toji fushiguro, hc’s, short & sweet
creator notes: part 2
nanami !!
— is totally that “i will take care of you in every aspect” guy but i secretly think he’s pretty possessive too
— doesn’t get jealous easily
— flip flops between being a total morning person (on his days off) but the days he has to “work” he’s the opposite
— love/hate relationship with coffee bc he def drinks 8 cups of it every morning and feels gross after he does it
— the epitome of cleanliness and perfect hygiene
— like 100% he uses top of the line shampoo and body washes and after shaves and cologne!!
— ALWAYS smells good and it’s a mix of amber, some kinda wood, and probably something soft like vanilla
— feel like he’s cheap when it comes to stuff for himself but anytime it involves you, he’s buying you the best of the best
— leaves you notes all over the place whether it’s on the fridge, next to your side of the bed, sending flowers to your work space with a note attached, all just to tell you how much he cares and loves you
— willingly works overtime for you :3
choso !!
— sleeps until 4 pm every day
— a true night owl, mans HATES the sun
— feel like he’s super photogenic but hates taking photos unless you’re taking them
— would work any electronic like an elderly man
— “i can’t find the settings on this thing. where is it i’ve been looking for it for 15 minutes!” “it’s right here” “oh. how did you do that?”
— either has no scent at all or smells like iron/cinnamon/or straight up blood im so sorry skshskhkdhsk
— you both match everything from jewelry, especially rings, to outfits
— sleepy eye bags 24/7!!!
— takes a 5 minute shower but sits in the bathroom on his phone watching the loudest videos he can for 45 mins before he gets in
— loves spicy food!!
geto !!
— leaves gifts in your rooms without a word
— is the type to “i saw it and it reminded me of you so i got it”
— loves wholeheartedly. full chest, heart, mind, body, and soul
— willingly hands you his hoodie after he’s done wearing it
— quality time & gift giving is his love language!!
— heavy on quality time, he wants to sit or stand beside you and just coexist 24/7
— matching tattoos and piercings
— scary guard dog bf!!!!
— actually doesn’t mean to be but he kind of loves it a lot when other guys run away from you(him)
— his pet names for you range from “babe” to “stinky” and everything in between
— probably smells like sage & citrus
— he takes the longesssst showers ever and always invites you to them
— let’s you braid his hair, falls asleep every time you do it
gojo !!
— wants to touch you constantly!
— you’re either holding his hand or sitting in his lap anytime you two are together
— loves loves loves hugs
— gossip QUEEN! omg he’s so nosy
— “did you HEAR about this????” and it’s either the most basic information or straight up gossip gold
— always emphasizes the MY in his pet names for you
— “oh my love!” “my darling.” “hmm my princess?”
— a jealous, jealous man >:3
— loves to show you off until someone other than himself looks at you jshsjshk
— is the type of dude who acts all funny and tough in public but the second it’s just the two of you, at home, he wants to be babied and have his back scratched 24/7
— doesn’t tell you when it’s going to be chilly out so he gets to tease you as he hands you his warm jacket
— plans surprise dates all the time
toji !!
— is never caught wearing anything other than sweat pants
— wore a suit once for your first date and then never put it back on
— his love language is probably a mix between physical touch and gift giving
— has a hand always placed on your thigh!!
— his favorite season is winter and when you ask him why he just says he likes the cold
— it probably also has to do with wanting to keep you warm too
— is the type to: “i hate wearing bracelets” “ok ill just take it back” “no fuck you i’m gonna wear it and never take it off”
— literally keeps everything you give him in a box so he doesn’t lose them
— uses 13 and 1 shampoo
— calls you his old lady(affectionate) unironically
— smells like cigarettes and cheap ass beer KSHSKHS
— when he’s actually clean and sober he probably smells more like heavy wood and fire/smoke
— is a massive HEATER when he sleeps and he always sleeps on his back
— sleeps in the nude
#zevrra zevrra!#fluffy zevrra#jjk#nanami kento#nanami x reader#jjk nanami#choso kamo#jjk choso#choso x reader#geto suguru#jjk geto#geto x reader#gojo satoru#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#toji fushiguro#jjk toji#toji zenin#toji x reader#jujutsu kaisen#this is pure fluff!#boyfriend hc’s#headcanons
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Nanami NSFW Headcanons
Lemme know if you want me to elaborate/write something about any of these
18+ content below the cut, mdni, implied chubby fem!reader
Enjoy! 💙
☆ Starting controversial agaaaain, but like I said with Toji, I just don’t see him being a hard dom either. This man will never call you a whore, would be offended if you requested he call you a bitch or cumdump—I think he’d be okay with slut, but he wouldn’t say that unless you ask
☆ Very firm about his boundaries, he won’t do anything he doesn’t feel comfortable doing & you won’t be able to change his mind. Very respectful of yours & will never push them
☆ Lowkey loves to be praised & doted on. His ears turn very pink when you tell him how good he’s making you feel, or how big his cock is, or if you tell him his voice is sexy
☆ The fact you find his voice sexy confuses him—he thinks it’s too monotone, and he isn’t exactly the smoothest guy out there with his words. He’s not very talkative in general, and that extends to sex as well. Once you express how much it turns you on, however, he will dirty talk more, and more often as he builds confidence doing it (dirty talk is hard you guys, be patient with him!!!)
☆ Nanami is stiff, and awkward when your sexual relationship begins. He doesn’t have a ton of experience, and his stoic nature can make moments of passion challenging for him. If you’re more experienced, you’ll probably take the lead, and it’s something he’s very thankful for.
☆ If you’re less or equally experienced, he’ll take the lead. He’ll be honest about his own lack of experience, and the two of you will explore uncharted territory together—so sweet
☆ Even during the early stages when he’s awkward his intensity, observant nature, generosity, and thoroughness have an allure of their own
☆ He definitely warms up with time though, so don’t fret. Sex has never been at the forefront of his mind, so he discovers his kinks/preferences through your relationship
☆ As I said before, Nanami is a very generous lover; making you feel good makes him feel good. He’s the type that can come from eating you out, which is especially hot if he’s dressed in those formal clothes of his
☆ He loves toys, uses a vibrator on you almost everytime you have sex. Nanami is a very practical person; the vibrator makes you feel so good, and allows him to put more focus on other ways of pleasing you—why wouldn’t he use it? The notion that some men hate them bc they threaten their egos bewilders him
☆ Your vibrators are basically never dead because Nanami is on TOP of those things; he’s gotta make sure it’s ready for whenever the mood strikes you guys. The days you’re home and he’s at work you’ll occasionally get a ‘is the vibrator on the charger?’ text, reminding you like a parent would their kid about the chicken they’re supposed to thaw LMFAO
☆ Not a tease at all. If you say please he’s gonna do it!! If you tell him you want to be teased in the bedroom he’ll try his best but it doesn’t take much before he relents :/
☆ Breeding kink yes, but I just KNOW he’s a vasectomy man (unless yall decide to pop some kiddos out). He’s just too responsible to be risky, & doesn't want his partner to feel obliged to take on the responsibility of birth control all alone. Perfect man, truly
☆ Nanami loves some good ol’ fashioned missionary—who doesn’t? But he also really enjoys positions where he can just hold you close, and focus on the intimacy of the moment and the physical sensations rather than the visuals. Prone bone, and cuddlefucking are prime examples; when he rests his head in your neck, his free hand squeezing all your softness, he’s in heaven
☆ Nylons, pantyhose, stockings: wear them if you want to get destroyed. If you got thigh-highs that pinch your leg? Hoooooo boy. He’s not typically a biter, but the squishy parts hanging over the stocking will be gnawed on. Just accept they’ll be bruised, you’ll be ok
☆Nanami is very appreciative of lingerie, and does not tear it off, he’ll have you keep them on the whole time
☆ Huuuuge sucker for scents. Perfume, soap, laundry detergent—he appreciates good smells, and once he starts associating certain smells with you they get him going
#Nanami smut#nanami x reader#nanami x you#nanami x chubby reader#chubby reader#idk why I have so many thoughts for him he isn’t even my favorite LOL#dreams of nanami ☁︎#headcanons ☽#nanami headcanons#dreams ☽#wet dreams ☽
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leehan as your boyfriend! ♡
established relationship, PURE fluff, leehan x reader, leehan is IN LOVE with you, also not proofread LOL!!!!!!!
word count: ~800 i think lol
warnings: none
a/n: i can't lie this whole thing was sooo self indulgent i just love him so bad #GUILTY!
literally does everything in his power to make you smile and feel good... #1 boyfriend in the world i fear!
he must have the ability to read the minds of the people he loves bc he just knows what you need all the time
...or rather than this, all of his opinions and preferences become whatever you like! (without complaint ofc, because he’s okay with anything as long as you’re satisfied)
this makes me think he’s rlly big on quality time because he seems like the type of bf to be content with just. whatever! as long as you’re there ^_^
quite literally only has eyes for you
he doesn’t really *intend* to do this, but it is so difficult for him to focus on anyone else if he has *you* there with him
everyone will always complain when they hangout with just you two bc they will always end up feeling like a third wheel :skull:
even if you try to tease him for literally adoring you 24/7 he wouldn’t even be flustered or embarrassed. he would just nod and smile in agreeance U_U
he’ll always go out of his way to compliment you too, telling you how cute you look or how good you are at doing something. he gets a little shy every time you compliment him, but he always recovers by turning the praise back to you
even though he isn’t the best texter, i imagine he would put in extra effort to keep you updated throughout the day-- especially if it's hard to spend a lot of time together in person
you're just going about your day at school/work and you hear a notification on your phone... it's leehan sending you like 10 different angles of the new friends he got for his fish tank
or it's one of his selfies that are either 1) blurry, 2) crop out like 80% of his face, 3) at an unnatural selfie angle, or 4) all of the above. regardless, he's still your handsome boyfriend & looks amazing in every pic he sends
unironically i think he would be a DRY texter LMFAO but the way he communicates is kind of endearing. rather than sending messages, he def has a concerningly large album of reaction pics he uses for every possible situation (including ones he made himself using pics of you & the members)
dates with him are SO fun.
again, he doesn't really care too much about what you two do as long as he gets to spend time together... he's just down to try Anything and Everything so you guys never really run out of things to do together
being so eager to try new activities, i can 100% see him suggesting the most obscure data ideas & being so genuinely excited to do it no matter how odd it may seem given the context
cause Boy wdym you think fishing in a river at 12am is a fun idea for a date... it’s not necessarily like you were going to say no .... but also… this isn’t a common date activity, right?
i think he loves staying in with you the most….. sleepover!!! :3
especially after you both had tiring days; spending a night in with each other never fails to recharge you both!
ordering any food you want (he isn’t planning on eating much, so he’d rather get something you’re craving) ((after a couple bites he sits back and watches you eat w/ the biggest grin on his face))
but i think the absolute BEST part of the night is when the two of you are side by side at the bathroom counter doing a Twelve Step Skincare Routine that leehan made himself
and you’re giggling the whole time bc he takes his skincare SERIOUSLY. (that one mf who don’t play about his skincare bye)
i think he’d be super attentive, but silently though
you’d never know he’s constantly keeping track of your reactions to certain things, your different routines, your food preferences, the types of clothes you like
Ok in theory it /sounds/ creepy but he just puts in the effort to observe the way you like to do things so he can help you whenever you need it
IMAGINE you’re running late & you can’t find your phone /again/ and you’re lowkey freaking out because you Need To Leave Now but leehan just steadies you and hands you your phone
and ur kind of in awe ??? i've been looking for this for ten minutes now... How Do you have this …?
he just shrugs and explains “you always leave it underneath the blanket when you make the bed so i figured it might be there again" and motions for you to hurry before you’re late
or maybe you’re feeling under the weather & you ask him to make you a hot drink to help soothe your throat and he comes back with a mug of tea made EXACTLY how you make it for yourself
you're pleasantly surprised upon taking your first sip because …you don’t recall ever telling him how you like your tea?
then he's sitting there with stars in his eyes and saying “i made it properly, right? :3” (clearly very proud of himself bc he remembered how you like it)
doesn't seem like the type to be too extra when it comes to PDA. if anything, he prefers small and/or secret interactions in public (it feels more intimate if only you guys know what's happening)
head pats. that’s it. he thinks the way you literally melt whenever he pats your head is the most endearing thing ever, so he'll save it /specifically/ when you're out w/ a group of people because he loves seeing you so flustered afterwards
keeping a hand on the small of your back or resting his arm on the back of your chair when you're sitting next to each other
holding your hand in his under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze as the two of you continue to talk with the others at the table
at the end of the day... he just loves you so dearly & couldn't be happier knowing that he can call you his, and you can call him yours :,)
© lionhanie 2024 ; all rights reserved!
#boynextdoor#boynextdoor x reader#bnd x reader#bnd fluff#leehan#kim donghyun#kim leehan#leehan x reader#bnd imagines#bnd headcanons#ᯓᡣ��� my writing#boyfriend imagines#boynextdoor fic#boynextdoor fluff#boynextdoor fanfic#leehan scenarios#leehan fluff#boyfriend leehan#boynextdoor leehan#bnd leehan
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Annoyed
Synopsis: Making their in-game ‘Annoyed’ voicelines all about you (smut no angst)
Characters/Ships: fem!reader x Rahu, Zoya, Chameleon, Bai Yi, Du Ruo, Angell, Eirene, and Shalom (Separate)
Warnings: dom/sub dynamics, oral (Shalom & Rahu), Rahu has a cock, spanking (Zoya), fingering (Chameleon, Bai Yi, Angell), slight mommy kink (Du Ruo), strap on (Du Ruo), face sitting (Eirene), inexperience (Shalom & Angell), loss of virginity (Shalom & Angell), reader sometimes referred to as Chief
A/N: Format is a bit different bc so many characters. It seems the smut gods possessed me I finished this in just a few hrs. Will probably make a pt 2 using ‘special attention’ voicelines as well for other charas.
“You’re the chief of the MBCC, yet you’re doing such things…have you no shame?” She grunts out, trying to maintain her composure despite the way your hand is currently pumping her leaking cock. “Do you want me to stop, Rahu?” You ask from between her legs. She eyes you warily. “Someone will walk in and see us.” “The door is locked.” “Seems like you have an answer for everything,” she scoffs. Rahu’s hands grasp the chair’s arms in an attempt to stay clear headed. It doesn’t it work. She huffs, ripping the mask off her face and grips it tightly in her hand. “Make it quick…” she growls, head tilting back in pleasure. “Will do~” you smirk triumphantly before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her tip.
You and Zoya were in the middle of a meeting with other higher ups in the Leigon. She always radiates power and confidence wherever she goes. You thought you were used to it by now. But seeing her give out orders in such an authoritative tone made you weak in the knees. When she sat back down in her chair, your hand made a journey from her knee, to her thigh, and now rests dangerously close to an area that will surly get you in trouble later. “Are you…provoking me?” She grits out at a volume only you could hear. You smile, “I’m being discreet.” “Discreet my ass.” Zoya grips your hand from underneath the table to stop it from moving further. “You want me that bad? You’re such a needy fucking brat. Just wait until this meeting is over.” When the meeting comes to a close, Zoya locks the conference room doors. “I thought I trained you better than this,” she sighs in disappointment. She pulls out a chair and manhandles your body over her lap. “You’re going to count every slap I give you and if you lose count, we’re starting over.” She lands a harsh swat to your exposed rear. “One…”
Chameleon is an alluring woman, and her seductive tactics only render you to be more compelled by her every word. She leans forward from where she was seated and traps you in your chair, her hands planted on either side of the seat you’re in. “I know what you're thinking about... no subconscious impulses go unnoticed before my eyes.” She brushes a few strands of your hair behind your ear. “So tell me Chief,” she murmurs, “do you want me to take control?” Her question hangs in the air for only a second before you allow it with a breathy “yes”. She smiles dangerously, a glint in her eyes that every sinner gets when they know they’ve won. “Perfect,” she whispers, trailing kisses down and around your neck, leaving bright red marks before moving on to the next. Her hand slides underneath your pants, glides under your panties, and only stops when her fingers meet those slick waiting lips she’s been vying for. “Just let it happen.”
Bai Yi tends to be the ‘top’ in your relationship. She can’t help but want to overstimulate you with orgasm after orgasm, drinking in the sound of your moans and your sweetness on her tongue. “Oh? How unusual. Are you taking the lead today? In that case, let’s have some fun…” Bai Yi grins as you lean over her. “But are you sure? You just look so damn good in this outfit, I really want to ravage you.” She whines playfully. It doesn’t take long for you to turn her into a crying, moaning mess. “O-okay no more edging, please let me cum!” She begs. “I’ve been so good for you, haven’t I? Why won’t you let me—” “Where are your manners?” You scold, stilling your curled fingers right before they hit her g-spot. “Ask me nicely and maybe, maybe, I’ll give you the release you so desperately crave.” Bai Yi curses, biting her lip as she sobs in pure ecstasy. “I’ve been such a good girl, chief. I deserve to cum after all that edging and torment.” She pouts, awaiting your decision. “You make a good case,” you sigh, leaning near her ear, “but I think you can take a little more.”
Du Ruo was reading through one of her many mythological books as she laid in bed. She was deeply enthralled by the information she was learning, but her focus broke when a pair of arms wrapped around her waist. “Stop messing around…” she giggled melodically over your wandering hands. Your arms moved up to wrap around her neck, your head resting on her plush chest. “Aw, is my baby needy for attention?” She coos, “Want me to take care of you?” You nod, and she closes the book with care before setting in on the nightstand. From the drawer below, she pulls out the contents needed for her to wear a rather large strap on. “Are you comfortable?” She asks sweetly. Du Ruo places her hands on your bare hips, letting the tip gather your wetness before she dares to push in. “Good, now hold still for mommy~”
“You seem anxious. Do you want me to do something?” Intimacy was almost foreign to Angell. It took a while for the two of you to form a relationship, but it was worth all the effort and more. Angell wanted to try her best—the best is what you deserve really. But there was one thing she wasn’t so keen at. “Something as in…?” “Let me pleasure you.” She asserts, and the rare sight of a blush dusts her cheeks a light pink. She crawls onto the bed towards you and her body towers over your frame. “I want to learn how you make you feel good. Teach me.” And so you show her. Angell takes off your clothes with great anticipation. Her eyes rake over your body and you swear you’ve never seen her desire you more in any other moment. “I’ll talk you through it,” you say softly before guiding her hand down to your core. “Once your fingers go in, do whatever feels right to you. Stroke, scissor or curl your fingers or—oh my god—“ you moan abruptly at her ministrations. “Yes, like that, Angell that feels so good.” She continues to pleasure you, her eyes zeroed in on how her fingers disappear into your wet heat. When you climax, she tentatively brings her slick fingers to her lips and sucks. Angell’s eyes widen and in a flash her fingers enter you once more, her mouth moving lower to get a better taste of you. It seems like it’s going to be a long night.
“If there is something you desire, just tell me honestly. You and I, we don't need to play this game.” She cocks an eyebrow, waiting for your next move. Eirene is analytical. Eirene is patient. Except when it comes to you, and how good your tongue feels inside her after a long stressful day. Eirene weakly grinds her cunt against your mouth as she sits on your face. Your tongue laps at her greedily and she can’t help the sinful moans that escape. Her hand moves to cover her mouth in an attempt to conceal them, but a harsh slap to her thigh convinces her to grip the headboard and be louder instead. “Chief!” She cries out, spreading her legs wider so you have more to work with. “I’ll never get enough of you. Please, don’t hold back.” Eirene lets out a gasp when she reaches her climax. When you try to move her off, she holds up your head to meet her eyes. “Again.”
“Okay, okay, okay... This is a "virgin" territory for you, huh? Now, give me your hand. I'll teach you how to do it properly.” You didn’t expect today of all days to be the one where Shalom takes your virginity, but you weren’t complaining. “I’m going to put your legs over my shoulders now, just let them rest there while I pleasure you.” You nod and try to calm yourself, but you can’t help the nerves that rise to the surface. “Chief,” she nips the inside of your thigh playfully, “I won’t hurt you. We can stop whenever you’d like.” You put your trust in her hands and give her the green light. She delves in, and although this is all new, it feels so damn good. You let her awaken every new sound you never knew you could make. It’s almost too much. You grasp for the bedsheets, or maybe that was a blanket? Your hand settles on her head and you can’t help but push her in further. Your legs shake involuntarily and the pressure in your lower region starts to build up. You call out Shalom’s name as you experience your first orgasm. “Relax, I’ve got you.” She says, moving any hair away from your sweaty forehead. In your afterglow, you shift around to curl up against her. “So, how do you feel now that you’ve experienced your first?” She asks. “…Can we do that again?”
#ptn x reader#ptn smut#rahu x reader#rahu smut#zoya x reader#zoya smut#chameleon x reader#chameleon smut#bai yi x reader#bai yi smut#du ruo x reader#du ruo smut#angell x reader#angell smut#eirene x reader#eirene smut#shalom x reader#shalom smut#ptn chameleon#ptn du ruo#ptn eirene#ptn shalom#ptn bai yi#bai yi#ptn angell#ptn rahu#ptn zoya
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HER | part two.
✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.
pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 22.7k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.
(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.
✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!
the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s!
all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates
any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that!
bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!
the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.
updates: in terms of a posting schedule, i'm pre sure i'm just gonna post every saturday night ~12am EST (so technically sunday lol). taglist is included in the comment section since tumblr now has limit as to how many peeps are mentioned per post :p
thanks againnnn! 🌟
⇢ part one | part three | part four | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)
—MAY 12TH.
Wonwoo was sat on his couch with your laptop glowing in front of him, one hand holding up his chin while the other scrolled slowly through your writing. Finally, you’d let him actually glean your work, and he was quite impressed with your natural skill. He supposed the biggest issue was the choppiness—your sentence structures were much like your racing tangents, and in some areas the writing lacked flow and a smooth continuality. But that sort of ability would just develop on its own as long as you were practicing.
For the most part, Wonwoo was leaving behind small notes and highlighting areas that you could revisit at a later time.
“Okay, I’m going to do a handstand.”
However, as Wonwoo had been combing through your work for the past half-hour, that left you with an apparent boredness which somehow translated into an acrobatics session in his living room.
“I’d really prefer you didn’t,” he answered through the fingers covering his mouth, his eyes trained with focus on the document.
“No, no. I used to be so good at them. Watch.”
Wonwoo was in the midst of typing a note when a small, circular embroidered pillow had suddenly struck the laptop, nearly forcing it shut. It was then that Wonwoo looked up with a long sigh, acknowledging the devious, shining smile that sprung to your face.
“Now that I have your attention—”
Wonwoo titled his head, folded his arms, and propped one foot onto the coffee table, somewhat like an exhausted parent who was being heckled by their child to watch the “special trick” they’d just learned. He was internally praying you actually were good at handstands, because that fragile pottery vase and the antique gold clock sitting on the fire mantel had never looked so breakable until now. A cool breeze slivered in through the open window as your arms began raising above your head, and he heard you inhale steadily.
“Go!” You then shouted, either in motivation or impatience aimed at yourself, loud enough to make Wonwoo flinch.
The next moment, you were basically flipped upside down, your socked feet sticking pointedly in the air while your hands stumbled about on the brown rug for a few seconds, attempting to find their place rooted in the fuzz. Wonwoo pursed his lip, impressed.
“See! Told you!”
“I mean, I never said you couldn’t.”
“Are you amazed?”
He watched with a slight bit of nervousness as you walked a few paces forward with your hands, though he kept his calm composure from the couch and dealt you about three dull claps.
“Cirque de Soleil is asking for you, actually.”
To Wonwoo’s utter relief, you collapsed back onto your feet, probably because the blood was gushing to your head and he’d rather not have you faint squarely on the face in his living room. You then sat on your knees for a moment, rubbing slowly at your scalp.
“I’m almost done,” Wonwoo reaffirmed, moving aside the stitched pillow you’d chucked at him earlier and reopening the laptop.
“Don’t let me rush you.”
He chuckled instantly. “You mean to tell me you’re not bored out of your mind? Why else would you be doing cartwheels.”
Finally, you got up from the rug.
“Um, it was a handstand,” you were hasty to correct him, now sinking into the seat beside Wonwoo on the couch with the circle pillow pulled onto your lap. “I could do a cartwheel, though.”
“Yeah, not in this house you’re not.”
“Not in this house you’re not.”
He merely smirked at your attempt to mimic him by employing a cartoonishly deep tone that you found very amusing, made evident by your prideful giggles close to his ear. Just as Wonwoo scrolled to the end of the document to type his last note, you were piqued with curiosity and leaned over his lap, grabbing at the screen to examine how far he’d come during your hour together.
“So, where are you at anyway?”
Wonwoo pressed himself back into the couch, immediately removing his hands from the keyboard. It felt like at the most random, unpredictable times you would swoop in so close to him, and he never quite knew how to react. Most times he would freeze, become stiff and hardly breathing, run his eyes in all different directions around the room because everything seemed easier when he pretended you didn’t exist.
He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.
“I’m basically done.”
“You are? Okay. Hm… it seems like you made a lotta notes.”
Wonwoo squirmed in his seat as though it were scratching him. You eventually pulled away, but your knee was now resting on the side of his thigh and you were sitting much closer than before—close enough that your shoulder was digging into his and he could sense your full, bright eyes burning a stare at his pink cheek.
“They’re mostly easy fixes…” he mumbled, refusing to look at you, instead scrolling impetuously through the document with jerks of his pointer and middle finger.
“Well, what do you think of it?”
He paused, still staring at the laptop.
“Of what?”
“Wonwoo, my writing, obviously,” you said with a warm laugh and a soft breath that rushed over his neck in such a pleasurable, lightheaded way. “And look at me,” he heard you ask in a lower, more sincere voice, your fingers then ghosting along his tense jaw in a fleeting, sensitive touch as you guided his head gently in your direction, “I just want to know you’re telling the truth.”
He was accustomed to your eyes being filled with sparks and the readiness to pit the most sharp-tongued comment in history, and so Wonwoo was able to relax ever so slightly upon realizing how your gaze had become increasingly mellow, welcoming even.
“Well, you’re obviously good at it,” he managed to answer the question without his voice trembling, “just some pacing issues, mostly. You’ve got a bit of an issue with run-on sentences and closing up a scene. But you plan a lot, which is nice. I mean, you can only get better.”
An earnest smile picked its way across your face, framing your polished teeth and pushing up the apples of your cheeks. Wonwoo had to look away—sometimes it was too much—you were too much, and he refused to let himself drown beneath your intensity that he found purely terrifying. Your knee proceeded to pull from his thigh and you were now dragging your body off the couch, which meant that Wonwoo could safely exhale the breath he was holding. He wondered if you just wanted to hear the compliment, or if you were legitimately pleased with his praise.
You walked up to his fireplace mantel, examining the items left along the white, sparkling trim he’d spritzed clean of all dust.
“Did you make this?” Came your inquiry, a curious finger pointing toward the round-bottomed, thin-necked red vase.
Wonwoo shook his head.
“No, it was a welcome gift from the landlord.”
“She made it?”
“Yeah,” he hummed. “Didn’t I tell you? She owns the pottery business downstairs. Saskia. She immigrated here like, eighteen years ago, now. From Poland. I thought you might’ve run into her.”
Shaking your head, you turned back to the vase.
“I didn’t see her at all.”
“She was probably in her office.”
“How did she make all these little emblem thingies? Around the base? Like, this one’s got an elephant. This one is a fruit tree.”
Wonwoo squinted at the vase from his place on the couch. He hadn’t really examined it much, apart from when his landlord had thrust it into his hands while she welcomed him to the building. It never held any flowers, either—not even the brilliant ruby coloured poinsettias his ex-girlfriend's mother was supposed to send.
The relationship has disintegrated before it could ever happen.
“Fuck, don’t know. She has a bunch of little tools down there for more detailed work. Maybe a stamp. You’d have to ask her.”
“It’s really pretty.”
His brows furrowed. “Yeah? You like ceramics or something?”
You turned back to him, shrugging.
“I don’t know. I was just saying, it’s pretty.”
“It is. It’s very pretty.”
With a sigh, you climbed back onto the couch.
“Do you think you’re done editing?”
He picked up the laptop and set it down on the coffee table.
“I think so. For the day.”
“Perfect.” You smiled. “I’ll make time to read your notes tomorrow morning, if I can. Seems like there’s about eight-hundred.”
Wonwoo chuckled, “not eight-hundred. Try twenty.”
“Twenty?!” Your eyes bulged in shock as you gripped onto the embroidered pillow hugged back into your lap. “That’s so many!”
“What—twenty is somehow more than eight-hundred? What fucking planet are you living on where numeracy works like that?”
“Wonwoo, I have so much to do tomorrow!” You winced, tossing your head against the couch and slipping down the cushions.
“Okay, like what?”
“… Gosh… no, no. Fuck it. It doesn’t matter.”
“No, tell me. What have you got to do tomorrow?”
“I don’t want to tell.”
“Why not?” He murmured.
“If I talk about, then I’ll want to do it even less.” There was an empty sigh he heard from your chest as your arms curled tight around the pillow. “Besides, it’s squished all into my colour-coded block on the schedule. The pink one. I just—I don’t want to think about it.”
“Fair. I get that.”
“It’s complicated family stuff.”
Wonwoo huffed sympathetically. “I get that even more.”
“… So, we’re still good for Spring Street on Sunday?” You asked, staring up at Wonwoo from your sunken, defeated slump.
He nodded.
“I’ll be there if you are.”
—MAY 14TH.
The Spring Street Fair. It happened every single May, for three days straight, usually Friday to Sunday. In the daytime it was cheerier and more watered down for the children that came hand in hand with their parents, looking to feed the alpacas and ride those nauseating teacups and sob until exhaustion because they accidentally let go of their kitten-shaped balloon. However, at night, the fair had become a beacon for the older, rowdier university crowd.
Wonwoo never went despite all his recent years living in the city, but Vernon had, usually on accounts of “business” which really meant selling drugs for idiotic prices behind the Whirler or the Starship. You wanted to go, but hadn’t told Wonwoo the reason. He opted to assume it was another part of your story—maybe you ran into Mingyu at a similar fair when you were younger, and it was therefore very integral you go Spring Street tonight. It was the exact opposite of what Wonwoo typically appreciated doing on Sundays, and he knew for a fact he’d loathe it, every single part.
“No fuckin’ way!” Vernon’s voice exploded through the crackly static on Wonwoo’s phone as he stood in line for the fair, gazing over top everyone’s heads to gauge the ticket booth. “I can’t believe your loser ass actually crawled outta bed for that.”
Wonwoo scoffed, “yeah, it wasn’t my choice.”
“Then what for?”
“Her. She wanted to go. It’s for the book.”
He was supposed to meet you inside the fair. It was almost ten o’clock at night. The sky was beautifully clear, illuminated with pinpricks of starlight, and the air had once been crisp. Now, Wonwoo was beginning to smell sparked cannabis, and he assumed a likewise scent would follow him all damn night. The horrid, anxious process of standing in the mile long line was made palatable through his conversation with Vernon, who—shockingly—wasn’t even there.
“Ohh, the book, the book. Wait—she’s gonna write her book at the fuckin’ Spring Street Fair? How the fuck does that work?”
“No, it’s not like that,” Wonwoo chuckled. “It’s stuff about the settings, the environment; she uses it to help with her writing.”
“Hm, doesn’t make much sense to me, probably ‘cause I don’t like readin' or writin' or anything with books. But, damn, I’m jealous of you, Glasses. Do y’know how hard I tried to smooth talk my way into that girl’s pants? N’somehow, you can write good—”
“Write well, not good.”
“Oh, fuck you—write well—so she takes you everywhere like a little purse dog. When does that happen to me, yeah?”
The line started slowly pouring forward, and Wonwoo felt himself get dragged along. Probably another five minutes and he would be at the ticket booth, getting one of those neon bracelets circled around his wrist that were nearly impossible to rip off.
“Why didn’t you come?” Wonwoo asked.
Vernon groaned, “got into some bullshit with this guy who’s not payin’ up. I’m handlin’ it, though. If I can manage to get it all sorted, I’ll come later. It’s too fuckin’ easy selling those gummies to the first years, dude. Shit, it could be some Flintstone vitamins and they’re actin’ like Chicken Little. Cracks me the fuck up.”
Wonwoo cleared his throat, smiling. “You’re such a cunt.”
“Hey, hey, you are what you eat, okay? And, when you get inside or whatever, text me where you’re hangin’ so if I do come, I can see you for a bit. Dunno if your girlfriend will approve.”
The air began mottling with a thin, chalky smoke that drifted from somewhere down the crowded string of university students. Again, the line shuffled, and the congestion gradually broke up as more people were allowed into the fair. Wonwoo switched the phone to his other ear, getting his wallet ready.
“Don’t even start.”
“Start what? I said nothin’.” Vernon’s laughter was raspy and obviously laced with a smirk that Wonwoo could hear.
“Don’t be such a prick. She’s not my—”
Suddenly, Wonwoo’s phone began vibrating against his palm, and when he pulled it down an immediate lump conjured in his throat upon reading your name. His heart jolted, and it wasn’t until someone pushed hard on his back to urge him forward that he realized the line was once again ambling closer to the ticket booth.
Vernon sighed, “so, again, tell me where you’ll—”
“Shit—uh, gotta go. Talk to you later.”
A few remnants of Vernon’s miffed, guttural cursing managed to leak through the phone before Wonwoo could press to accept your call. In an instant, his friend was blipped away, and he heard your voice instead. He held back a cough from the astringent, cottonish air.
“Wonwoo, hello. I’m glad you picked up. So, where the hell are you? It’s nearly ten! Did you not get in line early?”
Wonwoo kept the phone secured between his shoulder and ear while he shimmied the coins out from his wallet.
“No, I did, promise. Just about to pay. Where are you?”
“When you get in, just follow the arrows. They're lit up with those blue lightbulbs. They go to the tavern. I’m having some drinks with my friends. Don’t worry. You won’t have to do much socializing.”
“Uh, okay,” Wonwoo answered, internally counting up the money in his hand until he was certain of the amount. “Mingyu’s there?”
“No. He always plays poker with his friends on Sunday.”
An unbeknownst pressure escaped his chest.
“Okay. I’m close to the front. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Sure. Don’t be late!”
“I know. Bye.”
Hanging up the phone, Wonwoo had just enough time to wriggle the device into his back pocket before handing the ticket booth clerk his coins. She dropped the cold change into his hand, then asked to see his wrist, where she proceeded to attach the bracelet with the words Spring Street Fair etched into the orange, plasticky-feeling paper.
Finally, he was let inside.
Blue arrows, blue arrows—that was all Wonwoo kept reiterating in his head like some religious hymn as he followed the glow throughout the fairgrounds, weaving his way between large groups of people that he gleefully didn’t recognize. Eventually, he saw the tavern you were referring to—an outdoor bar with picnic tables set up everywhere, beneath cheap little strings of warm, lambent lights.
Even with his glasses on, Wonwoo was still squinting as he walked between each table, attempting to discern your dolled-up face somewhere amongst the strangers sipping on their large mugs of alcohol, that was until he heard his name being called over the music rumbling from the bar’s horrible speakers. When he looked straight ahead, he saw you cutely waving him over. With each step he took, Wonwoo reminded himself to breathe, to loosen up, to stop clenching his fists so painfully tight as though he were going to split someone’s eyebrow. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Just breathe.
You stood up from the table to welcome him, and he felt your hand settle softly on his lower back. The touch was grounding.
“So, everyone, girls, if I could get your attention for just a moment despite the general impairment going on here—this is the mystery guy whose been helping me write. Wonwoo.”
God—he wanted to puke, all those big, curious, unabashed eyes soaking him in like freshly dipped watercolour to a cloth canvas. There was a cluster of high-pitched voices that repeated his name in a shrill, unison greeting. However, Wonwoo was unable to meet a single girl’s gaze, and so he opted to stare down at a paper plate on the table aligned with cinnamon-sprinkled churros.
Again, he wanted to throw up.
“So, of course, Wonwoo’s been the biggest help with everything,” you said, to which he could sense your nails subtly digging at him through his clothes, most likely a silent urge to say something so he didn’t seem so unprecedentedly stiff and metallic.
He cleared his throat.
“Uh, yeah. I’m just proofreading, really.” Wonwoo had to swallow. “Some tips here and there. But, she’s pretty good as is.”
“Is that your actual voice?”
His eyes darted to find who asked the question. She was toward the end of the picnic table, tucking a lock of short, coffee brown hair behind her ear. Before the girl was a gigantic and fluorescent pink drink, the glass resembling the shape of a fish bowl.
“… What do you mean?” Wonwoo replied.
She sat up on her knee, continuing to ogle him with those fixated but glazed chestnut eyes. Her mouth seemed to drag as though it was thawing when she spoke. Wonwoo could tell she was already well inebriated. There was no way that was her first drink.
“Your voice,” she repeated, “it’s so… deep.”
“Well… I don’t know. Puberty.”
His comment elicited some giggles from around the table, to which he could feel the cartilage in his ears burning.
“Wonwoo—” another girl then leaned forward with her head tilted up and a coy, drunk smile flittering on her mouth, “—I think it’s so, so great you’re helping Her write. I actually think it’s the sweetest, ever.” Her lashes were coated in smooth mascara and her eyelids were remarkably glimmery, drenched in an electric shade of blue that he couldn’t stop staring at. “Also, sorry, but you’re like, super gorge.”
“Super what?” He repeated, confused at her wording.
But she didn't seem interested in repeating herself, instead scooping the long and impressively silky black hair off her shoulder to spill down her pale back.
“Okay, okay, okay. We’ve all shared some impetuous conversation and we’ve all swooned over him now. Yippee. Unfortunately, we’ve gotta get going, friends.”
Wonwoo felt your hand land on his shoulder and gently tug him backward, away from the table. You then proceeded to grab the glass left at your seat, chugging the remaining alcohol until there was nothing but a melting block of ice cubes clicking at the bottom. While you wiped your mouth, you began aiming a finger at each girl.
“To make a long story short, that’s Princess, Clara, and Bells. Do you have any comments for them before we go?” The impatience in your tone was bleeding through with sheer apathy.
Wonwoo shrugged. “Uh, nice to meet everyone? I guess.”
“Short and efficient. How perfect. Okay, I’ll see you guys later, I think. Actually—probably not. So can someone eat my churros?”
Your arm curled around Wonwoo’s bicep as though to whisk him away as hurriedly as possible. Everyone left at the table began waving, and Wonwoo couldn’t even bring himself to force a fake, pleasant smile because he was still attempting to understand what all those comments even meant. You walked briskly until the poetic, firefly lights of the tavern were lost long behind in the distance, and when you finally paused, he had not a clue where he was standing—a busy centre with people mingling all around him, the wild whirring of carnival rides and chaotic, blinking hues strobing above his head.
When he looked down at you, he was surprised to see you were already staring back, and he could only hold the eye contact for no more than a few seconds or else his heart would skip a beat.
“Sorry about all that,” you said, rolling your shoulders, “I tried to be somewhat reasonable with my drinking for once. I can’t say the same for Clara and Bells. They guzzle cocktails like apple juice.”
“Bells is… the one with all that sparkly blue eyeshadow?”
“Oh—yeah. She loves sparkles. Glitter. Anything glimmery. She’s been like that ever since I’ve known her. Clara was the one who asked about your voice. She has a thing for guys with deep voices and you unfortunately fit the bill. And I’m sorry that Princess didn’t say anything. She kind of just looks and observes. Also I’m like ninety-eight percent sure she popped something in a porta-potty before we met up so she’s probably in a mental state of star-surfing. Anyway. You don’t have to worry about them, alright? It’s just us for tonight.”
“Well, that’s… easy enough.”
“I’m not sure if we should stand here.”
“Hm?”
You then pointed to something behind Wonwoo, and when he turned his head, he felt a gust of wind from the gigantic, spinning ride that resembled a flying saucer in the nighttime sky. It was always beyond him why anyone would choose to strap themselves into a machine that terrifying. It made him sick just watching.
“If I get throw up on my head, I’m killing myself.”
“Okay, so let’s find somewhere else.”
As he began walking away in search of a quieter area, you grabbed onto the back of his clothes. Wonwoo raised his eyebrow.
“We have to hold hands, or have arms linked,” you said.
For some reason, Wonwoo presumed you were joking, and so he tilted his head at you with a questioning smile. But when your serious expression didn’t crack, he realized it wasn’t a joke at all.
“Oh… why?”
“Because—” you then took a step toward him and spoke matter-of-factly, like you were reading a rule book, “—it’s the buddy system. Always have someone at your side, and make sure you’re linked in some way. It’s too easy to get separated in places like this, otherwise. Have you never heard of that before?”
“I have,” Wonwoo answered, adjusting his glasses. “My—um, my hands are a little cold. I don’t have the best circulation.”
The truth was, Wonwoo didn’t want to hold your hand. He didn’t want to link arms with you. He didn’t want you pressed into his side all night. He didn’t want to have the scent of your hair under his nose or feel your ticklish breath against his neck each time you spoke.
But he didn’t have a good enough excuse to fight it.
“Oh my god, who cares,” you retorted. “And I have super sweaty hands. Like, uncomfortably warm. We'll balance out.”
“Actually?”
“Yes! Is that a problem for you, sweetheart?”
Wonwoo quickly shook his head in response to your condescending tone. You then reached for his hand, which he offered up for your required holding, and chose to ignore the butterflies in the deep pit of his stomach when he realized how perfectly your fingers slotted with his. He followed your lead through the fair until you came outside a small lemonade booth. Wonwoo thought you would drop his hand, but you didn’t, and his knees felt like gelatine.
“I want another drink,” you told him.
He squinted at their options, which didn’t really consist of much. The prices were obviously insane—it was another reason he hated going to fairs. His wallet always got cleaned out.
“You’re going to have to use the washroom a lot.”
“Ugh,” you gritted in response, brushing some hair from your face, “I hate public washrooms. They’re so gross. Completely unsanitary. Awful maintenance. One time I was here and I walked into the washroom by the Mirror Hall and I swear, a freaking rat ran across the floor! I screamed bloody murder. I’d rather squat in the bush and risk getting, like, poison ivy. But the washrooms have mirrors obviously, and I like checking my makeup and stuff. I wish I could check now.”
“Right now? I mean, your makeup looks fine.”
Wonwoo saw your entire face freeze, and then begin to warp, as though he’d just said the most dreadful thing he could think of.
“Fine?” You glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He started stumbling over his words, feeling his chest tighten.
“So, what you’re saying is that I look ugly? That my makeup looks bad? Because if you really thought it was ‘fine’ then you wouldn’t have said it looks ‘fine’ because everyone knows that word is a substitute for passable and passable is just a substitute for ugly!”
He opened his mouth, then instantly closed it.
“So what’s wrong with it? Are my under eyes creasing? Is my contour too dark? Is my lipstick smudged? Did it get on my teeth? Ugh, I knew I should have brought my compact!”
“No, no, no.” Wonwoo squeezed your hand, hoping that he could somehow undo the damage he had no intention of even inflicting in the first place. “Uh—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. You look—” he wasn’t sure he could say the compliment without shivering, but Wonwoo didn’t care in the moment, “—your makeup is beautifully done. There’s no creasing or smudging, there’s none of that."
You kept touching worrisomely at your face. “Are you sure?”
“I promise.” Wonwoo confirmed, giving your hand another tight, reassuring squeeze that seemed to calm you down.
He had never seen someone switch gears that quickly. You could be perfectly amicable one second, and then break down into near hysteria the next, a slew of anxious thoughts running straight from your brain to your mouth like clockwork.
Wonwoo wondered how Mingyu dealt with such tangents all the time. The trait almost didn’t seem to fit your image.
The line moved forward another step.
“Are you going to drink anything?” You asked after a moment of silence, in a quieter voice. “I want to get the strawberry refresher.”
“Maybe.”
“What will you get?”
“I… don’t know. A regular lemonade?”
“No,” you shook your head, pointing toward the corner of the booth’s menu, “get the pina colada thing. I want to try it, too.”
“Okay,” Wonwoo agreed with a shrug as he retrieved his wallet, not really caring about what he drank. “I’ll pay for it. No worries.”
The longer Wonwoo was at the fair, the less he actually thought about why he was there, until the question leapt into his mind at random while he stood beside you, waiting for a seat on the dauntingly large Farris wheel. He removed the straw from his mouth, swallowing a gulp of his pina colada flavoured drink, and peered down at you. His hand was still interlinked with yours. You had finished the strawberry refresher in about five minutes.
Now, you were texting someone. He didn’t know if it was a friend from earlier or perhaps your boyfriend, but Wonwoo wasn’t a serious sleuth, so he opted to look away despite the natural urge that was pricking him. When you finally tucked the phone back into the small bag slung around your shoulder, Wonwoo lowered the plastic cup from his mouth, making sure to clear his throat.
“So, uh, why are we here, exactly?”
You sniffled. “What do y’mean?”
“Does the fair have anything to do with your writing? Is that why we’re riding the Farris wheel? Oh—speaking of which, I didn’t think to bring the camcorder, in case you wanted any footage.”
“Oh, no,” you said, waving a dismissive hand, “this has nothing to do with my book. We’re palate cleansing.”
“Palate cleansing?” He echoed.
“Yeah. It’s like, doing something different in between a routine, to keep yourself fresh. You always eat breakfast at home but today you skip it and go out for brunch. Y’know, shit like that.”
Wonwoo huffed in amusement. “You could have told me beforehand.”
“Uh, no—” your face scrunched up in clear disagreement, “—I couldn’t, because then you wouldn’t have gone. No offence, but you’re a hermit, Wonwoo. You don’t really like going anywhere or doing anything and you’re definitely one of those people who bores themselves into hating their own life because your stimuli is so limited. That’s why I didn’t tell. Again, no offence.”
“Oh.”
That was all he could string together in response—not even string together, because it was just one boring, monotone sound that basically got carried away in the chilly wind, tinted with the smell of buttery popcorn and weed. It sounded like something that was supposed to sting, but it didn’t really. Maybe he was growing more accustomed to your unprompted judgements on his personal life.
Suddenly Wonwoo had blinked and you two were next in line for the empty cart. The clerk pointed at Wonwoo’s drink.
“You can’t bring that with you,” he said.
Before Wonwoo could think to respond, you had already grabbed the cup from his hand, chucking it straight into the garbage.
“We’re not.”
Pulling on his hand, you guided him into the shaky cart, both of you squishing onto the cold, metal bench. It was quite literally the tamest ride in the entire fair, and yet Wonwoo was still feeling nervous about it—though, that was possibly the fact he was going to be sailed one-hundred feet into the satin black sky, left amongst the stars and the bright, shimmering halo of the moon with you and you alone. He was actually relieved you had tossed his drink, otherwise he might have dropped it due to the trembling in his fingers. It was easier to fiddle with them in order to disguise their shakiness.
“I guess I should have asked if you’re afraid of heights,” you said.
The cart jerked abruptly as the ride began to move and lift you two ever so gradually from the ground. Wonwoo peered over the edge for a brief moment to watch his distance grow from the people below, their jumbled mess of conversations fading in place of quiet.
“Uh, no. I’m okay with heights,” he finally answered.
He saw you glancing down as well, smiling to yourself.
Wonwoo wasn’t sure if he should attempt at conversation or just maintain the stillness between you. Usually, he couldn’t stand it, and the pressure to talk and fill the silence always tended to fail or squander something potentially enjoyable. But he supposed it was typically like that in a situation where two people weren’t the best acquainted—that’s why Wonwoo always quite liked Vernon, despite his rough, nonconformed edges and often vulgar way of speaking.
He was able to carry a conversation so naturally that the quieter moments never felt suffocating, instead falling exactly where they should, like puzzle pieces. But that was harder with you.
Maybe it was because you could be intimidating, unpredictable—Wonwoo was never truly relaxed around you because there was this intangible, looming worry that he needed to have the perfect responses and be the most perfect person. He found that perfect people only hung out with other perfect people and Wonwoo was certainly not that—perfect. You must have seen it by now. He was just as rough as Vernon no doubt, but in a different, hidden way that had to be dug into like an archeologist looking for broken bones.
The Ferris wheel slowed down, coming to a stop. You weren’t at the very top, though the air was notably cooler and much fresher. When he inhaled a long breath, it smelled purely of night and not overpriced, buttery fair food and burning weed. He noted that you stared straight ahead, at the crescent-shaped moon, which mirrored a backward stare with how squarely it sat in front of the ride. For once, Wonwoo wasn’t squirming, wriggling, stressing at the silence. When he spoke, he did it because he genuinely wanted to.
“How was your Saturday?”
“My Saturday?”
“Yeah. I saw the schedule. You had to run a bunch of errands with your mom. Looked like you were pretty keyed up.”
“Oh, yeah. I mean, I want to say I was overreacting the day before about how much I was dreading it. But then it fucking happened. And… I, uh… I realized I was exactly right. It was awful. I did get to your notes, though… yeah—I just—I squeezed them in between brunch with my mom’s friend who could talk herself to death and the excruciating car ride to the publisher’s office.”
“Mmhm.” Wonwoo smiled tenderly. “Did they help at all?”
“Yeah,” you breathed out, “a lot, actually… thank you.”
“I’m sorry your Saturday went so terribly.”
Huffing in response, you nibbled on your inner check.
“Yeah, well, it is what it is… I already knew it was gonna be a shit show. So, what is it that you write about, anyway? Because you seem like you know a whole lot. Seokmin says you let him read some of your poetry, but it was only like, two excerpts.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Wonwoo recalled the memory of Seokmin picking up his leather notebook when it fell out from his bag one day. He’d pestered him about the contents until Wonwoo succumbed and presented him with some lifeless, impatiently scribbled prose that he’d most likely jerked out on the bus or in between his lectures. Seokmin seemed to treat it like fine, prestigious gold, though Wonwoo knew it was the least personal of his work that he would never let another living soul on the planet breathe—not one scent of the ink or even the paper.
“So, you write poetry?”
“I started writing poetry, haikus and all that easy stuff. I developed the interest a lot more through high school. But I never sat down and tried writing anything like a novel until I... I started uni.”
“Yeah. Deciding to be a math major. I still don’t get it,” you sighed, fidgeting with some rings on your fingers. “But what do you even write about? Like, what’s your inspiration?”
Wonwoo paused, looking down at his knees.
“… Life.”
“Life?��� You defeatedly slumped into the seat. “That’s the million dollar answer your intelligent brain chose to erect? It’s just that when I think about it, I’m letting you help me with my writing, but I’ve never even read a little smidgen of yours. How’s that fair?”
The higher the Farris Wheel climbed, the stronger the breeze blew, and Wonwoo could feel its tendrils lashing across his cheeks and parting through his hair. You huddled further into your jacket.
“Well, you took Seokmin’s word for it,” Wonwoo laughed.
Your eyes rolled, but you smiled gently. “I know.”
Suddenly, your hand had reached out, and you were pushing the floppy, black tresses off his forehead. Wonwoo’s fingers dug bluntly into his arms. You then angled yourself in the small cart, looking back at him, sculpting your gaze to each crest in his face.
“Why don’t you ever push your hair back?”
The question hit the dark, cold atmosphere like a sizzling ember and Wonwoo was afraid to even open his mouth because he was certain a dying squeak would come out. You continued to play around with the locks, earthing your fingers deep into its texture and attempting to style it despite the persistent, fluttering breeze.
“Um…”
“If you styled it like this—” you moved in closer, staring with so much focus at your nimble movements, “—yeah, like that. It shows off your forehead, gives you a bit of class. I mean, the wind’s messing it up. You don’t tend to do anything with your hair.”
“No.” Wonwoo swallowed, hard.
“Well, you should. Not all the time, obviously. And I’m not saying you look bad with it down—not at all. But you’ve got nice, smouldering features and they’re so much more… framed… when you show your forehead.” You collapsed back into the seat, and that tingly feeling he experienced when your fingers had been tugging and pulling was disseminating throughout his entire body. “I mean, look at how my friends reacted to you. I should apologize for that again, by the way. O-M-F-G, they see one hot guy, and they lose their grip.”
He nearly choked. “Hot?”
It didn’t sound right. Not at all.
“Well, what the fuck, Wonwoo? You’re not ugly.”
“Did you think that when you first saw me?”
You had folded your leg again as the Farris wheel came to another stop. This time, at the very top, at the centre of the night.
“Did I think what? That you’re not ugly?”
“Never mind,” Wonwoo grimaced, hearing the cart creek as you better positioned yourself to face him. “It’s pathetic like that.”
“No. I didn’t think you were ugly. Did you think I was ugly?”
Wonwoo wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of the question, but he smothered it down because he knew one little laugh might hit your ear the wrong way, and it would be flames, sputtering and spewing. Obviously, he didn’t think you were ugly—he never had, even before he ever spoke to you. But he wasn’t so shallow as to only regard someone’s physical appearance. You were still terrifying.
“I wouldn’t consider anyone ugly... and I wouldn’t ever use it to describe some aesthetically. But—I mean, I think people can become ugly through their personality, if that makes sense.”
“Yeah, like, if they’re rotten inside.”
“Mmhm.”
“I agree.”
“What was that word your friend Bells said?”
You shrugged, “which word?”
“She said something like, you’re super… I don’t know… super something.”
“Oh—” you sat up more in the cart, your back pressed against the uncomfortable corner, “—Bells said you were super gorge.”
“Meaning…”
“Meaning super gorgeous.” You made a big show of the rehashed compliment, parroting your friend's tone and swaying your shoulders.
“Oh… really?” Wonwoo shook his head. “I thought she was referring to gorge as in when you gorge yourself, from eating.”
“No,” you giggled at him, “it’s a short form, dumb-dumb.”
“Why make a short form out of that? Is it really that strenuous to say the word gorgeous? It’s only an extra syllable.”
“Okay, well, this isn’t the nineteen-twenties. We don’t all cross our T’s and dot our I’s. It reminds me of how you text.”
He furrowed his brow. “How do I text?”
Your eyes rolled frivolously. “I dunno. Like you’re typing to a business colleague or something. You’re so formal. When I think of you texting, I imagine it’s like someone using a typewriter. And that funny little ding sound it makes whenever you start a new line.”
“Oh.”
“What—no one’s ever told you that before? No way.”
“That I text like I’m using a fucking typewriter? No, actually. I can’t say I’ve heard that.”
“Well, it’s not a big deal. You’re just not very plugged into the internet, I suppose. Which is a good thing. It gives you prestige.”
At that, Wonwoo chuckled. “Does it?”
“Yes,” you smiled, eyes full of starlight, “and—just ignore Bells, okay? She was being kind of weird but that can be fully attributed to those three shots I told her not to take.”
“Hm.”
You continued to stare at him with a plotting smile.
“Hm what? What’s the matter?” The metal of the cart squeaked as you leaned forward, your voice suddenly lathered in mischief. “Did you think she was cute?” He heard your tone drop, and your low, smooth voice breathing hot against his ear. “Did you think about fucking her, Wonwoo?”
“No—what the fuck—not at all.” Quickly, he’d pushed you away and off his shoulder, to which you retreated into the corner with a giggle that should have made his skin crawl, but didn’t.
“Well, how would I know?” You answered, tilting your head and stretching out your arms high into the blackness, as though you were trying to reach for a star. “I never know, because you never look at me. It makes me think you just lied and you do think I’m ugly.”
Wonwoo glanced over the edge of the cart, at the almost nauseating distance between himself and the fairgrounds, covered with miniature, bustling people that seemed like breadcrumbs by comparison to their place in the sky. He didn’t want to sink into this conversation. Besides, how was he supposed to look at you when your fingers were just gliding through his hair and your lips were whispering close enough to brush up against his ear? How was he supposed to act composed? Normal?
“Hey, Wonwoo?” Your fingers snapped.
But he just kept thinking. Like he was cut from a separate cloth than you—the fabric of his universe wasn’t woven with yours and he could ruminate as much as he wanted to and it was impossible to hear your intrusions. Why couldn’t he look at you?
You intimidated him, yes. You scared him, double yes.
He already knew that. It couldn’t just be that.
“Wonwoo? God… you shut down over the simplest things.”
“I don’t know.”
You paused, staring him up and down, perplexed.
“What? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know why I can’t look at you.”
There was a lasting silence between you. Wonwoo felt like he might throw up for acknowledging the fact out loud, and his fist tightened in his lap as though to ground himself—to remember where he was and to breathe slowly, because having a panic attack on top of a stupid Ferris Wheel was the last place it should happen. He hadn’t even realized that you’d shifted closer, one leg curled beneath you while you spoke at the side of his head. But he didn’t hear you, couldn’t see you—there was a harsh void inside him that sounded like suctioning air and static. His fingernail was pressing so deeply into the flesh of his pale skin that it was beginning to faintly bleed.
And—all of a sudden—there were these hands cautiously gripping onto his face, pulling him toward you. He kept staring at the movement of your soft lips, focusing on their pronunciation until everything flooded back in one overwhelming whirl and it felt like being slammed by a freight train.
Wonwoo then grabbed onto your bare knee as a crutch. He didn’t mean to. But you didn’t seem to care.
“—everything okay? Wonwoo? Do I need to like, call someone? Because you look like you’re going to be sick.”
He heaved in a gaping breath, feeling how cold the midnight air was in the thinning atmosphere that encompassed him. It was soothing, akin to a hand massaging along his back.
“Wonwoo?” You repeated his name, sounding awfully scared.
Pulling off his glasses, he rubbed at his eyes. He blurrily saw you touch the spot on your knee where his hand had buried into.
“Sorry,” he then coughed through the heartbeat raspy in his throat, bringing the glasses back to his face, “I spaced out.”
“Spaced out?” You echoed. “That wasn’t spacing out.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
He thought you fight might it.
“Well…” you sighed, glancing around uncertainly, “are you okay? Is there someone you want to call? I don’t know.”
But you didn’t. Thank God.
“No, I’m—” he stopped, gulping back the words.
“… Yeah?” There was a softer intrigue in your cadence.
Wonwoo looked at you. Fully this time. He looked straight into your eyes that were like a glossy, moonlit ocean, detailed with swirling riptides of surprise and apprehensiveness, but also immense depth that seemed genuinely appreciative of his gesture.
“I’m fine.”
And then he watched you nod, smile, and in return study his cavern eyes with the same intensity and wonder. It was such a peculiar experience, staring at you, understanding a little more of your truth, your gentleness.
He didn’t feel as scared.
—MAY 16TH.
Wonwoo had been standing before the mirror in his washroom for the past half-hour or so, primarily just staring, examining, and pulling at the long, limp fronds of his hair. There was a point in his life when he legitimately put effort into styling it, and all his old hair products were still sitting in the cabinet. Though, his ex-girlfriend had tended to help him with it most days, because he found the strands were just too thick and stubborn to work with.
However, since the Spring Street Fair, Wonwoo hadn’t been able to shake those comments you made—about how nicely his face could be framed and the smouldering nature of his features. He would never think to describe himself that way as it seemed particularly pompous and kind of foolish, but hearing you say it was different. The thing was, Wonwoo had no idea where to start, and attempting to rummage his fingers through his hair just didn’t feel as stimulating or electric compared to your meticulous, sweet touch.
In the midst of opening his cabinet for a comb, Wonwoo heard his phone vibrate. He looked down at the sink, seeing the screen brighten with a text notification from Vernon.
[ Vernon | 12:54 pm ]: hey Glasses
[ Vernon | 12:54 pm ]: Solar Pop at 2?
Wonwoo thought about it for a moment, running his thumb down the spine of the comb to hear the little thwip. And then he sighed in decision, texting back a thumbs up. It’s not like he was working later, and as much as Wonwoo would love to believe that today might be the day he made actual progress on his own story, he knew it was just wishful thinking. In reality he’d waste ample time staring into the document, pondering all the scenes and emotions and nuances he could write rather than moving to write anything at all.
Besides, he hadn’t eaten yet today. The thought of a juicy, sauce-slathered, bun-toasted burger being his first meal prompted the boy’s face to sallow greenly with sickness, but the longer he stood in the washroom, combing and slicking and running styling balm through the black bird’s nest on his head, Wonwoo felt the hunger start to bite like an emaciated, starved dog. He left his apartment knowing he would be somewhat late, but Vernon was always later.
And while Wonwoo sat in one of the booths at Solar Pop, flicking the laminated menu back and forth despite knowing the exact order he was going to place, he thought about sending Vernon another text to ask where the hell he even was. Wonwoo could only sip his slippery glass of coke for so long until the waitress decided he was crazy and had been one-hundred percent stood up.
“Hey, fuck, I’m here.”
2:24 pm—that’s when Vernon finally arrived, sliding himself into the leather bench opposite to Wonwoo while tossing his big, metallic clump of keys onto the table. The boy then proceeded to shimmy off his black jacket, propping his elbows onto the table.
If Vernon ever pulled a tardy stunt like that with you, Wonwoo imagined his friend would probably get stuffed into one of those boxes for sawing people in half. Except it wouldn’t be magic.
“Did you get pulled over or something? Police raid? Traffic stop?” Wonwoo asked, now resting his menu down flat.
Vernon laughed, shaking his head. “Uh, no. Couldn’t find my fuckin’ car keys,” he spoke in a breathless voice. “Sorry ‘bout it.”
“Couldn’t find them?” Wonwoo almost scoffed at the excuse while his friend began scouring his way through the menu. “Dude, they’re the fucking size of a bowling ball. How could you lose them?”
“Okay, okay. Fuckin’ skin me alive, why don’t you?”
“You didn’t come from your place, I’m guessing.”
At that, Vernon began to grin, the metal on his pierced lip glinting underneath a ray of sunlight through the blinds. He was still occupied with choosing which burger he wanted. Wonwoo picked the same choice every time. Vernon always tried something different.
“No, I didn’t,” he rasped, flashing his sharp teeth and flipping the menu over, “but when Maleeha Rabia sends you a text at goddamn one in the morning of her tits, you don’t roll over n’ go to bed like some loser. Besides, my ecstasy was just sittin’ around and I had to use it one way or another. Anyway, doesn’t fuckin’ matter. I think I’ll get the Double Bacon Crunch Burger. Sounds good as hell.”
Finally, Vernon threw the menu down with conviction.
“Jesus Christ—” his copper-burnt eyes then flared open as he looked across the table at his friend, “—who the fuck are you?”
Wonwoo itched his nose. “Um, what?”
Vernon leaned forward, seeming captivated. “Uh, your fuckin’ hair? How’d you get it like that? It’s all brushed over and soft lookin’ and shit. I feel like I shouldn’t be sittin’ with you, Prince Charmin’.”
“I just put some balm in it, combed it around,” he answered, reaching for his drink. “Took me a humiliating amount of time.”
“Well, consider me starstruck. What’s made you do all that?”
Before Wonwoo could answer, the waitress returned to the table with her small notepad and shiny pen. Vernon pitched his order first, and Wonwoo followed, asking for the regular quarter-pounder with a side of hot crinkle-cut fries. Once she whisked the menus away and promised to grab Vernon’s root beer float, Wonwoo realized he still had to answer his friend’s question. He didn’t exactly want to tell the truth, because he knew Vernon would never let him hear the end of it, but Wonwoo also didn’t want to be too dishonest.
“Your face is doin’ that thing.”
“What thing?” Wonwoo answered, swallowing his sip of soda.
Vernon crossed his arms on the table, accenting the canvas of darkly-inked tattoos needled into his skin. He shook his head.
“It’s ‘cause of your little girlyfriend, isn’t it?”
Fuck. Wonwoo should have just opened his mouth straight away and spieled out some quick-witted lie. Now he would be painfully subject to Vernon’s unfiltered teasing. Leaning back in his seat, Wonwoo unearthed a miserable sigh at Vernon’s smirk.
“You’ve gotta drop that bullshit.”
“It’s true,” Vernon pressured.
“No, it’s not.”
As though to interpret Wonwoo’s steadfastness as a challenge, Vernon leaned further over the table, dropping his voice but still smiling devilishly through every word he mimicked between his teeth.
“Oh, Wonwoo, your hair looks so fucking sexy like that. It makes you look so perfect. You’re from my dreams. Please, just fuck me right here, right now so I can push my fingers through it ‘cause it’s so soft and silky and I’m basically in love with you.”
“Shut the fuck up. Please.”
“That was a good impression, though, wasn’t it?”
In the loud space of Wonwoo’s disgusted silence, the waitress placed Vernon’s drink onto the table and ensured the food would be coming soon. Vernon watched her walk away, back into the kitchen.
“Hey,” he then grinned in capitulating fashion, “take a stupid joke, alright? I know she’s not in love with you and she doesn’t wanna suck your dick—she’s got a fuckin’ boyfriend. If it makes you feel any better, I’m just projectin’ ‘cause you know I’m jealous.”
Wonwoo sucked in a sip from his coke, shaking his head.
“There’s nothing to be jealous of.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Vernon dismissed, poking his spoon at the near perfect scoop of vanilla ice cream afloat in the frosty mug, “but just so y’know, your mopey ass left me out to dry on Sunday night. Shoved me off the phone, didn’t respond to one of my texts. You’re lucky I even asked you t’hang today. Did she take your phone or something’?”
Shit. When Vernon said it like that, Wonwoo seemed like a terrible friend. Maybe he did deserve a deal of teasing. But at the same time, Wonwoo knew how easy it was for your attitude to flip and he hadn’t been at all interested in starting the night with hostility.
“Okay, fair.” He admitted, rolling up his sleeves.
“And?” Vernon raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“I’m sorry.”
“There you fuckin’ go. That’s all I wanted t’hear, Glasses.”
The truth was, Wonwoo actually quite enjoyed his time with you that night—despite the transient, bickering hiccups and his nearly faltering panic attack, he had fun. Actual fun. Of course, as soon as your ride ended on the Ferris wheel, you’d clutched onto his hand like a snake sinking in its fangs and dragged him throughout the entirety of the fair to find a washroom. Nonetheless, he really loved playing some carnival games with you, like skee ball and the water pistol. He was even able to win you a pink stuffed bear that you had carried close to the chest for the remainder of your time at the fair.
Wonwoo thought he could spend another night like that with you again. Just to get out of his apartment, to feel exhilaration in the pit of his stomach, to laugh until his lungs dried out, to hold your warm, comforting hand in his even when it became too clammy or inconvenient because otherwise you would scold him for letting go.
“Food’s on the way,” Vernon perked up like a child about to be served a slice of birthday cake as the waitress walked over with two full plates, “if you can’t finish yours, I’ll take it.”
“Yeah—how about you focus on chewing and not choking to death first,” Wonwoo sighed, watching his friend’s metaphorical tail wag.
Once she set the food down, inquiring about any refills, and left while flashing her perfected customer service smile, Vernon grabbed the burger with both his hands, taking a gigantic, succulent bite that somehow didn’t singe the roof of his mouth. Wonwoo winced, instead going for his crisped, golden fries.
“Damn. You’re really that hungry?”
“I’m ravenous,” Vernon mumbled, picking up a few caramelized onions that fell onto his plate. “Dude, I woke up at noon in Maleeha’s bed. She was out cold. Nothin’ in her pantry but some stale fuckin’ Fruit Loops that I may have tried. I’m a grown ass man. I need a meal.”
“I’m glad you’re so proactive," Wonwoo answered, sinking his burning hot fry into the small side-bowl of ketchup.
It took them less than half an hour to clean their plates. Wonwoo tended to eat at a slower pace, with smaller, more savoury bites, while Vernon sloppily devoured his entire burger and gobbled down his fries with the occasional dipping into the root beer float’s ice cream. They scarcely talked in between, too focused on eating and drinking. Wonwoo pushed away his plate when he’d finished and proceeded to wipe off his salty, crumb-speckled fingers with a napkin, meanwhile Vernon took a moment to sink backward into the leather seat, placing a hand over his full, satiated stomach.
“Hey, do y’think they have any Life Savers?” He eventually piped up while sticking a toothpick into his mouth. “I want grape.”
Wonwoo scoffed, tossing the napkin onto his plate and taking out his phone. “Who the fuck likes grape?”
“Me, you smartass,” Vernon answered, turning backward in his seat and scanning the restaurant for any colourful candy bowls.
He couldn’t deny that he was hoping to see a text from you, but there was nothing, and his chest dropped. Wonwoo decided to open the schedule you had made, curious as to what you were even doing today—work until five o’clock, and then you were going out for supper with some friends at Terra Cotta.
He thought about texting you. His thumbs kept hovering above the keyboard in contemplation, even though he knew for certain he wouldn’t text anything. He would just stare and hope.
“Holy shit. Uh, oh my God. Wonwoo. I-I see—”
Vernon had suddenly reached a hand onto the table, slapping the lacquered wood a few times to garner his attention.
“What?” He mumbled in agitation, keeping his focus glued to the phone. “If you see the Life Savers just go up and take some. I swear, they’re not gonna fucking care you’re not twelve years old.”
“No, no, no, dumbass,” Vernon hissed, turning back around in the booth, his honey eyes glistering in oils of dread and panic. “Look, actually look. That’s Mingyu, isn’t it?”
Immediately, Wonwoo clicked off his phone, instead squinting into the distant corner of the restaurant where a notably tall, black-haired boy with tanned, amber skin had emerged from a doorway, standing in a somehow casual but imposing way that only be Mingyu.
It must be Mingyu, and that fact became glaringly obvious when Wonwoo made the unintentional, floundering mistake of staring straight into the boy’s wandering and earthen brown eyes.
“Oh my fuckin’ God, oh my fuckin’ God,” Vernon kept reiterating under his breath, bouncing his knee like an anxious student waiting for their test. “He definitely saw us. Or—he definitely saw you. This is so bad, man. I think he’s gonna rock me.”
“What?” Wonwoo whispered back harshly, attempting to float his gaze away from Mingyu in a casual manner. “For what reason?”
It seemed like Vernon almost wanted to gag at him. “Um—because of what fuckin’ happened between me n’ his girl! At that party? I told you about that shit, didn’t I?” He rasped from across the table, his bottom lip worried between biting teeth. “Dude, what if he tries to pull a fast one? You’re what—like six foot something? You have to help back me up. I can throw a pretty solid punch—even better when I’m shit-faced—but that might not be enough. Lady Liberty’s built like a brick.”
“Okay, you’re acting crazy,” Wonwoo uttered in disbelief. “I doubt he’s going to be anything but physical, especially in a public place. And, you said you didn’t know Her was in a relationship.”
“How the fuck do I know he knows that? Can’t exactly use my infectious charm on someone whose girlfriend I tried to rail.”
Vernon somehow dared to spare another rapid glance over his shoulder, only to shed an entire mould of colour from his complexion.
“He’s coming, he’s—”
“Shut up and relax,” Wonwoo mumbled. “I’m sure it’s nothing big—he’ll say a thing or two and be on his way. God, I’ll handle it.”
For some reason, Wonwoo thought he should be sinking into consternation a lot more than he actually was, but it’s not that his chest wasn’t thumping or his mind wasn’t spinning amuck with worry. It was more so that he was managing the whirlwind, as best he could, as much as he could manage. Mingyu wasn’t a complete stranger, and all their past interactions had been boringly cordial or even forgettable. Nonetheless, Wonwoo would still prefer to avoid the boy because that made his life simpler in the grand scheme of anxiety.
“Hey, Wonwoo,” Mingyu approached the table with a confident, leisurely stride, extending his large hand for Wonwoo to grab, exchanging a dap. “I almost didn’t recognize you for a sec.”
“All good,” Wonwoo answered, attempting a polite grin that felt much more sweltering on the inside than out. “How’ve you been?”
Mingyu shrugged, burying his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants while he gazed at the slitted curtains for a moment, pondering his reply. “Decent. Playing a lot of basketball. I don’t think I’ve seen you since I came to the pharmacy. You still there?”
“Still there.”
“Well, at least I haven’t had to come in for a fuckin’ pregnancy test yet. That’s good I suppose, yeah?” The boy chuckled, then tilting his head a certain way to crack a stiff spot in his neck.
“Aisle five if you ever need it.”
Mingyu responded with a smirk that perhaps lasted a second too long, and these slimming, analyzing eyes—a gaze that Wonwoo felt ripple in his gut. He chose to believe it was nothing dire, or else he would spiral right there on the spot and lose all fine-tuned control.
Meanwhile Vernon had been sitting quietly the entire time, most likely hoping he would remain in the dark, skulking shadows outside Wonwoo’s spotlight. But he must not have been hoping hard enough, because Mingyu proceeded to smile at him, again extending his hand for another dap, which Vernon yielded apprehensively.
“You’re a pretty recognizable guy, unfortunately,” Mingyu acknowledged with a husky laugh—a clear reference to the boy’s identifying tattoos and numerous facial piercings, “I think you deal to at least a third of my friends. It’s Vernon, right?”
“Mmhm. Yes sir.” To Vernon’s luck, he had a well-polished and gleaming smile that made it impossible for him to seem disingenuous, though Wonwoo knew he was wilting inside.
“I’m sorry about Dots.”
“Oh, uh. All good. It is what it is, y’know?”
Mingyu nodded.
“Hey—those tattoos are crazy good. Where’d you get them?”
Vernon looked across his arm. “Thanks. Mostly Liquid Impact—dude there that I call Funfetti ‘cause he eats Funfetti box cake all the time. Uh, but his actual name’s like, Axel or some white-boy shit like that. He’s done a majority of it. The others—man, I don’t know. Half the time I’m off my fuckin’ face and wake up with shit I never remember.”
“Oh, yeah?” Mingyu sniffed, running a hand through his long, shiny onyx locks of hair. “Guess you also don’t remember promising my girlfriend the best sex of her life, right?”
At that, Vernon looked straight to Wonwoo, and Wonwoo returned the enlarged, incinerating stare straight back, reading the split-second terror that swam like flopping fish in Vernon’s eyes. The atmosphere hit the ground with a palpable and ugly shatter.
“Yeah, um—about that—”
Mingyu then balanced backward on his foot for a moment, beginning to chuckle, sway his head, as though to dismiss the entire accusation in the same intense breadth it was mentioned.
“Nah, nah. I’m playing around,” the boy chuckled, rubbing at his nose. “You didn’t know she was taken. No hard feelings, yeah?”
Vernon immediately nodded his agreement, and the tension nailed into his broad shoulder line seemed to melt. “For sure. No hard feelings. I mean, she’s beautiful. Can’t even imagine what it’s like bein’ her boyfriend when you’ve got sluts like me around.”
Mingyu grinned, “no, you’re good. I know she gave you some attitude about it. Bit of a troublemaker herself. But, yeah. Water under the bridge.” The boy’s attention then turned back to Wonwoo, who was more than eager to somehow extinguish the conversation from you as a topic. “I know she’s hangs out with you right now.”
“Oh, yeah,” Wonwoo hummed, “the book thing.”
“She doesn’t like talking to me about it.”
“Well, don’t stress,” he answered, catching the sunlight that blitzed through the curtains and dipped like a gold paintbrush into the boy’s eyes, turning them to warm molasses, “she’ll show you the whole damn thing when it’s over and done with.”
Mingyu huffed, “I thought she’d have dropped it by now.”
“I don’t think she will. She’s pretty committed.”
“Hm.” He nodded simply in response, kissing his teeth.
Vernon folded his arms, leaning back into the leather seat with the toothpick again sitting in his mouth. “You got any plans for the summer, then? Doesn’t your pal always throw a huge party?”
“Yeah, actually. Doing it this year if we can manage. Seungcheol’s parents pretty much spend their entire summer bouncing around all the Great Lakes. We’re gonna do a co-hosting type deal and—shit, since you’re here, this is really good timing.” Mingyu then looked down at Vernon and lowered his gravelly voice. “I know what your main gig is. What about blow? You sell it?”
A slow but gradual, catlike grin trudged the edges of Vernon’s mouth, to which he pulled out his toothpick and set his elbows onto the table. “Look, can’t chop it up here, man. Ask one of your friends for my burner. I can get you to the ski slope, but it costs, obviously.”
“Nah, that’s fine. It’s just—my last plug fell through.”
“Tough.”
“Yeah. Okay, well, I should get going. I’ll follow up with you later. Do you care if Seungcheol knows the number, too?”
“No,” Vernon shrugged, planting the toothpick into the corner of his mouth and flicking it with his tongue, “just don’t go throwin’ it around. I could only get enough for a couple people, anyway.”
“All good. Okay—later, guys.”
Mingyu stepped away from the table with a wave and a flash of his pearled, charming smile, nothing but the mild scent of his fresh and expensive-smelling cologne to swirl through the now vacant space. In true espionage fashion, Wonwoo and Vernon both picked open the slots between the restaurant curtains, cautiously observing the boy’s stride into the parking lot and onto the sidewalk, where he at last disappeared into the warm, sunny afternoon.
Heaving a gigantic exhausted breath, Wonwoo took off his glasses and set them in his lap, massaging deep into his eye sockets.
“Y’know, he’s not that fuckin’ bad,” Vernon commented, “I mean, he scares the shit outta me, but that could have gone worse.”
"Jesus Christ—I can’t believe what I just watched.”
His friend laughed, banging his fist excitedly enough on the table to engender the silverware clattering on their plates. “Ha! I know, right? Dude—Seungcheol and Mingyu are the kingpins of that fuckin’ university you go to. They can cough up the big bucks for that shit. Just imagine the distribution pay I'm gonna get with them on my roster—actually, that couldn’t have gone better.”
“And where are you gonna get it?” Wonwoo pressured, at last settling his glasses back on, clarifying Vernon’s smudged, blurry face.
“Well, let me fuck around and work my magic.”
“I don’t want him to use you.”
“Pfft. I don’t give no fucks about being used,” Vernon cackled, wearing a self-indulgent, luminous smile and continuing to play around with the toothpick while he readied his wallet to pay. “You know what you should worry about, Glasses? Sweet talkin’ the fuck outta that dude’s girl and securin' yourself an invite. You probably don’t even need to try sweet talkin’—she obviously likes you.”
“No,” Wonwoo grumbled, “no way.”
“You don’t want to go?”
“Why would I want to go, dumbass? The last time I went to a party, I ran into you. They’re loud and suffocating. I’ll pass.” Wonwoo also pulled out his wallet, taking his card. “Besides, I get the sense Mingyu doesn’t trust me a whole lot. I’m not gonna stir the pot.”
Vernon shook his head. “You stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street. N’yeah, exactly. You met me. I don’t get the fuss.”
“It’s nothing like that," Wonwoo answered in frustration.
“Yeah, yeah. You’re a Patron Saint. I just want my Life Saver.”
—MAY 19TH.
Wonwoo was going to your apartment today for the first time, and it had nearly killed him in the process.
His abhorrent sleep schedule hung over his head every single instance he woke up at lunchtime, the entirety of his mornings wasted to weathered heartbreak and its lasting, stained consequences. Needing to be at your apartment for ten had Wonwoo buckling his face into anguished hands the night before, wondering how he was going to pull off such a triumph without wishing for death.
He did know one thing for certain—the sound of his alarm erupting into its timely, strident beeping made him instantly sick. In fact, the first thing Wonwoo did was half-stumble in complete bleariness out from his bed, dragging a white sheet along by his ankle as he burst into the washroom and hung his head over the toilet like he was sweating through a wicked hangover. But it wasn’t alcohol. It was months of bad, soul-stitched habit festered up in stomach bile and perhaps, a hatred for himself. It was his own fault, in a way.
And yet, when you texted him a half-hour later to reconfirm your address, Wonwoo replied with not the slightest hint that he was feeling pretty fucking terrible. The headache and shudders followed him down the street, onto the bus, and into the lobby of your notably opulent apartment complex. He felt rather incongruous amongst all the marble—the white trim, the clean, untainted air, even the breakfast table with dispensable lemon water and small, fruit-topped pastries that somehow made Wonwoo want to kill himself.
He looked down at his phone.
[ Her | 9:10 am ]: 717 thorton street, unit 61
[ Her | 9:45 am ]: are you almost here? :)
Wonwoo pressed the button to the elevator.
[ Wonwoo | 9:50 am ]: Yes. In the building.
His phone vibrated immediately with a text.
[ Her | 9:50 am ]: I’m so excited
The doors pulled apart. Wonwoo stepped aside for a couple who were leaving the elevator before he entered. Quickly, he clicked the button to close the doors, not wanting to share the space with anyone but himself and the headache throbbing at the forefront of his cranium. He sighed, glancing at his texts again to reply.
[ Wonwoo | 9:51 am ]: Do you have any Tylenol?
[ Her | 9:51 am ]: most def
[ Her | 9:51 am ]: what’s wrong?
[ Wonwoo | 9:52 am ]: Nothing much. Just a headache.
When he didn’t receive an immediate answer, he assumed you had put the phone down to search your medicine cabinet. Getting off the elevator, Wonwoo proceeded to find the correct apartment. He put his fist up to the door, and then, at the last second, stopped.
There it was again—the same melting pot of anxiety and butterflies that had bubbled up when you first visited his place.
He supposed the feelings never truly disappeared each time he would see you, and he was beginning to detest it. Why couldn’t his body just adapt? Get over it? What purpose did it serve to constantly remind him of his unkempt emotions? It was like the idea of you terrified him more than you as an actual person, because in person, he felt comfort, as crazy as it sounded. So why couldn’t his anxiety and security just complete that stupid sliver of a synapse for once?
Knock knock.
After a moment, the handle clicked, and the door to sumptuous unit 61 was pulled open. For the first time, Wonwoo saw your face without any makeup, and it sort of made him stutter in his words—not that he was shocked in abhorrence at the contrast, more so the vulnerability behind it, the fact you felt comfortable enough to shed your compulsion with always presenting a perfect, glamoured face. He was pleased to see you were in a fuzzy pair of pink shorts and a white, thin long-sleeve that were basically pyjamas.
Maybe it was weird to think, but you seemed more human.
“You made good timing. I’m impressed.”
“Thanks,” Wonwoo answered while stepping inside, toeing off his sneakers next to your plethora of shoes at the doormat.
“I would obviously say tour first, but I have your Tylenol sitting on the counter over here, for your headache. Can you dry swallow or do you need water?”
“Dry swallow?” Wonwoo laughed, following you toward the kitchen area. “Who the fuck dry swallows any sort of pill?”
“I don’t know! Personally, I don’t. But there are some freaks out there who do. I was actually testing you. And you passed.”
“Lucky me,” he sighed.
Taking a seat at one of stools displayed around the large, granite-surface island, Wonwoo waited for you to pour him some water. Obviously, the apartment was spacious, gorgeous—the large, white-fluffed rug in the centre of the living room was definitely suited to you, though he was surprised by the tall, lush potted plants aligned by the window panelling. He didn’t know you had a green thumb.
While placing down the water, you shifted closely into the seat beside him, and Wonwoo could smell the scent of strawberries on your skin. You let your chin press into the hammock made with your hands, watching as he set the pill on his tongue and gulped it down.
“So, is it really bad?”
Wonwoo turned the glass back and forth atop its coaster, deciding on whether or not he should tell the truth. It always tended to sting him when he lied, and so he turned to you, shrugging.
“I felt it when I woke up. But it’s manageable.”
“Oh, I get that sometimes.”
“It’s because of my repulsive sleep schedule, no doubt.”
You smiled at him, adjusting your leg under the island.
“Is that why you prefer afternoons all the time?”
“Pretty much. It’s a horrible habit. I’ll break it somehow, I’m sure. Just a stupid hump to get over. Anyway—” Wonwoo slung the laptop bag off his shoulder and onto the counter, “—your place looks pretty sweet. How are you? What’s the plan for today?”
“Well,” you hummed, slapping an arm down onto the reflective granite, “I’ve wrote some more this week. I’d love for you to proofread it. Maybe we can go out for lunch later, but you’d need to give me time to get ready. I mean, I did shower this morning…”
He watched you pause, and then swallow. "You don’t care, do you?”
“About what?” Wonwoo answered.
“Oh, well—never mind, then.”
“No, what is it? What don’t I care about?”
You started to grin, hiding half your face with a hand that slowly scraped across your cheek, as though to rub off any remaining lethargy from the morning light. Wonwoo waited for you to answer.
“… I look like a mole.”
He at last realized what you meant.
“No, you don’t.”
“I was just feeling lazy. I know, gasp, what an insane word to come from my mouth. But I’m glad you don’t care. I didn’t think you would, but I still wasn’t sure. At least your reaction wasn’t obvious. My chin is breaking out so please don’t stare at it, if you can help it.”
“Oh, well, you know, you look—” that one banished word almost slipped, but Wonwoo smoothly mended the break, “you—you have nothing to worry about. I get breakouts, too. It sucks, but it’s life.”
Your bare, soft face turned cheerful in a fawning smile.
“I know. I guess I'm just not very used to the feeling of people seeing me like this. Did you want to do lunch later?”
Wonwoo leaned back in the small seat, running his hands up his knees, knowing damn well he hadn’t eaten breakfast.
“Uh, I should probably start with like, cereal or something.”
“You didn’t eat?”
“No appetite.”
“I’ll fix you something. Unfortunately, no cereal. But I'll get some the next time Mingyu and I do groceries. So, what do you like best? Toast? Oatmeal? Scrambled eggs and toast? Orange juice? Bagel?”
At the mere mention of orange juice, his fist clenched. Attempting not to dwell so obviously, Wonwoo straightened up and smiled.
“I like toast.”
“That’s good. It’ll be easy on your stomach.”
Wonwoo watched you squeeze off the stool and open the fridge to pull out a plastic bag of bread. He watched you stand on your tiptoes to reach into the highest cupboard and grab a plate. He watched you pop open a jar of fresh raspberry jam and slot the bread into the toaster. He could watch you do anything, it seemed.
Anything at all.
It took Wonwoo about half an hour to eat his raspberry toast and skim through the newest additions to your document. You were getting more into the thick of your relationship with Mingyu—just as you’d warned—but Wonwoo was able to gloss most cloying paragraphs without too much bitterness or personal weight clouding his possible critiques. Wonwoo was still seated at the island, meanwhile you were lying face down on the plump-cushioned couch, an arm dangling off the side. In a morbid way, you looked very much dead if not for the shallow rising and dipping of your back.
“Done, for the most part.”
Your head perked up, and he was relieved to see you hadn’t fallen asleep or suffocated. “When will you add your notes?”
“After lunch. Is that okay?”
“Mmhm.”
“So…” Wonwoo slid down in the chair, reaching out his arms with a gigantic yawn, “you actually snuck into his basketball game?”
“Yeah,” you sighed, letting your chin snuggle into the blanket strewn underneath you, “I was obsessed with him. I couldn’t help it.”
“I wouldn’t expect your first date to be at the nature museum. The way you wrote about the butterfly exhibit was nice, though.”
“It was fun. Mingyu wasn’t the biggest fan, but I had always wanted to go. There was this huge skeleton of a blue whale, and sometimes the museum would play the whale’s ballad—” you flopped onto your back, staring up at the ceiling with a tender, ardent laugh as your fingers twirled the fluffy knots of the throw, “—it used to scare Mingyu so bad. He kept telling me he was gonna leave our date unless we went to another exhibit.”
“The sound can be pretty jarring if you’ve never heard it before, to be fair,” Wonwoo reasoned, now massaging down his legs.
Shoving your body to sit upright on the couch, you poked out your tongue at him, grinning, “don’t defend his loserness.”
He huffed in response, “my bad.”
“Should we do a tour now? I really want to show you my room. And if I keep lying on the couch, I’ll fall asleep.”
“Uh, sure. Do you want me to wash my plate?”
“No, no, it’s fine. Just leave it in the sink.”
After Wonwoo cleaned off the granite island, he came to join you in the living room, the white rug resembling what he imagined a cloud to feel like underneath his socked feet.
A thought had suddenly popped into his head.
“There’s a nature museum here, too.”
You grabbed the blanket, wearing it like a shawl around your shoulders. Wonwoo had never seen you so sleepy before.
“I know.”
“Have you ever gone?”
“No. Not at all. I did ask Mingyu once when we first came here for university. But I think he was still mortified from the whale thing. I dunno. Anyway, is that your round-about way of asking if I ever want to go? Because I would, to help with the story.”
Wonwoo scratched along his collarbone, heated with the itch of being blatantly exposed for his plotting. However, he hadn’t suggested the museum with the intention of employing it as a visual to sharpen up your scene-work. He was hoping to go just for the sake of it—like a palate cleanser, as you had previously mentioned.
But he obviously wasn’t going to articulate that.
“We can plan it more later,” he said.
The tour started in the living room, which Wonwoo had become well acquainted with throughout his half hour of sitting at the kitchen island, occasionally flicking his eyes toward the couch to ensure you were still alive. You explained that the pristine white rug was a housewarming gift from Mingyu’s parents when you first moved into the apartment, and he felt guilty for even stepping on it.
He decided to ask about the plants by the windows.
“Oh, I don’t actually look after those,” you answered, touching at one of the heavy and balmy-looking green leaves from a plant nearly as tall as you, “Seokmin comes over to water them and stuff, gives them special nutrient food—even sprays their leaves with this misty bottle thing. I tried giving them all to him, but he says he’s got no space at his apartment—which is total bull by the way.”
“Maybe he just wants an excuse to see you.”
“Yeah,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes, “doesn’t everyone?”
Wonwoo bit back a stupid little smile as he followed you into your bedroom—the place you seemed most enthralled for him to finally see. You twirled into the open space and threw the blanket off your shoulders, then whipping your hands into the air akin to a magician who’d just performed the most grandiose magic trick.
“Tada! Bedroom reveal!”
He pushed up his glasses, taking a good, solid look around at everything he could: the prestigious makeup vanity with the drawers left half-open, your dresser, lined with photographs of what he assumed to be friends, family, and Mingyu, the beaded, dangling chandelier, the ajar closet doors that revealed your unsurprising magnitude of outfits—skirts and dresses and professional blazers and lascivious things from threads of lace and silk. He finally looked to your beautiful bed, which you proceeded to flop onto.
“This is my favourite part,” you hummed.
Taking some further steps into the bedroom, Wonwoo began recognizing smaller details, though he couldn’t explain what he was feeling. He always thought a bedroom was such a personal, intimate space, like a treasure chest stuffed with memories and pieces of person’s essence that couldn’t be captured using words alone. To sit on someone’s bed, or sift through their drawers for a pen, or even grab a shirt from their closet—he felt it was all so… sacred. It was the reason he had such a hard time having others in his bedroom.
“The bed is your favourite?” He wondered.
“Yes,” you giggled, a glimmer flashing into your eyes like diamonds in the sun as you climbed onto your knees.
Before Wonwoo knew what was happening, you had clutched a hand into his shirt and jerked him toward the covers. He landed beside you, and his heart thrust with electricity.
“You could have just asked me to sit,” he chuckled, wiping some wrinkles off his shirt and adjusting his glasses.
“Nope.”
“Bed’s comfy.”
“Duh,” you sunk backward, smirking at him, “it’s a bed.”
“Hey, you should have seen the bed I had growing up in Changwon. My older brother and I, we hated it. Shit was like sleeping on a piece of cardboard. It didn’t get better for years.”
Propping your head onto a pillow, you continued to smile prettily at him with those entrancing eyes, and for a second, this piercing fear struck in the core of Wonwoo’s chest that he had just spoke about himself—actually spoke about himself—in a manner that screamed of vulnerability. He felt terror. Why did he do that?
“Hm. I guess I’m just spoiled, with my memory foam and all.”
At least you didn’t push into the topic. You were getting better at that, almost like you could interpret the subtle tweaks in his face or the stiffening of his bones. Wonwoo rested his elbows on his knees.
“Your room’s nice. It smells like you.”
He heard you giggle, “what? Like strawberries?”
Wonwoo pursed his lip, looked down at his fingers. “Yeah…”
For a moment, his eyes lingered unfaithfully on your exposed midriff, down to the fluffy hem of those pink lounge shorts. He squeezed his wrist tight, practically stopping his own blood flow, willing himself not to think anything unhinged that would simmer up to fuel his self-hatred later. The longer your head spent sinking into that plump pillow, the more your lids fluttered with sleep. As he continued to gaze about the room, he spotted the pink stuffed bear that he’d won you at the Spring Street Fair, sitting atop your bedside table.
“You’ve still got that?”
“Hm?” You pushed up onto your elbows, yawning. “Oh, yeah! ‘Course I still have her. It’s a perfect little memento from that night.”
“Well, I did go through a lot of effort to win it.”
“Oh, I’m aware... wanna know what I named her?”
“What?”
“Miss Priss.”
Honestly, Wonwoo was surprised you hadn’t stuffed it into your closet or abandoned the toy in some innocuous corner of your apartment. Instead the bear’s vibrant pink face and slightly lopsided eyes were staring him down, making him rerun Vernon’s words in his head: ‘you stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street.’
Wonwoo immediately shoved the memory aside, letting the implications sizzle up and burn on the hot coals of his brain.
“Hm. Funny.”
You rolled your eyes.
Wonwoo tapped his wrist, thinking.
“So, uh, I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but why don’t you live with Mingyu? I know he stays over some nights.”
Lifting yourself up with one arm, you shrugged, opting to stroke a hand along the blanket to smooth out some crinkles. “I don’t want to move in with anyone unless I’m engaged.”
“Actually?”
“Yeah. I mean, that's what I told my parents, at least. They used to really push for us to have an apartment together. Which makes sense. They freaking love him. I swear, more than me," you laughed, picking at your shirt. "I get it, too. Mingyu and I have pretty much been tied at the hip all these years. But we agreed that we wouldn't live together until things went to the next level. He does keep a lot of his stuff here for when he does stay over, and vice versa. He’s got an extra key and everything, his own nightstand, bathroom stuff.”
“And that’s for certain?”
You tilted your head. “What’s for certain?”
“The engagement thing. Or was it just to shake off your parents?”
“Well… I guess I mean it. Is that weird to you?”
“No,” Wonwoo said. “I personally haven't heard it plenty.”
“Yeah, most people are surprised to learn we don’t live together. I guess we really give off the impression that we're together in most things, if not everything. It's good to get a little space, though."
“Well, I understand it—wanting to have your own space. I mean, I think everyone should try living alone, just once if they have to. You learn more about yourself, I suppose.”
You cracked a smile at him. “What have you learned?”
Wonwoo chuckled, knowing all the things he could never say were tingling right on the tip of his tongue. “Well, I meant in a general sense. I wasn't exactly talking about myself.”
“Ha—you learned how to be a hermit.”
“I'm pretty sure I was always like that.”
“Yeah, but probably not that bad.”
“That bad?” He furrowed his dark brows at you, staring straight into your eyes that twinkled with challenge. “Meaning what?”
“Please, you would not leave that apartment if it wasn’t for your commitment to the book. Maybe for work, some groceries every now and then. Otherwise, your ass is not leaving.”
“Damn. Just call me a loser.”
“Fine,” you huffed, pushing up onto your knees, “loser.”
Wonwoo managed to hold the penetrating, spirited strength of your gaze, and he was proud of himself for doing so, even if his heart felt like it was going to leap into his throat. It was still difficult for him to be routinely engaged in eye contact, but he knew how much you appreciated it—the feeling of being listened to and experiencing someone’s dedication to presenting their full attention.
Since it was getting close to lunch time, Wonwoo figured you might want to start thinking of where to eat. He was getting notably hungry, and having to function off some toast coated thinly in raspberry jam wouldn’t be enough to power him throughout his proofreading. He pulled out his phone, wanting to check the time, and began sliding off your comfortable, warm bed.
“Did you want to—”
“Hey, wait, wait, wait—” Wonwoo felt your hand curl around his bicep in a firm grip and begin to pull him back down, “—before we get up and everything, I want to talk to you about something.”
Oh no.
His stomach writhed.
Wonwoo started praying it wasn’t about his and Vernon’s encounter with Mingyu at Solar Pop—not that anything particularly terrible or concerning had happened—but maybe Mingyu had mentioned something to you. Maybe he didn’t like Wonwoo and thought it was best you stop writing together, stop seeing each other.
His mind started quivering with a steadfast hurricane of awful thought and Wonwoo knew the flushed colour had most likely drained from his face as quickly as a popped balloon.
Your hand remained on his bicep, squeezing it.
“Why do you look so worried, already?” You chuckled in a quiet voice, rubbing his arm until Wonwoo visibly relaxed. “I haven’t even said anything yet. Unless, you think I should be worried, too.”
“No.” Wonwoo shook his head. “Just—never mind.”
“Hm, well, that’s kind of what I want to talk about.”
As your hand drifted off his arm, Wonwoo sat crossed-legged, narrowing his eyes at you in question. “What do you mean?”
The conversation began with a clunk of silence, to which you glanced down at the bed for a moment, clearly biting on your inner cheek in contemplation. Wonwoo desperately wanted you to spit it out. He hated when empty words hung so burdensomely in the air.
“Well… there’s no easy way to bring it up. And I’m not sure you’ll even want to talk about it with me, but I keep noticing it, again and again. I think it’s at least worth it to put it on the table. And, if it’s not my business, you can freely tell me to screw off.”
“Oh… okay.”
And then you were looking at him, not with any sort of accusation or anger or even disappointment. Somehow, Wonwoo knew what you were going to say, and he braced himself for it.
“Do you… do you have anxiety?”
Wonwoo said nothing. He wasn’t sure if it was an issue of not wanting to speak or being unable to.
You breathed out heavily in response.
“Okay, silence, I definitely saw that coming—but, um, I’m not stupid, you know? Your face just gets so pale, and I feel like I can see the heartbeat in your chest… and you always do that thing with your fist. Clenching it. It always looks so painful but you never seem to care and—anyway—I just… I can tell when it happens and it kind of bothers me that you try to like, shrug it off or call it ‘spacing out’ when it’s really clearly not. And, maybe that’s my fault.”
His gaze had shifted to lock with yours.
Again, you weren’t staring at him with any malice or dejection—he’d come to learn that your eyes were actually quite soft most of the time, soft but always glittering, like a handful of silk. Still, Wonwoo couldn’t yet find his words, which must have come across as remarkably shocking for someone who spent their whole life grabbing all the shiny bits of possible vernacular.
You sat up straighter, touching his knee.
“Is it my fault you don’t want to talk about it? Can I at least know that much?” There was an imploring desperation in your face.
Wonwoo at last cleared his throat.
“I don’t talk about it with anyone.”
“Okay, I get that. But, did I make you feel like you couldn’t bring it up? At all?” Your fingers dug a little harder into his knee, though Wonwoo knew you probably hadn’t realized it. “I just—I do want to know, actually. Because sometimes I let myself get in the way of being present for other people. But I care. I honestly do.”
He nodded, cracking his knuckles.
“I mean… I definitely wouldn’t have thought to bring it up with you. I guess I felt like, if I did, what would it accomplish? You might think I’m incapable or… I don’t know.” He shoved his hands underneath his glasses, rubbing at the indents on his nose. “As you can see, I’m not the best at talking about it. I don’t talk about it.”
You folded your legs in similar fashion to Wonwoo.
“Well… um… do you… is there anyone that could, like… I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess, are you coping alright, is what I’m asking. I really don’t mean to overstep. I swear.”
At that, he chuckled quite loudly. Your face twitched in surprise at his reaction, and the hand slipped off his knee.
“It really doesn’t matter. I just deal with it.”
No. He took nothing. He did nothing. Wonwoo just sat and suffered and felt no initiative to help himself. At that point, he really didn’t want to dissect the topic any further. He could sense the slithering under his skin, the way his body physically bristled like a perturbed cat at the thought of having to be any more open than what he'd already shared. The choices he made in his life weren’t important if he was going to end up back in the same slippery trench.
“Oh. Well, I hope you take care of yourself,” you said with a smile, giving his bicep another gentle squeeze. “That’s all.”
—JUNE 2ND.
About two weeks had passed since Wonwoo visited your apartment. Afterward, you had met up four times to continue writing and making small ventures to places that you deemed vital for developing your story. Wonwoo found himself enjoying most trips.
He remembered the ice cream shop. Apparently, it was the date where Mingyu had officially asked you to be his girlfriend. You had gotten their most popular strawberry cheesecake flavour while Wonwoo ordered mint chocolate chip, which was a rather boring but favourite classic of his. No doubt, you sat across from him on their outside patio the entire time, pitting remarks about how awful his choice was in lieu of writing anything down in your document. With every spoonful he ate, Wonwoo had to keep reminding you to stay focused, and eventually, his repetitious ordering worked.
"Did you actually come here to get any writing done or did you just want the ice cream? We're not palate-cleansing are we?"
"Why can't two things be true at once?"
“Can I see your laptop?”
“No—hey! Don’t try to grab it!”
“Why? Because you’ve written fuck all?”
"For your information, I have a bullet-point list going."
"Oh, yeah. A bullet-point list, hm?"
"Yes. It has all my major writing points. Point number one: Mingyu seats me down at the table. He's clearly nervous. We've only been in the shop for a minute or two and he won't stop brushing his hair behind his ears. Point number two: Mingyu grabs our ice cream from the counter. He gives me his flavour, rocky road, by accident, and then we awkwardly laugh and switch. Point number three: I remember thinking his nerves were endearing, and—"
"Okay, okay. I get it."
"Exactly. Let this be a lesson in poor assumption. Don't try to assume anything about me, Wonwoo. It's probably wrong."
And then there had been the journey to Mooney’s Bay, one of the most well-known beaches outside the city—probably because the lake actually looked a clean, salty blue and the soft sand wasn’t littered with drifting pieces of plastic. It had been the first place Wonwoo took his brother when he came to visit from his office in Korea, and the picture they had taken together with their pant legs cuffed up, standing knee deep in the water, was still pinned to the corkboard in Wonwoo’s bedroom. However, Wonwoo hadn’t been back to the beach since, until you dragged him there in an hour-long car ride. He had mostly looked out the window, thinking, as always.
You said that Mooney’s Bay reminded you of a cove from your hometown, a more clandestine one, where you and Mingyu used to splash around in the isolated, iridescent waters at night, laughing into the chilled breeze and coughing up all the liquid splatted into the other’s face. Wonwoo had used the video camera to record some footage of the beach per your request. By evening, most people had packed up their coolers and umbrellas and sun towels, granting him more freedom to film wider, panned shots. He remembered standing at the foam shoreline, feeling the sand squelch wetly under his bare feet, recording you wading further and deeper into the water that reflected like a bleeding, scarlet portrait of stained glass.
“It feels amazing! You should come in!”
“I can’t. It’ll ruin the camcorder.”
“So put it down! In the bag! There’s enough footage.”
“But the sun is setting behind you. It makes for a good shot.”
"So just hurry up! The water is the perfect temperature."
"But—"
“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”
"Well, I don't know... I, uh—I can't swim."
"This isn't swimming, this is wading. Just go up to your knees. It's been a hot, long day. I think this will help get the scowl off your face."
“… Fine. At least give me a second to fix my pants.”
The third location, while not his favourite, had been an open bar that was conveniently placed a few streets over from his job at the pharmacy. Wonwoo had went there a number of times with Vernon in the past, usually after he finished a midterm or handed in some grating assignment, though Vernon tended to drink more than his body could sufficiently handle. By the end of the night, Wonwoo would most often find himself being a mediator between his tattooed, foul-mouthed friend and whatever blundering, equally drunk idiot he happened to be arguing with.
It was too much for his anxiety.
Nonetheless, he’d met you there after work despite the churning cauldron of memories that he harboured, unsurprised to find you seated at a small table swarmed with dewy drinks and shots that interested observers had sent over. Wonwoo felt each digging, plying stare that sculpted against his back as he sat beside you—he even choked down one of your retched tequila shots (while not the best idea), hoping it would mellow him out.
You never really explained why the bar was pertinent to your history with Mingyu—or, maybe you had, and Wonwoo was simply one flaming shot past coherent of properly digesting your words. He did, however, remember your entire, almost scientific explanation of why you liked wearing low-cut or heavily revealing tops at the bar, and Wonwoo had listened along as best he could manage, even when that floating sensation started hazing through his mind. At one point, this girl who Wonwoo had never encountered once in his life came up to him with a polite tap on his shoulder and an inquiring smile.
“Hey—sorry to intrude—and this may be a super dumb question, but you are guys together?”
“No, no. Not at all. I’ve got a boyfriend. He’s single.”
“Oh, perfect. I was just—I was sitting over there, in the corner with my friends, if you can see. Anyways—I said something dumb about how you were really good looking, and now I’ve been dared to come up and ask for your number. So, um, yeah…”
“No, I’m good. Thank you.”
“O-Oh. Wait… are you… being serious?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Sorry. This is really fucking embarrassing… uh, I guess I won’t linger then. Bye.”
“… Jeez… had a bit much to drink or something?”
“No—just don’t like giving out my number to strangers.”
“She was cute, though. Probably a fun one-night stand.”
“Then you have sex with her, yeah?”
“Ha! You’re so funny. When’s the last time you even had sex? I mean, you obviously pull. At least, I think you do…”
“I don’t remember. Months and months ago, I guess.”
“Wow! Zero play. I kind of respect it. I could never, though. So… actually, let me guess: you’re the type of person that can’t have sex without attachment? You need to be in love?”
“What’s it to you?”
“I’m just asking.”
“I don’t know.”
“God. You’re so fucking boring, Wonwoo.”
“Because I don’t go out of my way to find some pretty girl to have sex with every week, I’m boring? How does that make sense?”
“No, not that. I mean the fact you never really want to discuss anything about yourself. Honestly, sometimes talking to you is like pulling teeth, y’know? Anyway, move back a little. Backwards cap with the earrings has been staring on and off for the last ten minutes and I want one more free shot before I call it a night.”
The most recent place you had been together was the popular drive-in at Richmond’s Farm. Wonwoo knew that in the autumn months leading up to Halloween, the venue was turned into a haunted carnival with all the typical attractions: pumpkin patches, horror movie screenings, corn mazes, and masked, fake blood-spattered psychopaths chasing people around with a roaring chainsaw.
Seokmin, despite being quite weak-stomached and completely disastrous when it came to anything horror-related, had actually implored Wonwoo to go the year before after hearing the raves about their newest House of Nightmares, although Wonwoo declined in order to study for a test.
Really, there was no test.
Wonwoo just hadn’t been in the mood for losing all his hair and being crammed into pitch black, narrow corridors with a murderer promptly waiting around the corner. He hoped Seokmin wouldn’t ask him again this year—then his excuse would be obvious.
In the spring and summer, however, the farm mostly broadcast screenings at their drive-in theatre behind the maize field, and you had leaped at the opportunity to go because it was the perfect chance to relive one of your favourite dates with Mingyu. By your explanation, he’d taken you to see Crazy, Stupid, Love before you two had departed your hometown for university. But the drive-in obviously wasn’t playing that movie, and so you two had to settle for watching their only available screening, 500 Days of Summer.
Wonwoo hated that movie.
Of course, he hadn’t told you that.
Before the movie had started, Wonwoo helped you throw down a blanket into your trunk alongside some couch pillows that you grabbed from your apartment, creating a makeshift lounge in the rear of the car. Since the screening was late at night—and way past your typical good girl bedtime—you were worried about falling asleep halfway into the movie, though Wonwoo promised he would keep an eye on you to ensure you wouldn’t miss anything important.
Since it was too dark to film anything of quality on the camcorder, Wonwoo left you alone in the blanket-pillow trunk to scribble down any nostalgic, limerent sentiments while he grabbed some snacks. You had told him to get gummy bears, because you hated the way broken pieces of popcorn kernel shells would sliver between your teeth and dig into your gums, neither did you want a soft drink since it would be an abundance of sugar before bed, and it always resulted in a breakout the next morning. He was able to make it back to the car just before the screening started.
He remembered how strange it all seemed, sitting so close to you underneath the blanket, occasionally feeling your elbow dig into his arm or your knee bump his thigh, and the sharp blip it would cause in his pulse. Wonwoo remembered how often you complained about the temperature throughout the movie—first, it’s too hot, now, it’s too cold, you’re too close to me, you’re too far away and I’m cold again, I need the blanket, I don’t want the blanket—Wonwoo hadn’t realized a person’s body temperature could fluctuate that drastically.
However, the worst part of that night happened about half an hour before the movie ended, just when Wonwoo was beginning to feel relieved about going home. You were getting sleepier by the minute, and Wonwoo could tell from the yawning every now and then, wanting desperately to rub at your eyes but refusing because it would smother the mascara into somewhat concerning, black whorls.
You had nudged his arm, and when he glanced over at your face, exhausted and half-illuminated under the watery, bright cast of light from the screen, you asked him in a quiet, dulcet voice: “is it okay if I rest my head on your shoulder for a few minutes?”
Wonwoo had wanted to say no—of course you can’t, because if you do, I will sit here stiff, and hardly breathing, and listening only to my own heartbeat. It will be the sole thing I’ll think about for the next three days no matter what I do to mask the memory. I’ll keep thinking about it until you burn out in my mind like a star.
But then Wonwoo had agreed instead.
He proceeded to clench his fist upon feeling the weight of your head sink softly to his shoulder. Your legs had been curled up underneath you, and your knees were then pressing flush against his leg. Every breath he inhaled was faintly tainted with the scent of your sweet, fragrant shampoo and it was fucking killing him.
“You’re so tense,” you had whispered in a giggle, “if it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t have to. It’s just because I’m tired.”
“No—” it had come out somewhat like a blurt, and Wonwoo just knew the tips of his ears were tingling red, “—it’s okay. I promise.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure… what?”
“Just wanted to look in your eyes when you said it.”
“Fuck, not that again.”
“I have to know!”
“Okay, that’s fine. Movie’s almost over, anyway. Just don’t fall asleep because then I really won’t know what to do.”
That had been four days ago.
Now, it was almost midnight. Wonwoo was sitting on the roof of his apartment with a messily rolled up blunt in his fingers—the second one he prepared, mostly out of impatience—drawing in a slow and deep breath that ghosted from his lips like wispy fog flowing down a shallow hill. He then coughed twice by his elbow, attempting to clear the stinging prickle that caught against his throat.
“You’re so fucking full of it,” Wonwoo laughed.
“No! I’m not.”
“You did not write thirty pages in a day.”
“Uh—actually, I did! And the fact you don’t believe me is a testament to your own wilted motivation. I am very motivated.”
He smiled at the sound of your voice crackling through his phone, which he’d been holding with the latter hand. Breathing in another hit, Wonwoo pulled at the sides of his black beanie, grinning through the thin cloud that was exhaled in a quick, neat puff.
“Okay, you wrote thirty pages. Didn’t have to fucking drag my career through the mud in doing so. I mean, I guess it’s a hobby.”
“For all I know, you’re the biggest poser that ever posed.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. I still don’t know what you write about.”
“I told you.”
“No—you fucking didn’t. You said something vague and ambiguous that could have meant literally anything. All I had to go off were some sing-songy praises from Seokmin.”
“I give you pretty good notes, though.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“So I must be decent.”
“I don’t even know why I bothered calling you. I was supposed to be in bed, like, an hour ago. You’re such a distraction.”
“Fuck,” Wonwoo laughed, tapping the warm blunt to knock off a clump of papery ash, “it’s been an hour already?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I don’t know why you called either.”
“To complain about that lady whose makeup I had to do today! She was horrible. God, were you not listening?!”
“No, no, I was. She told you the makeup she wanted, you said it wouldn’t suit her too well, and then she got all pissed off when it looked exactly how you said it would. That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh. Well… I just thought you should know about it.”
“Mmhm.”
Silence followed his velvet, almost teasing hum, but Wonwoo didn’t mind it, and he assumed you didn’t either. Your phone call had been completely out of the blue, only a few minutes after he’d climbed onto the roof and started sparking his lighter. An hour had already passed—Wonwoo couldn’t believe it. Time had never seemed so blurred and insignificant before, like tomorrow didn’t exist at all.
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
Wonwoo repositioned the phone in his hand.
“From time to time, yeah.”
“What strain?”
“Northern Lights.”
“I’ve never had that one. I mean, I’m not much of a stoner, and neither is Mingyu. I don’t like the way it feels in my throat—that dry, burning feeling. And I hate the cotton mouth afterward.”
“Shouldn’t be that bad if you’re inhaling it right.”
“Well, maybe you can teach me one day.”
He let the blunt hang from the corner of his mouth for a moment, a very fluttery-feeling smile taking shape. Not wanting you to hear that slight bit of giddiness in his tone, Wonwoo took another hit, holding the smoke in for longer than usual before exhaling.
“Do you, uh… do you still want to go to that museum?”
“Oh—the nature museum?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll have to do some poking around in my schedule. I have this stupid leadership council meeting for SSA that I have to go to.”
“That’s fine. Text me when you figure it out.”
“Okay… gosh, it’s really fucking late.”
“Yeah, you should get some sleep.”
“Are you pushing me off the phone? If anything, I should be the one pushing. You’re not doing anything to fix your terrible sleep schedule. And I certainly don’t want you to ruin mine.”
“That’s what I’m saying—you need to get some sleep.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have said it like that.”
“How did I say it?”
“Like you were pushing me off the phone!”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. How ‘bout this: I know how important structure is to you, and I am deeply concerned that this late night conversation we’re having may somewhat affect your sleep. And while I’ve thoroughly enjoyed talking to you and hearing your pretty voice through my shitty phone speaker, I think we should both go to bed.”
“That seems fair.”
“Great. So, goodnight then.”
“No! I want to be the first one to say goodnight.”
“Why?”
“Because, I say goodnight, then you say goodnight back, and then I get to be the one who hangs up first. It’s a courtesy thing.”
“Uh, okay then... I’m listening.”
“Goodnight!”
Wonwoo smiled. He smiled so fucking widely and brightly that he could feel the muscles in his face aching.
“Goodnight.”
—JUNE 7TH.
Since the quickest route to the nature museum was about half an hour from Wonwoo’s apartment, he suggested that you stop by around lunch time so that you two could make the walk together. It wasn’t too warm outside—the large smattering of clouds dotted in the sky and the typical city breeze helped to keep the temperature down.
“We’re not allowed to film in the museum,” you said from your seat at his small dinner table, “so don’t bother taking the camcorder, I guess. I’ll just try to soak up everything as best I can.”
Wonwoo was sat across from you, waiting for you to finish the heated-up carton box of creamy mushroom pasta that you’d raided out his freezer. He’d tried his best to eat beforehand as well, but the most he could stomach was some milk and cereal in addition a handful of blueberries. It was still better than his usual routine, which involved skipping any sort of meal post lunchtime.
“If you really needed to, I’m sure you could take a couple pictures,” Wonwoo answered, brushing a hand through his styled, pristine black hair that you had earlier littered with a flustering spiel of compliments. “I doubt the exhibits will be exactly the same, but if it's more so to capture the feeling, then it won’t matter much.”
You patted the corner of your mouth upon finishing the last few noodles left in the box, nodding your head in agreement.
“My journal’s in my bag. It should be fine.”
Wonwoo flipped over his phone to check the time.
“How was the SSA meeting yesterday?”
“Oh—I didn’t go.”
“Really?” Wonwoo asked while settling back in his chair, watching you toss the fork into the carton. “How come?”
“Because, it’s mostly pointless. We always sit there, in front of all those old, crusty men, trying to explain to them how we can improve the campus, the student experience, blah blah. And they act like they’re legitimately consuming our input, using phrases like: ‘oh, we hear you, we understand, we’re gonna try our hardest’—just for them to put, what? Another fucking seating area in the dining hall that no one asked for or cares about? It’s totally ridiculous.”
“Hm, yeah.”
“Anyways, I hate being on it. I hate going. I understand it looks good and whatnot, but it’s a huge waste of my time.”
Wonwoo picked up the pasta box, continuing to hum his agreement while taking it into the kitchen. He dropped the fork into the sink and folded up the cardboard to stuff into his recycling.
“It’s one meeting. A skip won’t kill you, or them.”
“That’s what I’m saying. Mingyu thinks I went, though. So, if you run into him or something and the topic fucking miraculously pops up—just don’t give anything away. It’s a little white lie.”
Coming back to the dining table, Wonwoo snatched up his wallet and shoved it into his back pocket, raising an eyebrow.
“Why wouldn’t you tell him?”
You pushed back in the chair, sighing heavily.
“He really thinks I should stick with it.”
Wonwoo didn’t say anything in response. He simply nodded, not wanting to hover on Mingyu as a conversation piece for too long, and waited for you to shoulder on your purse.
“Okay,” you then smiled, “let’s go look at some nature.”
Despite their boring, lacklustre reputation, Wonwoo had always enjoyed going to museums—art, history, science—he’d even been to a museum that delved into ancient coin minting and the development of currency. He supposed it was his appreciation for learning new information of his own free will, unlike the fast-paced, passion-draining, wringer system that was university. Furthermore, he was surprised that you would share his interest in the matter.
“Why wouldn’t I like museums?” You had stopped just before the acclaimed beetle species wall, aglow behind a glass sheet. “I wrote in my draft that Mingyu and I went to a nature museum, remember?”
“I know. I’m just surprised you have that much of an interest in them. Your life seems so upbeat. I didn’t think you would be into something that most people find fairly dry and anticlimactic.”
“Right.” Twirling back around, you continued walking down the corridor, your eyes tracing the organized arrangement of lustre-shelled beetles. “Because everyone else is too stupid and you’re the true upper echelon who actually possesses the mental capability required to appreciate something as seemingly trivial but totally enriching as…” you then paused at the glass, squinting to read the embossed label below an oblong-shaped beetle with an iridescent green shell, “… as the Chrysochroa Fulgidissima? I don’t know, something like that—also known as the Jewel Beetle. Its species is native to Japan and Korea. It’s a… woodboring beetle?”
“Why would I know?” Wonwoo laughed, coming to stand beside you and look at the plaque settled to the white background behind the display glass. “You’re the one reading it.”
“Ugh—doesn’t matter. I was going somewhere with my speech and now I forget… oh, yeah! So, you think you’re smarter than me?”
Placing a gentle hand on your lower back, Wonwoo urged you to keep walking forward in order to let the people faintly mumbling behind you examine the wall, who seemed much more interested.
“I never said that,” he answered softly.
“Okay—but, do you think you’re smarter?”
“In what sense?”
“Did you take the Frontiers evaluation for calculus?”
“Yes.”
“What’d you score?”
“9.8.”
“Shut the fuck up! No you didn’t.”
Wonwoo merely tapped the black-framed glasses further up his nose, smirking slightly, and began shaking his head while continuing down the exhibit. You hurried after him, remembering to lower your voice to match the collective quietness.
“Prove it,” you whispered.
“Go to prof Bradbrook’s office. My name’s on her wall.”
“I hate you.”
“Why? What did you score?”
“I’m obviously not going to say it now.”
Wonwoo still remembered the day his test score came back—he’d opened the envelope in Miss Bradbrook’s office, and while she sat across from him, practically squirming and jittering with anticipation, Wonwoo had glossed over the paper slip with the smallest, most low effort smile. He knew he was supposed to feel relieved in that moment—overjoyed probably—to realize his notable success and the upstanding conformation he was legitimately good at something. But in truth, he hadn’t really felt anything at all. He sort of just smiled. That was it. That was all he could muster.
And his life had mirrored that moment ever since. In the past, it would come and go. Yet, that day, it just stuck. The only time he ever experienced any glint or sparkle of happiness, it had come from his girlfriend—but even she couldn’t imbue much from him that day.
“Well, that’s not what I expected you to ask.”
You glanced over at him, adjusting the bag on your arm.
“Meaning?”
“There are different types of intelligence. I thought you meant, in a more general sense, am I smarter, or more knowledgeable. To be honest, I can’t say. I mean, I feel like I’ve experienced and seen a whole lot, but that’s just life’s illusion.”
“You won’t really know ‘til you’re on your death bed.”
Wonwoo returned your glance, squinching his brown eyes in a judgemental but innocuous way that gave bloom to his smile.
“Thanks.”
“I can’t help it. Museums make me think of death. I think it’s the really cold, still air. Especially in nature museums where they need to preserve things. Like, look at that fox. It’s a bit ominous.”
On the exhibit to his right, Wonwoo observed another display protected by glass. There was a fox, with a rusty, auburn coloured coat, poised atop a fake precipice of grass. Wonwoo knew what you meant—it was the eyes, like two leaf green beads, so immensely detailed but lifeless to an almost uncomfortable degree.
“I want to see the aquarium exhibit next,” you said, tugging twice at Wonwoo’s sleeve. “I heard it’s really dark in there.”
“Well, we can go take a look.”
“And we can eat afterward? There’s an atrium.”
“Sure.”
Wonwoo let your arm link with his, following the natural flow of museum-goers into the next exhibit, leaving behind the shiny, colourful wall of beetles and the auburn fox in its lonesome enclosure.
The aquarium exhibit was one of the most spacious in the entire museum, placed in a large, dome-topped room, with shadows creeping at every corner. There were some lights—deep, blue lights that rippled and wriggled across the floor, like waves patterned against ocean sand by the sun rays. He didn't know from where, but he could hear water sloshing, a very soft sound that led him to imagine the wet sand squelching under his toes.
You approached another display wall, filled with a school of lemon-yellow and azure coloured fish placed around vibrant, unique corals.
While you busied yourself with reading the informative plaque, Wonwoo spent his time taking a more in-depth inspection around the mystifying exhibit. He noted the stingrays and luminous jellyfish flocking above his head, held on near-invisible little wires that would occasionally glimmer if they twisted the perfect angle.
After a generously long venture throughout the room, reading all the plaques and pointing to different fish behind the glass just to comment, “I think that was in Finding Nemo,” you had wanted to sit down, spotting a bench positioned before an aquarium.
Wonwoo agreed, and you collapsed on the bench together.
There was a period of comfortable silence where you both watched the aquarium, meanwhile the dappling, blue pattern cast to the floor danced and flickered around at your still feet. The atmosphere seemed so vivid that Wonwoo was surprised the next breath he took wasn’t a mouthful of liquid and sea salt, or that his body wasn’t miraculously suspended and floating about in the echoey shadows.
And that’s when Wonwoo decided he liked the aquatic exhibit very much—more than all the others.
He looked down at the hands folded in his lap, specifically at the scarred, ruined cuticle belonging to his right thumb and how it had withstood years of his anxious scratching. Wonwoo then breathed out softly, feeling his heartbeat begin to pick up.
“Want to know something?” He asked.
You stared back at Wonwoo with an intrigued pique of your brow.
“Like what?”
“Well, first of all, we both took creative writing, you know.”
"Uh, okay," you sniffed, "sure."
"No, like, we took the course together. In the fall. Prof T?"
"Really?" You pinned him down in a non-believing stare. "Wait, you're talking about that basement auditorium, right? In Gildan Hall? It always smelt like old computers and dust bunnies?"
"That's the one."
Scoffing out some dry air, you leaned back.
"Woah. I don't think I ever saw you... did you go to each class?"
He nodded a few times. "Almost all. To be fair, I sat more in the back, off to the corner. I wasn't exactly thrusting myself into the limelight."
Folding one leg over your knee, you chuckled. "Sounds like you."
“I have this really specific memory from that class, when that random guy, whoever he was, sat in the seat you always took. Your so called unofficially-assigned-assigned-seat. And I remember that really tense feeling right before you walked in, because we all knew you were gonna chew him out for it. The way you marched straight up to him was already violating enough, and then you basically ruined his whole day.” Looking down at his hands again, Wonwoo smiled at recalling the memory. “You absolutely terrified me. I don’t even think you understand how much I wanted to avoid you.”
He caught your eyes, shimmering like the water-stained floor, with an emotion he couldn’t place.
“Actually?” Was all you said, hardly sounding surprised.
“Yeah.”
Your face began searching around the shadowed, sloshing exhibit for something unseen. He decided to let the silence settle like a thin sheet, instead listening to the tidal pushing and pulling. The soft sounds reminded him of being a child, wandering beaches into the late evening with his older brother during summer vacations, and picking up shells just to hear the ocean speaking inside them.
Aloud, you breathed in, shaking your foot.
“I can’t really remember what was going through my head that day. I know I’d had a fight with Mingyu before going to class, so I was feeling pretty amped up and short-fused. I knew I was going straight to another SSA meeting that I hardly cared about immediately after, and then I would work until the evening. I knew I would have to make dinner when I got home, even though I’d be downright exhausted, and the next morning, I’d have to wake up early to attend some bullshit press, social, interview breakfast thing for my mom’s new lifestyle magazine. Having that idiot sit in my favourite seat was probably just the straw that broke the camel’s back, I guess.”
“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, suddenly experiencing a profound sympathy for you that he never imagined he would feel. “When you give it a bit more perspective, it doesn’t sound so…”
“Completely and utterly bitchy?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to use that word, but, sure.”
You grinned at him through the dusky rippling of auroras that flitted across the exhibit, seeming like you were under the sea—and he was, too, sitting side by side in the somehow peaceful depths of the chaotic whirlpool that had pulled you two together.
“I have a memory.”
“Okay,” Wonwoo returned your grin, “I want to hear it.”
“So, remember earlier how we were talking about the Frontiers evaluation for Bradbrook’s calculus class?”
“Mmhm.”
"So, after all the Frontiers scores came out, I'm not gonna lie—I really thought I had one of the better marks. It's not like I specifically trotted around, throwing out my grade to anyone passing by, but I was parading a little bit to my friends. And then, like, Clara or something, told me that there was this guy who almost got a ten. I asked her who, and she said she didn't know—just that she overheard some of the basketball guys talking about it.
I thought she was lying. I didn't say that, though. But I remember it was on my mind every night. Like, it was itching me so bad. I wanted to know who the fuck was smart enough to get a damn near perfect ten on Frontiers. Some of those problems are ridiculously hard. I started writing nonsense around A-block. They straight up give students problems that serious, esteemed mathematicians can't fucking solve. So, honestly... I was quite jealous of you... despite not even knowing who you were. I can't believe that was you, asshole."
Wonwoo cracked his knuckles, beginning to laugh at that intense but lighthearted glare you were sending his way. Of course, you mellowed everything out with a big smile he felt his heart skip a beat over. You had actually went to bed thinking about him.
Holy fuck.
Maybe not him in physicality. But in spirit.
That was close enough.
"I just did the study guide." He shrugged.
Your knee pushed into his. "Oh, yeah, the study guide. Jeez, why didn't I think of doing that? Let me go kill myself right now."
"Keep tabs on it for next time."
With a roll of the eyes, you laughed almost to scorn him.
“I hate people like you.”
And Wonwoo laughed back. “Meaning?”
“Things come to you so naturally. You don’t have to try.”
“Sure,” Wonwoo agreed, scratching his nose and proceeding to nudge up his glasses, “things like mathematics, numbers, problem solving, taking something whole apart and then looking at its pieces. I guess it does come to me naturally. I can’t complain. But there are also plenty of things that don’t. And… if I could, I’d probably trade all my stupid math and logic and puzzling for what I’m missing.”
You tilted your head, staring intently at Wonwoo through the blue sea between you, almost into his brain, it felt like.
“What are you missing?”
At first, Wonwoo didn’t respond. To answer your question meant an intimate exhumation of the flaws that he’d been willfully ignoring for the past year, if not his entire damn life. It meant at last turning over the round, flat rock that had been sitting at the foot of his wooden porch since childhood, and realizing the bottom was sculpted with the grittiest texture and wet with the thickest dirt. The rock was hiding long-legged spiders and ugly, skittering bugs and it would have probably been better to let the rock sit there, untouched, only facing the warm and comfortable glow of the sun.
Wonwoo didn’t want to turn the rock.
Not at all.
“A plethora of things, I’m sure.”
Squeezing onto your wrist, you smiled at him.
“I think I’m the opposite.”
“How so?”
He watched you inhale a long, slow breath, and then huff it all out through your nose. Wonwoo bumped his knee against yours.
“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”
“No, no. It’s not like that…”
Looking up to the glowing aquarium, the dull light reflected back unto your face, and Wonwoo again saw the glisten in your eyes.
“I just feel…” for a moment, your chest stilled, “… I feel like I’m so much of everything that I just blend into nothing. You know, like when a child takes a whole bunch of paints and squirts them all together thinking it’s going to create this beautiful, never-before-seen new colour? But, instead, it’s just greyish-brownish, nothing.”
Your face turned back to him. Wonwoo watched you chew down on your bottom lip, meanwhile your eyes glazed aloof, off to the side, as though you were rummaging through so many different thoughts and experiences that it required your utmost mental focus.
“And—” you swallowed tightly, and it sounded so painfully dry with stinging emotion, “—I just don’t want people to see that I’m so much of nothing. I just find myself covering it all up.”
Were you going to cry? Wonwoo felt himself jolt inwardly with panic. He had never seen you cry and he had therefore never developed the best protocol to tackle such a situation. Some people preferred immediate comfort, others—a reassuring stroke on the back, maybe some uplifting monologue. Or, maybe, they didn’t want to be touched at all. They just desired the simple, thinking silence and all its clarity. He remembered you saying something about it—that you did like to be comforted, but only in very certain circumstances.
First, Wonwoo subtly wiped off his hand against his thigh, and then he took in the softest breath. Through the flickering, midnight blue mirage, Wonwoo reached for your hand. He settled his cold fingers inch by inch under yours, and, with a timid but gentle thumb, Wonwoo caressed in a slow path along your knuckles.
You glanced to him appreciatively, saying nothing, but squeezing his hand in return. He figured he’d done right.
Maybe more things came to him naturally than he thought.
Before leaving the nature museum, you and Wonwoo had stopped at their atrium as promised to get in a quick meal. While you poked a fork into your sad-looking salad, making small scribbles every now and then to the journal at your elbow, Wonwoo ate a grill-pressed sandwich and flicked through his phone. He was surprised to check the time and realize you had spent about three hours there—it felt so much shorter. Wonwoo hated how quickly each moment flew past when he was with you. It was always so bittersweet.
He had wanted to know what exactly you were penciling in the journal, though he never asked, knowing he would probably be proofreading it from your document later. Obviously, you were thinking about that particular date with Mingyu from years back in your life—that was the principal point in going to the museum. However, Wonwoo had chosen to regard it more as hanging out, not caring if that was a particularly delusional or untruthful choice.
After finishing your meals and tossing the plastic remnants into the recycling bins, Wonwoo looked outside the atrium’s towering glass wall to note how cloudy the sky had become. From the bright, eggshell turquoise in the afternoon, to an especially muted grey that seemed brewing and heavy with a downpour. You adjusted the bag over your shoulder and suddenly grimaced at the sight.
“Jeez, is it going to rain?”
“It could,” Wonwoo sighed. “It very possibly could.”
“I swear. I obsessively check the forecast in order to plan all my outfits around it. It never said it would rain!” You then threw the bottle of iced tea you’d been drinking into the garbage with an aggressive slam. “This shirt is a horrible choice. It will be stupidly see-through."
Wonwoo glanced around the atrium.
“There’s lots of empty tables. If we want to sit and wait it out, then I don’t think anyone would get mad. But, I mean, it’s up to you.”
“Why’s it up to me?”
“I don’t know. Just—if you don’t want to get your outfit all soaked. I’m sure if we left now, we could make good distance before it really started raining. I’m not opposed to getting a little wet. But I have no issue with staying here and letting the clouds go over.”
You folded your arms, and your head fell to the side. He’d seen that look before. It was your own patented prelude to disaster.
“I never said I was opposed to getting wet.”
He laughed. “Well, you certainly insinuated it.”
“Do you think I'm some sort of whiny little priss?”
"I think you named your bear Miss Priss."
"I think you're a smart ass. Take that smirk off your face. Now."
Wonwoo wanted to sigh, but he didn’t. He then thought about trying to tenderly explain his way out of it with his smooth words. As much as he would think he’d figured you out, there was still a part of him that was very confused by you and how to adjust to your behaviour.
This time, he decided he would do nothing.
“Okay. Let’s go, then.”
He reached out his hand for you to grab.
“As if,” you scoffed, walking around him toward the exit doorway, into the museum garden, “not after you just insulted me.”
Wonwoo could do nothing but laugh in response, because he had caught that faint smile on your face as you passed him, and the sweet beading in your eyes. He simply followed you out the doors.
During the walk back to his apartment, it had yet to rain at all, not even a typical, humid summer drizzle or the smallest bit of spitting. Maybe it was just way more cloudy than usual, or it was a concerning spread of city smog tainting the sky. It’s not like he wanted it to rain, anyway, though more so for your sake than his.
About a little more than halfway through the walk, however, you came to an abrupt stop outside a flower shop, and Wonwoo watched you lift a doubtful hand to your cheek and wipe something off it. Before you could say anything, Wonwoo felt a big, cold, wet drop smack just above his eyebrow and begin leaking down. He used the sleeve of his shirt to clean it up, only to experience another fat droplet strike a second later, right onto his glasses.
“You can’t be serious…” he heard you mumble.
Making the mistake of looking up, more and more droplets fell swiftly from the daunting, dark grey blanket strewn across the entire skylight. They began painting all over the sidewalk, the roadway, shaking down into the brilliant purple and white petunia pots outside the florist shop. And Wonwoo froze for a moment, because he honestly hadn’t expected to be caught in the rain, let alone the downpour it was unfortunately shaping up to be.
“Ow!” You winced sharply. “One just fucking hit my eyeball!”
“Shit—let’s hurry.” Wonwoo hid his phone. “My apartment’s only like, ten minutes away, less if we run really fast.”
“Run?!” You gawked at him. “I don’t run!”
“No, you fucking sashay, I get it.” In a matter of seconds, those intermittent raindrops had evolved into an unrelenting, bathing barrage. Wonwoo could feel his clothes beginning to dampen, and his glasses were streaming with water. He slapped his hand onto yours, jerking you forward despite your stiltedness. “And I’m so sorry but you’re going to have to sacrifice one part of your pretty fucking princess routine for just five minutes so we can get back to my place.”
“My pretty fucking wha—!”
Once Wonwoo’s fingers were clasped tight with yours, he started to run, and whether it was voluntary or not, you ran along with him, shouting something that he couldn’t quite hear over the rain that bounced in loud splatters against the sidewalk and the adrenaline echoing in his own ears. He could hardly see through the downpour, but he’d walked that path so many times that it almost wasn’t necessary. At one point, he’d stepped onto the street prematurely, and he heard the loud, startled honk from a car.
“Jesus Christ, Wonwoo!” You half-laughed, half-coughed, clutching onto his slippery hand even tighter, “I’d ideally like to live!”
“We’re almost there!” He chuckled back.
“I think I’m going to lose my fucking shoe!”
“I’ll buy you a new pair!”
Wonwoo didn’t stop, and you didn’t either. He was soaked to his bones, with thick, drizzling fronds of hair plastered to his forehead and the glasses nearly slipping from his nose—the scent of earthy but ashen rain all around him—and still Wonwoo kept running, a very blithe smile permanent to his mouth despite all his discomfort.
Upon reaching the entryway to the pottery shop, Wonwoo almost skidded completely past it since the sidewalk was so slick and pouring like an angry river. You slammed into his back, and it was then that your hands unintentionally separated. Instead, he felt your fingers flesh into the sopping cloth covering his shoulders.
“Be careful on the steps!” He shouted overtop a reverberating crack of thunder that shook from behind the grey sleet sky.
“If I slip, I’m pulling you down with me!”
Wonwoo was pleased to hear the equally bright smile that bled into your words, meanwhile your fingertips dug even deeper into his muscle. Once inside the shop, a gust of wind proceeded to blow the door shut, and all Wonwoo heard was hard rain against the glass.
—END OF PART TWO.
#seventeen scenarios#wonwoo scenarios#seventeen x reader#wonwoo x reader#seventeen imagines#seventeen fanfic#svt fanfic#wonwoo fanfic#jeon wonwoo#svt scenarios#seventeen angst#seventeen fluff#seventeen smut
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ghost headcanons! (realistic)
tw: nsfw, spoilers, dead dove do not eat
a lot of these are based off of my personal understanding of him
part 2 —> character analysis of ghost
general:
didn’t go back to manchester after his family died, too many foul memories—a lot of friends will probably know him as a murderer (comic reference, ghost was accused of killing his family in the newspaper)
has a fit body. a lot of people like to hc him as big and bulky, i think otherwise! its actually a huge disadvantage to be bulky in size as a soldier (logistics while fighting yk). most SAS soldiers are trained for endurance and fitness, i think he has a moreso lean body
hes not cold and ruthless, wouldn’t say hes a big softie either.
VERYYYY punctual. always on time
will not abuse or rape anyone. this guys been through atrocities, he would never do it to someone else
won’t hire a prostitute, ever.
honestly, hes just another dude in the military. he loves dad jokes and bourbon😭
ghost doesn’t think hes mean or tries to be, he simply is intimidating because of his size and way of talking
he likes watching soccer in his free time
gets internally offended if someone thinks hes from london (anywhere but Manchester)
very dark humoured. tell him any dark joke and he wouldn’t care
loves tea
listens to older british bands, like the smiths
cannot understand modern slang at all. what does ‘iykyk’ and ‘rizzler’ mean???
texts like a typical millennial. uses ‘😂’ and ‘😜’ unironically. types with proper grammar and spelling with punctuation too, maybe an occasional LOL
also unironically likes posts about trust issues and being a sigma male. he doesn’t actually think hes one, he just relates to those quotes that are like: “being alone is better than with fakes” 😭😭😭😭
ghost probably hates other men more than misandrists 😕 i think its bc hes always fighting other men and dealing with the cruel things theyve done, so ghost subconsciously feels more on guard with men he doesnt know
has insomnia
doesn’t cry. ghost doesn’t remember the last time he cried.
isn’t rich rich, but has a ton of savings. he doesn’t have a family or spend a lot. so the money piles up.
relationship hcs:
first off, i dont think he’d realistically get into one anyway LMAO
s/o would have to the chasing, i dont think ghost is the kind to actively pursue someone
he has charisma, doesn’t feel like using it
hes very against the idea at first—his family got murdered because he was in the military, you think hes gonna let it happen again?
probably will not like someone working with him as a soldier
i think itd go two ways: a) you are a civilian who aggressively pursues the poor guy and he gives in, b) you work as a military nurse and gradually get to know him, c) you are a longtime close friend of his before he was in the military
i cant see him being fwb with anyone, only one night stands
hes not a toxic partner or super lovey dovey
ghost doesn’t entertain multiple women at once
itd most likely end up in a breakup where he fears for your safety:(((
BUT lets ignore that
tbh, i think he would probably be with someone very empathetic and kind to others. he doesn’t like people overly energetic, too soft, or someone that annoys him
persons gotta be independent and good with long distance
simon doesn’t care about age gaps, but probably wants someone at least in their late twenties
had a hard time opening up, eventually told you everything once he trusts you
another reason why i think he wants someone empathetic is because he has severe trust issues😃😃
last thing he’d care about is looks for long term relationships
the type of guy to disappear for 6 months and reappear to be like “remember im your husband???”🫡
doesn’t let you tell your friends about him—No hes not being uncommitted or toxic, but hes simply being cautious after what happened to his family
you can’t show anyone photos of him, his name, his occupation, NOTHHINGGG
so you fake a name for your bf who your friends think you’re lying about
definitely does not let you post on social media about him either.
installs security in your home, teaches you self defense, and gives you weapons. this guy can be paranoid
will never hit you or lay a hand on you
ghost genuinely thinks you saved him—his life was bleak and empty before you came in. subconsciously thinks of you as a savior
he buys you gifts, does chores for you, he really likes you :(
ghost actively tries to make his voice sound softer and friendlier when hes talking to you
doesnt understand playing mind games, things like the silent treatment or “im ok” when ur not ok thing. just tell him how you feel
doesn’t tell his team about your existence. you and his job are always going to be separate.
avoids talking about what he does in the military. ghost has killed and injured many and he doesn’t want you to see that side of him.
scary dog privileges for SURE
#call of duty x reader#call of duty#simon ghost riley#ghost#ghost cod#simon riley#tf 141 x reader#cod mw2#cod
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Hello i have a idea, how about Yandere Andrew and Ashley x Older Sister Reader with plot being something like
Y/N never cared about Andrew and Ashley cus she find them annoying, she never tried to be good sister even a little and didn't pay attention to their strange behavior towards her, bc despite her careless they loved her and always clings to her and ruins her relationships with boys and girls. And after another ruined relationship, Y/N finally fed up and leaves them, they of course tried to use manipulations and even threats in hopes that Y/N would stay and be theirs but all this things doesn't worked on her. After a two weeks Andrew and Ashley manages to find Y/N....with new boyfriend which makes their blood boil, bc Y/N is theirs only
Facts - 1. Y/N hates mom and dad as much as Ashley, thats why she lived with Andrew and Ashley
2. Y/N is not any better than Andrew and Ashley. Y/N kills some dudes before just for fun
So what do you think?
Thank you anon I needed the motivation TwT
TW: Manslaughter and Murder
Yandere!Ashley and Andrew x Older Sister!Reader
You’ve been fucked over since birth
Teen parents, one who was spineless, the other who was a manipulative bitch- both who had no idea what they were doing or how to use a goddamn condom
Yeah, you were screwed
By age 4 you learned that you can only really count on yourself in this shit bag of a world
Unfortunately by then, your mother already popped out two other crotch demons to ignore
They thought you were such an independent child, why not have another? This one is also quiet and doesn’t complain- so again!
They stopped having kids after Ashley came around- and if you’re going to give your little sister credit for anything, it’s that she taught them to use protection next time
Or convince mom to get her tubes tied and avoid this whole thing again, truthfully you didn’t care how they went about it- so long as you didn’t have to deal with any more annoying little shits
Ashley and Andrew were always clinging to, which was a normal thing you heard little siblings do….but god they took it to the extreme
Making up excuses to leave class so they could go bother you in yours, following you around all day, Ashley would try to climb you and cling to your back so she would always be close to you
You hated it, you hated it so much
“Y/N?…”
You groaned, jostling in your bed to turn your back to the little shit. You just wanted to sleep, it was the one time you didn’t have to deal with either of them but here’s shit one now!
Andy reached a hand out and poked your back, or where he presumed it to be under the covers, “Y/N?�� He persisted, “I know you’re awake.”
“How the fuck do you know that?..” you mumbles from under the covers.
Andy reached his hands out and tugged on the blanket to try and pull it off, “You never sleep on your side, your body naturally turns you on to your back. And you have a specific look you make when asleep.” Andy tried to replicate the look, an open mouth and shut eyes. His lip twitched a little for authenticity.
You sat up, staring daggers at him, “Do you watch me sleep? Little creep—“ you threw your pillow at his face, which had the opposite effect you hoped for. You wanted him to feel dejected, walk solemnly back to his bed while you struggled to ever sleep again. But no, your little brother just laughed and hugged the pillow tight.
The noise caused the small form under the covers of the bed across the room to rustle. Great, you both woke LeyLey. The lump under her covers shot up, pulling at the starry blanket so she could look at you two.
“Ooohhhh, are we sleeping in Y/N’s bed tonight!” She sounded excited, crawling off of her bed and rushing over to Andy’s side. She noticed the pillow and tried to take it, “Give!”
“No way!” Andy held the pillow close to his chest like a treasured gift, “It’s mine! Y/N gave it to me!”
Actually I threw it at you, you thought- but the two were too focused on their tussling to notice you watching unamused. God at this rate they’re going to wake up mom and dad and then you’ll somehow get in trouble—
“You’re their older sister!” Mom would say, “You should be mediating them!”
Technically you shouldn’t. You should be asleep. Or not even born. Self deprecating aside, you would much rather go to sleep as soon as possible, and it’s clear Andy and LeyLey won’t leave unless you let them sleep with you.
So, with a sigh, you pull the covers away, “Get in here you two- and stop fighting over the pillow!” You snatch it from Andy, who gives you the look of a sad puppy you just kicked, “You’re gonna wake mom and dad.”
LeyLey looked ecstatic, hoping into your bed and climbing over you- making sure to ‘accidentally’ knee you in the groin. You wince, you may not have anything down there- but it still hurt! Andy was next, climbing up and settling down on the other side of you. He hugged your arm, smiling softly. LeyLey wrapped her tiny arms around your waist, as best as she could to hold on to you. You sat there, uncomfortably waiting for them to let go, only for their soft snoring to tell you they fell asleep.
Clinging to you.
You groan, this is going to be a long night.
You had hoped that as your siblings got older they wouldn’t need their big sister as much, oh how wrong you were
It seemed like the opposite was true- the older they got the more they needed you. The more they clung to you.
They always had an excuse for needing you, this happened so much that any friends you made drifted away from you
Which only gave you more time to spend with your ‘precious little siblings’
Eugh
You had planned to leave. To buy a bus ticket and drive far far away from your childhood home and your fucked up family
But then the quarantine hit
Mom and dad ditched, Ashley being the last one to see mom on her way out
But even with the two extra mouths gone, the rations drained fast and the wardens made no effort the feed the three of you
The laundry detergent looked tastier everyday
Besides the lack of food situation- Ashley and Andrew loved the quarantine
They got to be with their big sister 24/7
And holllyyy shit they abused that
Most mornings you would wake up to one of them in your bed, clinging to you like a leech
You stopped kicking them off after the 10th time, it just became a routine
Whenever you went into a room, conveniently they also needed to be in there
About to shower? Ashley needs to do the laundry!
Want to take a nap on mom and dad’s bed, Andrew’s looking for a book, he’ll even read it to you as a bedtime story. How thoughtful
It got to a point where it was just second nature to find them within 3 feet of you
Though there was only so much one person could take
And after the newscaster announced the quarantine would be extended for three more weeks, well….
You stared at the sleeping forms of your siblings, wanting to be 100% sure they were asleep before you enacted your plan. You pulled the covers off of yourself, quietly getting up. You’ve lived in this trash fire of an apartment for 24 years of your miserable life, and thankfully memorized the creaky spots on the ground to avoid.
You couldn’t spend another three weeks in here. The three of you ran out of food a little over a month ago, and you weren’t going to let paramedics find your starved corpse being clung on to by your siblings. Hell no!
Your eyes darted between Ashley and Andrew’s beds as you walked, one misstep and they’d ask where you were going- then everything would go to shit. Your hand slowly raised itself to the doorknob, quietly twisting it. You flinched as it cracked open- looking to see if anyone woke up. Ashley was closest to the door, but she slept like a corpse. Andrew on the other hand was a light sleeper, so it was mostly him you were worried about waking up. You gave a silent sigh as he turned out to still be asleep.
You tiptoed through the door, flinching as you tried to quietly close it. Once the door was shut, your hand hovered over the knob as you waited.
Silence!
You were just in the homestretch now. Your wallet was already in your pants pocket, really that was all you needed to be honest. You had no items of sentimental value to bring, no. You wanted to forget this place. Burn it to the ground in your mind.
You made your way to the balcony, Ashley stupidly left the key in it. You opened the door and took in the fresh air….well- as fresh as it could be with the air pollution. You looked over the balcony, searching as you spotted your escape. A rickety looking water spout. It looked faulty, like it was about to snap off of the building, if not that- just cutting your hand on it was enough to contract tetanus. But honestly, you didn’t care.
You hoisted yourself on to the balcony’s ledge, hugging the wall and swinging your foot over to hook around the spout. Success! Alright…you just gotta..
Hyping yourself up, you ripped the bandaid off and just got it over with. You succeed, you just have to shimmy down to your escape. You fail, you die.
Win-Win!
You succeed though, holding on to the water spout like your life depended on it. Which it did. With care and ease, you worked your way down the spout, until your feet touched the concrete ground.
“Hey!” A deep voice made your blood run cold. Turning your head, you shielded your eyes from the bright flashlight. The man behind it wore a uniform similar to the warden’s, he must work with them, “What are you doing?”
You needed to think fast. You looked around and noticed a stray brick at your feet. You whipped your head back to the warden, his eyes fixed on you as his free hand hovered over his gun.
It all happened faster than you could process. Chucking the brick at the asshole, he fell to the ground with a thud. You didn’t look at the body, didn’t bother to make sure he was still alive. You ran. And ran.
You’ve never ran so fast in your life.
You were free. Free!
Free from starving!
Free from any of this shit!
Sure you probably killed a man, but it was imperative to your own survival
Not like anyone knew it was you anyway
Ashley and Andrew were going to starve, so any connection people could make to your disappearance and the warden’s death will be gone soon.
You bought a bus ticket and high tailed it out of there
Got a new job, and saved up enough for your own shitty apartment
Sibling free too!
Life was…starting to look okay, for once.
We don’t talk about the people you mugged to help save up for this place though
That’s between you and whatever fucked up good there is in this world
….and the people you mugged. Them too
But- point is, you’ve got a job, an apartment, a boyfriend that you met through work
Everything was pretty okay
You fumbled with your keys, eventually getting them to turn the stupidly janky lock. God you needed to get better locks installed, the keyhole being stripped from years of wear and tear. Apparently the landlord refuses to get them changed. But hey, at least your door opened
You wish your door hadn’t opened.
Before you could take in the gruesome sight in front of you, the wretched stench of blood and decay hit your nose. It wafted into your open mouth, slack jawed from shock and grazed your tastebuds. You quickly slapped your hand over your mouth and nose, dry heaving to not throw up.
There, in the middle of your apartment was the cooling corpse of your boyfriend. His body was mutilated, blood being lazily cleaned by his attackers. A tall, messy black haired man was on his hands and knees, wiping at the blood- while overtop of your partner’s corpse was a woman with her own black haired pulled back into a ponytail.
Green and pink eyes.
….your siblings.
“Oh!” Ashley looked up, grinning ear to ear, “Y/N! You’re home!”
Andrew perked up as well, sitting on his knees now as he shot up like a meerkat. Both scrambled to their feet, clinging to your arms as you stared at the body in shock.
“Sorry for such a sloppy job, we’re normally cleaner,” Andrew’s words were trying to reassure you, but it was just doing the opposite, “He just wouldn’t die.”
“You really know how to pick em sis.” Ashley’s nails dug into your arm, her statement feeling more like a jab than a compliment.
Though your body was there, your mind wasn’t. It was running a mile a minute trying to answer so many questions. How did they find you? How did they get in? What’s with the candles? What’s with the weird runes on the floor?
You feel like none of those will be answered, and as your little siblings nuzzle against you like cats- the harsh reality dawns on you.
You’ll never escape them.
#the coffin of andy and leyley#ashley graves#andrew graves#tcoaal#x reader#andrew graves x reader#ashley graves x reader
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roommate!lyney annoying you, fluff, kissing, profanity lol!!! feminine french pet name used once (1), implied secret relationship. written in like 30 mins not proofread
“lyney, who the fuck ate my takeout?!”
that’s a stupid question; there’s only the two of you in this dorm room. exasperated, you throw yourself back on the couch, grieving your lost takeout that is most likely sitting in your boyfriend's stomach. lyney pops out of his bedroom with a cute smile and guilt hidden in closed eyes. he walks to you in slow steps, hands hidden behind his back.
you watch him with narrowed, suspicious eyes.
“ma chérie,” lyney purrs, and you hope there’s enough venom in your glare to take him down, “do you want a magic trick?”
you stare blankly. you do not want a magic trick.
lyney makes an undignified noise, flopping himself on top of you and the one-seat couch; you barely manage to get your laptop out of the way before he crushes it. “come on, entertain me. you have been giving your laptop more attention. do you want a magic trick or not?”
“if it’s about my food, i’m about to make you disappear.”
lyney fans his face as he turns, whistling. “you’ve done it again. you’re so charming when you glare so heatedly at me like that,” he coos, pressing his nose on your cheek and smiling against your skin.
you groan, pushing his face with your palm. “are you a freak?”
“if calling me that is what it takes for you to realize i just want you to look at me,” he agrees solemnly, muffled by you smothering his lips.
“i know i’m your roommate and everything, but you have a twin. do you have to bother me? aren’t you all for ‘family is everything’ and all that? how will they react if they see their lyney clinging onto his roommate like a lovesick parasite?”
“lynette doesn’t even like talking. and i like looking at you,” lyney says, nearing a whine. he persists in slotting himself between the couch armrest and your body, arms wrapped around your waist. it doesn’t budge when you tug on it.
“you can look at me without bothering me.”
lyney blinks owlishly. “oh?”
“entertain yourself,” you snarl, shifting so your back faces him. he buries his nose on the back of your neck, humming thoughtfully.
he then he kisses where your skin is bare, sighing softly. “i’m sorry. i wanted to take you out tonight.”
“dumbass,” you say, adding more to your essay with hostility in your fingers. “how are we going to enjoy dinner if you’re already full?”
“i can enjoy dinner if i see you enjoy dinner.” he sounds so serious about it, too. “hey, look at me for a sec. there’s something on your face.”
instinctively, you turn your head, startled when lyney takes it as an opportunity to kiss the side of your lips. “hey—” he interrupts you with a kiss on the other side. “lyney, you—” and then he seals the deal by kissing you properly.
it’s a little uncomfortable with the angle, but that’s far in the back of your mind with the press of his lips and the warmth he’s emanating. lyney’s a personified heater; it does help that he loves touching you in any way he can whenever you get too cold.
you have to pull away yourself, gasping deep breaths. lyney looks extremely pleased with himself. “you eat my takeout and try to distract me from my essay—do you want me to request a new roommate?”
but as you return to your laptop, you realize it’s gone. the pillow you’ve used to place it on top of is notably empty. you check the corners and peer at what you can with lyney’s arms caging you, but it’s not anywhere either.
“what? where the hell did you put it?”
“let me treat you dinner, and maybe i’ll tell you after our date,” lyney sing-songs, expertly swerving from your attack with a bright laugh. “come on, up you go.”
lyney doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants; it’s the wisest decision to give in as soon as possible anyway.
a/n hello guys this is like a practice round bc i have a longfic for lyney in the works !!!!!!!! but this is kinda lame so idk HELPP
#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact x you#lyney x reader#lyney x you#lyney x y/n
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HOW HE KISSES YOU — [BLUE LOCK]
characters: isagi yoichi, banchira meguru, kunigami rensuke, chigiri hyoma, nagi seishiro content: gn! reader, a little suggestive, obviously mentions/descriptions of kissing notes: these boys fr have my heart <3
⋆。° isagi yoichi
isagi is a sucker for long, drawn out kissing. really likes spending the time with you on his lap just making out
he’s just so happy to be yours and for you to be his that he hopes to convey that feeling in his affectionate kisses
when you two come up for air, he’s whispering sweet, sincere words to you: “i’m so lucky to have you,” “you’re incredible, you know that?” and, when the time comes for it, “i love you. i love you so much.”
holds you tight against him, like there is NO space between you two at all. his arms are locked around your waist and yours are around his neck and neither of you are letting go any time soon
not overly into pda but does like kissing your cheek and temple out in public.
⋆。° bachira meguru
his kisses are like him — playful, unpredictable, and sweet. there’s a lot of smiles and laughter when you two kiss
he wants to kiss you all the time. waking up in the morning? kiss. leaving for work? kiss. cooking dinner? kiss. going to bed? kiss
he’s a big fan of many quick kisses !! one of his favorite things to do are placing little pecks all over your face and neck and any skin he can reach, really. also a big sneak attack kisser
that said, he also loooooves long, sensual kisses. he really, really just loves kissing you
likes to also bite and nip at you but that’s a story for another day
big fan of pda! nothing excessive but he will give you those cute little kisses out in public. especially likes it when you’re a little flustered but he’s not going to wholly embarrass you bc he loves you too much
⋆。° kunigami rensuke
depending on where you are in your relationship, kisses with kunigami are either kind of shy or really passionate, or both — they’re not mutually exclusive!
early in your relationship, he may be shy about kissing you since he’s very respectful and aware of boundaries and doesn’t want to risk pushing them. will probably ask to kiss you before every one during this stage of your relationship
as you move forward and probably after an talk about boundaries, he’ll be less hesitant about kissing you but will absolutely still respect all boundaries and signals from you
kunigami likes short, sweet kisses. they’re straightforward and convey their feelings for you
however, passionate makeout sessions with him are a must as well for him. he likes to cradle your cheek in one hand and hold your waist with his other
probably not a big pda person — he’s not against it but he’s not comfortable making out with you in public. when out and about, he’s a big fan of kissing the back of your hand while they’re intertwined with his
⋆。° chigiri hyoma
he’s all slow, sensuous kisses — hands traveling over each other steadily, exploring and leaving trails of heat in their wake
tbh he definitely like a bit of a hair tug. like, no yanking but you can pull it a little and listen to him sigh or whine a little
forehead kisses forehead kisses forehead kisses. also a nose kisser, i think
when he’s in the right mood, he’s a bit of a tease. he likes to kiss along and under your jaw in these moments
probably not the biggest fan of pda. his public kiss type is, again, the forehead kiss. also probably kisses your temple
⋆。° nagi seishiro
sleepy and lazy kisses are nagi’s absolute favorites!! the kind where the two of you are laying around on a rare, slow morning and you just kiss each other in long, languid intervals, lulled in by the warmth of one another
also also also if you’re under 190cm (6’2”) then nagi uses his height to his advantage by wrapping you in a back hug and placing little kisses on the top of your head and bring them down to your neck
even if you are over 190cm, he’s giving you back hugs and neck kisses, sorry i don’t make the rules
likes leaning all his weight against you and for you to wrap your arms around him when you kiss, it makes him feel like he’s simultaneously enveloping you and being enveloped by you
gives you kisses after he wins anything, whether it’s a video game or soccer match !! will seek you out for kisses if he’s frustrated after losing too and those kisses are much harsher and more bruising
probably into some form of pda — not a ton but he’s not opposed to kissing your in front of other people
#blue lock x reader#isagi yoichi x reader#isagi x reader#bachira meguru x reader#bachira x reader#kunigami rensuke x reader#kunigami x reader#chigiri hyoma x reader#chigiri x reader#nagi seishiro x reader#blue lock imagines#.𖥔 ݁ ˖ kaiijo writes
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going off of all the miserable calorie counting lifestyle/relationship with food demanded by being Batman, I feel like Dick as an adult has the closest eating style bc his acrobatics and physique also take a lot of specific work? But my main thing I'm thinking abt is where if Damian eventually becomes Batman. Would it be a gradaul shift to that kind of diet over his teen years, is he able to improve upon it, is there this kind of parental sadness on Bruce's end at seeing your child eventually grow to have the same relationship with/use of food?
As someone from a food restrictive upbringing I can't see Bruce as someone who is an 'almond mom's either. I just find the concept rlly interesting
Yeah. Dick’s diet is equally restrictive and awful but in the opposite direction. Maintaining that level of leanness is so freaking hard. Doing a pull up with five extra pounds can be the difference between 10 reps and 15 reps. Imagine how much acrobatic work he needs to dial in on to be that limber and fast. Insanity.
I hope Bruce doesn’t encourage Damian to follow in his footsteps. I think he’d be horrified to see any of his kids eat and train the way he does. It’s his Mission, his body, his suffering. And I think he wants them to be effective vigilantes but not…like that.
But does seeing that kind of behavior modeled for you change how you act? Absolutely.
#tw eating issues#tw diet#bruce wayne#batman#dc#asks#anon#batfamily#dick grayson#Damian wayne#nightwing
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